Sunday morning arrived with the kind of clean blue sky that made Oklahoma seem like it had never produced a thunderstorm, a traffic jam, or a bad decision in its life.
The cabin smelled faintly of coffee.
And cinnamon.
Too much cinnamon.
Thane came down the stairs already dressed for town in dark cargo pants and a soft charcoal henley, his badge clipped beside the holster at his belt. The shape of the sidearm was familiar at his hip. Not a burden exactly. Not off duty in the way people imagined off duty.
The badge and gun went with them when they left the property.
Not because they expected trouble.
Because they knew better than to promise the world it would wait until shift change.
Gabriel was already by the front door, wearing a black overshirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His badge sat on his belt opposite his holster, polished enough to catch the morning light. He had sunglasses pushed into the fur above one ear and a grin that usually meant trouble.
Mark stood beside him with a light jacket over one arm, a compact first-aid pouch clipped to his belt beside his own badge and sidearm.
Thane looked at the pouch.
“You bringing medical supplies to breakfast?”
Mark looked back at him.
“We are driving thirty minutes.”
“It is IHOP.”
“It is still thirty minutes.”
Gabriel nodded solemnly.
“Mark is right. Anything can happen in that amount of time.”
Thane looked at him.
“Like what?”
Gabriel’s grin widened.
“You could attempt to make pancakes.”
Thane stared for one beat.
Then smiled despite himself.
“You are still on that?”
Gabriel opened the door.
“Thane, I watched you eat one of my pancakes and describe it as breakfast-adjacent masonry.”
“It was cinnamon drywall.”
“It was a flavor profile.”
Mark stepped past them.
“It was structurally unsound.”
Gabriel pointed at him.
“You had one bite.”
“That was enough to form a professional opinion.”
Thane followed them out toward the Humvee.
“Fine. We are going to IHOP. I am getting pancakes that do not require a permit.”
Gabriel slid into the passenger seat.
“You have no appreciation for culinary risks.”
Thane settled behind the wheel.
“I appreciate food that bends.”
Mark climbed into the rear seat and pulled his seatbelt across his chest.
“Please keep this argument at a conversational volume until we leave the driveway.”
Gabriel turned in his seat.
“That is a very specific request.”
“You both have very specific voices.”
The Humvee engine turned over with its familiar heavy growl.
Thane backed down the gravel drive, sunlight flashing across the windshield, and pointed the nose east toward Edmond.
For the first ten minutes, the morning belonged to the road.
Trees gave way to open pasture. Open pasture gave way to subdivisions, gas stations, small churches, and the gradual sprawl of the city. The Humvee moved steadily through the Sunday traffic, larger than nearly everything around it and impossible to ignore.
Gabriel had his window cracked.
The wind worked through the fur along his ears.
Mark had a navigation map open on his phone even though Thane knew perfectly well how to get to Edmond.
Thane glanced at him in the mirror.
“You know I have been there before.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at the map?”
“Traffic.”
“There is no traffic.”
“There could be traffic.”
Gabriel leaned his head against the window.
“Mark is emotionally prepared for traffic.”
Mark looked at him.
“You are emotionally prepared to be late for your own funeral.”
“That is because I am confident I will make an entrance.”
Thane snorted.
Gabriel smiled.
Then he looked over at him.
“So.”
Thane knew the tone.
He kept his eyes on the road.
“Do not.”
“Detective Ninety.”
“Gabriel.”
“Detective Retest Miracle.”
“Gabriel.”
Gabriel’s smile became innocent.
“I am just saying, you really did turn it around.”
Mark looked up from the navigation.
“Gabriel.”
“No, no. This is sincere. I have grown as a person. I am celebrating Thane’s accomplishments.”
Thane tightened his hands on the wheel.
“Are you?”
“Absolutely.”
Gabriel paused.
Then added, “After that tragic first score.”
Mark closed his eyes.
Thane looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel looked back.
The expression on Thane’s face was not angry.
Not really.
But the slow lift of one brow and the low narrowing of his eyes made Gabriel sit a little straighter.
“Keep it up,” Thane said, “and you’re riding in the back.”
Gabriel blinked.
“With Mark?”
Mark looked up from the navigation.
“I call window.”
Gabriel turned slowly in his seat.
“That is worse.”
Thane’s mouth shifted.
“Thought so.”
The Edmond city-limit sign rose ahead on the right.
Thane slowed with the flow of traffic as the highway widened, commercial buildings replacing the last open stretches of land. A car dealership sat to one side. A strip mall with a breakfast place, pharmacy, and fitness studio sat to the other.
