Morning settled over the Libby den in warm, familiar chaos. Holt clattered bowls in the kitchen, Rime muttered at a door hinge that “move wrong,” Gabriel tuned his guitar with gentle plucks, Mark cursed at a sputtering coffee pot, and Kade studied the daily patrol map Varro had posted with crisp precision. The wolves moved in practiced rhythm: bank crew sorting their tasks, patrol wolves gearing up, everyone stepping into new routines built from the simple luxury of peace.
Thane stepped out of his room, and the sound softened. He scanned the room once, then nodded at Varro. “You’re with me today. Kalispell run.”
Varro’s ears flicked in surprise, but he stood immediately. Holt elbowed Rime. “Varro going out. World safer.”
Rime nodded slowly. “Varro strong wolf.”
Varro sighed. “I go outside every day.”
Holt shrugged, grinning. “Still true.”
The pack rolled back into motion as Thane and Varro headed out the door and into the morning air.
The Humvee rumbled down the road, diesel echoing through the pines. Spring sunlight spilled across the valley as they drove, the snow retreating from the trees, rivers running faster. Varro watched the scenery pass, arms folded loosely, eyes sharp with old instinct and new peace.
“Strange feeling,” he said quietly.
Thane glanced over. “What is?”
Varro exhaled through his nose. “Going to a town that lives. Not surviving… actually living.”
Thane didn’t answer, but the faint nod said enough.
As Kalispell came into view, Varro leaned forward, ears pricking.
Lights. Neon signs humming. Doors propped open. Voices. Laughter. People waving. A woman pushed a stroller and lit up as she saw the Humvee.
“Wolf! And other wolf!” she shouted.
Varro blinked, a small, startled laugh escaping before he covered it.
Town hall looked freshly painted, window boxes bursting with early flowers. Inside, Mayor Nadine Carver greeted them with radiant enthusiasm—until her eyes landed on Varro.
Her breath caught. Fear flickered. The scars. The size. The intensity in his eyes.
Varro saw it. He always did.
Before the moment could stretch, Thane stepped in instantly, slinging his arm around Varro’s shoulders and yanking him close, hard enough that Varro’s claws scraped the floor. “Nadine, this is Varro. Strongest warrior alive,” he said with warm authority. “I trust him with my life.”
Varro stiffened, caught entirely off guard. Nadine’s fear melted, replaced with something like awe. Thane squeezed his shoulder.
“Those scars are memories. He’s stronger for surviving every one.”
Varro’s jaw tightened—not with anger, but with the kind of emotion he didn’t let surface often.
The tension dissolved. Nadine shook Varro’s hand gently and with newfound respect.
They spent nearly an hour catching up: the new shops, the community garden, repaired homes, stable food stores, the phone line keeping them connected, KTNY’s signal blaring through almost every window. She spoke of people beginning to dream again. Of life coming back in full color. And especially about how the new currency system had turned life from barter chaos into something human again.
Before they left, Nadine touched Thane’s arm lightly. “Thank you… for everything.”
Varro inclined his head, an expression of respect he was still learning to give.
They walked the streets afterward, and every wave, every shouted thank-you, every smile seemed to hit Varro like something unreal. He grew quiet, letting it settle deeper than he expected.
On the road home, golden light washed over the trees as the Humvee climbed back toward the mountains. The engine hummed steady. The air through the windows carried the scent of thawed earth and pine.
Varro finally spoke, voice low. “Your words… to the mayor. About me.”
Thane stayed relaxed behind the wheel. “Truth.”
Varro stared at the passing treeline. “I do not understand it.”
“What’s to understand?”
“My entire life,” Varro said slowly, “strength was punished. Strategy was punished. Loyalty was demanded but never returned. The only words I heard were commands or threats.” His claws traced the edge of the doorframe. “And today… you told a mayor I am the strongest warrior alive. That you trust me with your life.”
Thane glanced at him. “I meant every word.”
Varro’s ears dropped in something like disbelief. “I have followed other alphas. I have seen humans claim leadership. None spoke like that. None ever—” His voice faltered. “You honor wolves in ways I thought were myths.”
Thane let the silence breathe a moment before answering. “Varro, you are one of my most trusted advisors. Strategy. Tactics. Reading a battlefield before anyone else sees the shape. I depend on that. The pack depends on that.”
The words hit harder than any praise earlier in the day. Varro’s breath caught in his chest.
“You… trust me that much?”
“I do,” Thane said simply. “You’ve earned it.”
Varro turned his head toward the window again, but not to hide fear or shame—just to steady himself. When he finally answered, his voice was soft enough that the engine almost swallowed it.
“Thank you, Thane.”
He didn’t say more. He didn’t need to.
The Humvee rolled on through the fading gold light, mountains shadowing around them, the valley stretching out like a world waking from long sleep. Another town alive. Another place full of voices, families, laughter, normalcy. Another reminder of what the pack had built together.
Thane drove. Varro watched the horizon. And the road carried them home to Libby—toward warmth, toward the den, toward another quiet night in a world slowly becoming whole again.