Then Gabriel’s expression changed.
“Thane.”
Thane had already seen it.
A silver Chevrolet Silverado stood crooked on the shoulder just beyond an intersection, driver’s door open. An Edmond patrol car sat behind it with emergency lights flashing, angled badly across the outer lane.
At first glance, it looked like a traffic stop.
At second glance, it was not.
An Edmond officer was on the ground near the front bumper of his unit.
A large man was over him, driving down punches with both hands.
The officer had one arm up over his head. His other hand scrabbled at the pavement, trying to find leverage that was not there.
A yellow taser wire stretched across the concrete beside them.
The cartridge lay in the gutter.
Thane’s stomach dropped.
He steered the Humvee onto the shoulder hard enough that Mark caught himself against the front seat.
“Officer down,” Thane said.
Gabriel was already unbuckling.
“Yeah.”
Thane threw the transmission into park.
“Mark, Gabriel, officer. I have the suspect.”
No one argued.
The three doors opened almost at once.
Thane hit the pavement running.
The world narrowed.
Not to rage.
Not to one of the old sharp places inside him.
To the officer on the ground.
To the suspect’s weight.
To the angle of his shoulders.
To the next punch rising.
Thane reached them in three strides.
He seized the suspect by both shoulders from behind.
The man was huge—broad through the back, thick arms, work boots grinding against the pavement—but Thane’s grip closed over muscle and jacket fabric with enough force to stop the next strike in mid-motion.
The man yelled.
A raw, startled sound.
His fists opened.
Thane pulled him backward off the officer in one hard motion.
“Stop moving,” Thane growled.
The man twisted instinctively.
Thane’s claws pressed through the jacket at the shoulder seams, not breaking skin, but making the message clear.
The suspect froze.
Thane’s voice went lower.
“You are under arrest. Do not move.”
The man looked over one shoulder.
Saw the brown wolf behind him.
Saw the badge at Thane’s belt.
Saw the sidearm.
Saw the claws.
The fight went out of him.
Not all at once.
But enough.
“Sit,” Thane said.
The suspect’s breathing came loud and uneven.
Thane walked him sideways toward the curb, his hands locked around both shoulders, controlling every step without jerking or dragging. The man stumbled once. Thane steadied him, not gently, but not cruelly either.
“Sit down.”
The suspect lowered himself onto the sidewalk.
Thane guided him into a seated position with his back against the curb, still holding his shoulders.
The man’s eyes kept flicking toward the patrol car.
Then toward Thane.
Then away.
“Do not move,” Thane said.
“I’m not moving.”
“Good.”
Behind him, Gabriel and Mark were already with the officer.
The Edmond officer had rolled onto one hip. Blood marked his forehead and cheek where skin had scraped against pavement. His uniform shirt was torn at one shoulder. He looked stunned more than dazed, breathing hard through his nose as Gabriel knelt beside him.
“Hey,” Gabriel said. “Stay with me. Where are you hurt?”
The officer blinked at him.
“What the hell?”
“Excellent question,” Gabriel said. “We will put it on the list. Any pain in your neck?”
“My head.”
“Any dizziness?”
“A little.”
“Okay. Do not stand up yet.”
Mark was already beside Gabriel, his compact first-aid pouch open on the pavement between them.
He handed Gabriel sterile pads and a saline wipe without being asked.
Gabriel opened the first packet and leaned closer to the officer.
“This is going to sting.”
“It already stings.”
“Then I am late to the party.”
Mark crouched beside the officer.
“Officer, I am Detective Mark, Cross Timber. Can you tell me what happened?”
The officer took one slow breath.
“Traffic stop,” he said. “Expired tag. That’s it.”
He looked toward the Silverado.
“I asked for his license.”
“And?”
“He got agitated. Said I did not have the right to stop him. Then he got out.”
Mark’s eyes moved briefly toward the suspect.
“Did he say why?”
“No.” The officer swallowed. “He came at me. I went for the taser. It didn’t—”
His eyes flicked toward the yellow wires on the pavement.
“It didn’t do anything.”
Gabriel pressed a dressing against the scrape at the officer’s hairline.
“Can you move both arms?”
The officer flexed his fingers.
“Yeah.”
“Any sharp pain when you breathe?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep sitting. Fire is coming.”
Mark looked down near the patrol car’s bumper.
A driver’s license lay in the grit, apparently knocked free during the struggle.
He picked it up carefully by the edges and looked at the photograph.
Then at the officer.
“Can I use your MDT?”
The officer nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”
Mark moved into the driver’s seat of the patrol unit.
The dashboard computer was already awake.
He entered the license information, kept his movements deliberate, and waited.
The return came back quickly.
His ears lifted.
Then flattened.
“Thane,” he called.
Thane did not look away from the man on the sidewalk.
“Talk.”
“Three active warrants for battery. One for bail jumping.”
The suspect’s face changed.
Thane felt the tension surge under his hands.
He tightened his hold just enough to stop the movement before it became anything else.
“Do not,” he said.
The man went still again.
Mark continued.
“Warrants are from Oklahoma County. Confirmed return.”
Gabriel glanced at the officer.
“That explain the sudden interest in violence?”
The officer gave a bitter laugh, then winced.
“Guess so.”
Mark stepped out of the patrol car and looked toward the Silverado.
“No one has touched the truck beyond the original stop?”
The officer shook his head.
“No.”
“Good. We leave it alone for Edmond.”
Thane listened for sirens.
There.
Two units coming fast from different directions.
The first arrived in less than a minute, sliding in behind the original patrol car. The second followed, blocking the outer lane and creating a safer buffer between the scene and passing traffic.
Doors opened.
Officers came out moving quickly, hands near their belts, eyes taking in the large suspect seated at the curb with Thane holding him in place.
One officer stopped short.
“You Cross Timber?”
Thane nodded.
“Detective Thane. Off duty. Your officer was under attack when we came up.”
The officer looked at the suspect.
Then at Thane’s hands on the man’s shoulders.
“Looks like you got him.”
“He is compliant,” Thane said. “Three outstanding battery warrants and one for bail jumping. License return is confirmed on your MDT. Taser was deployed before we arrived with no apparent effect. We have not searched the truck.”
The second Edmond officer moved to take custody of the suspect.
Thane released his grip only after the officer had a solid hold and the cuffs were secure.
The man did not resist.
Not even a little.
He kept his eyes on the pavement.
Mark gave the next officer a clean summary.
“Original stop was for expired tag. Driver became agitated when asked for identification, exited the Silverado, and assaulted Officer Perez. The license fell during the struggle. I ran the return with Perez’s authorization. Gabriel rendered first aid. EMS is en route.”
Gabriel looked up from the officer, who now had gauze taped above one eyebrow and a bandage on his scraped cheek.
“His head took some pavement. He is alert and answering questions. He needs medical evaluation, but I do not see an obvious major injury.”
Officer Perez looked at Thane.
“Thank you.”
Thane nodded once.
“You good enough to talk to your people?”
Perez gave a tired smile.
“Yeah.”
The officer who had taken custody of the suspect looked between the three wolves.
Then his expression shifted.
“Wait.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“That is rarely a good word.”
“You three are the wolf detectives.”
Gabriel’s ears lifted.
“Sometimes.”
The officer looked at Thane.
“You are all over social media right now.”
Mark’s eyes closed briefly.
Gabriel smiled.
“Oh no.”
“My daughter showed me a video last night.” The officer grinned. “You jumped a soccer fence, landed like some kind of superhero, and scared the hell out of half of Cross Timber.”
Thane looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel looked delighted.
“I told you it had reach.”
“It was a safe landing,” Thane said.
The Edmond officer laughed.
“That is what the comments said. ‘Safe landing, ten out of ten.’”
Mark looked at Thane.
“You see? This is exactly why we do not encourage public stunts.”
Thane’s ears angled back.
“I did not call it a stunt.”
Gabriel put one hand over his heart.
“That makes it so much worse.”
A third officer arrived with a supervisor, and the scene began to settle into the ordinary order of police work: statements, photographs, body cameras, ambulance lights, a tow request for the Silverado, traffic redirected around the shoulder.
The supervisor shook each of their hands.
“Appreciate the help. Seriously.”
Thane looked at Officer Perez, now speaking with paramedics.
“We were already there.”
“Still,” the supervisor said. “Most people drive past.”
Gabriel’s humor softened.
“We were not going to.”
The supervisor nodded.
Then looked at the Humvee.
“You heading somewhere?”
Thane glanced toward the strip mall farther down the road.
“IHOP.”
The supervisor blinked.
Gabriel answered for him.
“He has a personal grievance against homemade pancakes.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said.”
The supervisor laughed.
“Get your breakfast, detectives.”
Thane gave Officer Perez one last nod.
“Take care of yourself.”
Perez lifted one hand from where the paramedic was checking his pulse.
“You too.”
The three wolves walked back toward the Humvee.
Traffic moved around the scene in slow, careful lines. The silver Silverado sat quiet now, driver’s door still open, its expired tag flapping slightly in the wind.
Gabriel climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.
For a moment, no one said anything.
Thane got behind the wheel.
Mark settled into the back, first-aid pouch still open in his lap. He closed it and clipped it back to his belt.
Gabriel looked at Thane.
“You okay?”
Thane started the engine.
“Yeah.”
“You were very calm.”
“I had a job.”
Mark leaned forward.
“You did.”
Thane pulled carefully back onto the road.
The Humvee rolled past the flashing lights and toward the restaurant district.
For a few minutes, the road was quiet.
Then Gabriel looked at him.
“Still, for the record, Detective Seventy-Eight-Point-Five would have been a great nickname.”
Thane glanced sideways.
Gabriel grinned.
Mark made a tired sound from the back seat.
“Gabriel.”
“What? We are off duty.”
Thane’s mouth shifted.
“I will twist off your head like a furry PEZ dispenser.”
Gabriel leaned back against the seat.
“There he is.”
The IHOP in Edmond was crowded.
Sunday families filled most of the booths. Kids colored on paper placemats. Coffee moved constantly between the kitchen and the tables. The smell of syrup, bacon, butter, and fried potatoes hit Thane the moment they walked through the door.
He stopped.
Closed his eyes.
Gabriel looked at him.
“You are having a moment.”
“This is what pancakes are supposed to smell like.”
Mark looked toward the host stand.
“You have not tasted them yet.”
“I can smell the difference.”
Gabriel pointed at him.
“Food snob.”
“Food survivor.”
The hostess recognized them before she finished gathering menus.
“Oh my goodness,” she said. “You are the wolf detectives.”
Gabriel smiled politely.
“We have been called worse.”
Thane looked at him.
“Have we?”
Gabriel considered.
“Not by nice people.”
They were seated in a booth near the window.
Before the server arrived, a little boy at the next table whispered something urgently to his father, who looked over, smiled, and asked whether it would be okay if the boy said hello.
Thane nodded.
The boy approached with the grave courage of someone entering a dragon’s cave.
“Are you the guys from the video?”
Gabriel leaned toward him.
“Which video?”
“The fence one.”
Mark covered his face with one hand.
Thane looked at the boy.
“Maybe.”
The boy smiled.
“My dad showed me. You jumped really high.”
Gabriel looked at Thane.
“He has been insufferable about it since yesterday.”
“I have not.”
Mark lowered his hand.
“You absolutely have.”
“Can you jump over this booth?”
Mark answered immediately.
“No.”
Gabriel laughed so hard he nearly slid out of his seat.
Thane looked at Mark.
“That was fast.”
“I have learned.”
The boy accepted the answer with more grace than Gabriel had expected.
“Okay,” he said. “Can I get a picture?”
By the time the pancakes arrived, the three wolves had taken two photos, signed a placemat, and accepted a small drawing of Thane jumping over a fence with “WOLF HERO” written above it in purple crayon.
Thane set the drawing beside his plate.
Gabriel looked at the stack of pancakes placed in front of him.
Soft, golden, steaming.
Butter melting down the sides.
Syrup in a little metal pitcher.
Thane cut into them.
The fork went through easily.
He took a bite.
Closed his eyes.
Gabriel watched him.
“Well?”
Thane swallowed.
Then looked at him.
“They bend.”
Mark nodded.
“A strong endorsement.”
Gabriel stabbed at his own pancakes.
“I still think the cinnamon ones were underrated.”
Thane poured syrup over the stack.
“You made breakfast insulation.”
Gabriel pointed his fork at him.
“And yet you ate three.”
“I was hungry.”
“That is an admission.”
“It is not.”
Mark reached for his coffee.
“It is a factual statement.”
Gabriel looked at both of them.
“I cannot believe I chose this pack.”
Thane smiled.
“Yes, you can.”
Gabriel looked at him.
Then at Mark.
Then at the drawing of a brown wolf vaulting a fence in a superhero crouch.
His smile softened.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can.”
Outside the window, Edmond moved through its Sunday morning.
Cars passed.
Families carried shopping bags.
Somewhere behind them, a child laughed too loudly.
The patrol officer was alive.
The suspect was in custody.
The pancakes were soft.
For one more hour, at least, the world did not need anything from them.
And the pack let itself enjoy that.