Two weeks did not fix a life.
Silas knew that.
Everyone around him kept saying it in different ways, which helped, because part of him still looked for hidden cliffs under every good day.
Two weeks did not erase burglary charges, victim impact, probation conditions, court orders, or the long shadow of the interview room.
Two weeks did not make him pack.
Not yet.
But two weeks could prove things.
Two weeks could prove that Silas Creed woke up when he was supposed to wake up, went to work when he was supposed to work, checked in when he was supposed to check in, and told the truth when something got hard.
Two weeks could prove that Red Dirt ReBuild had not collapsed under the weight of letting him belong there.
Alejandra Suarez had told Supervisor Hale, in writing, that Silas was punctual, careful, respectful of instruction, and “annoyingly good at moving heavy things only after asking.”
Cam had added a note that said, Silas is cool and does not abuse the label maker.
Alejandra had crossed that out before sending the actual report.
Mark had somehow seen a copy anyway.
Two weeks could prove that Fire Station 3 had not been a fantasy.
Silas had completed three supervised exposure visits. Hose rolling. Equipment cleaning. Hydrant wrench identification. Tool layout. Rehab-area setup during a training drill. No emergency response. No apparatus rides. No station wandering. No hero work.
Training Officer Reaves had described him as “physically exceptional, emotionally cautious, command-responsive, and not nearly as stupid as most first-day volunteers.”
Silas had carried that sentence around for two days.
Ortiz had simply said, “He listens.”
That had mattered more.
Two weeks could prove that Hale could loosen a rope without letting go of it.
The GPS boundary expanded. Approved travel widened. Red Dirt, therapy, grocery store, Station 3 visits, IHOP, Fairview Park, and now the cabin.
The cabin.
Saturday afternoon.
Approved.
Not as an exception surrounded by warnings sharp enough to cut.
As a standing privilege, subject to rules, check-ins, and the simple fact that Hale could revoke it the second Silas forgot what trust was.
He had not forgotten.
He had no intention of forgetting.
So when Silas turned the black Yukon onto the long wooded drive leading to Thane, Gabriel, and Mark’s cabin, he drove slowly.
Not because the gravel required it.
Because he wanted to feel every second.
The Yukon rolled beneath the trees, dark paint catching patches of sunlight through the leaves. It had been returned under conditions after evidence processing, cleaned, inspected, and made boring by court order and a GPS unit that reported where it went.
Silas liked that.
Boring meant allowed.
He parked beside the garage and sat for a moment with both hands on the steering wheel.
Human form today, for the drive.
Wolf later, maybe.
He had learned that wanting to be wolf did not mean proving it every minute.
He texted Hale.
Arrived cabin. Approved visit. Stable.
The reply came quickly.
Acknowledged. Be boring.
Silas stared at it.
Then smiled.
He typed back:
Trying.
Hale sent:
Good.
He put the phone away, climbed out, and walked toward the front door.
The house looked different now that he was allowed to arrive without being escorted like a delicate legal problem.
Still huge.
Still warm.
Still built for bodies that took up space without apology.
The porch boards held under his Keen boots. The door opened to his key code, approved that morning after Mark had called it “controlled access” and Gabriel had called it “domestic boss level unlocked.”
Silas stepped inside.
“Hello?”
No answer.
The great room was empty.
The smell of grilled beef drifted through the house, rich and smoky, mixed with cedar, cut grass, summer air, and familiar wolves.
Voices came from the back deck.
Laughter.
Gabriel’s, unmistakable.
Rusk’s low dry response.
Voss saying something he could not make out.
Thane, somewhere outside, probably at the grill.
Silas smiled and started through the kitchen.
Then he stopped.
Two papers sat on the kitchen table.
Not hidden.
Not locked away.
Not arranged dramatically.
Just placed there beside a mug, a pen, and Mark’s tablet, as if someone had meant to deal with them before the grill demanded attention.
Silas should not have looked.
He knew that.
But his name caught his eye.
RE: SILAS CREED — LEGAL SERVICES AND CASE ADMINISTRATION
His body went still.
The first invoice was from Carroway & Wexler LLP.
The balance due sat at the bottom in clean black numbers.
$193,020.00
Silas stared at it.
His mouth went dry.
Nearly two hundred thousand dollars.
For him.
For lawyers, filings, motions, court appearances, consultations, emergency meetings, probation structuring, independent review, medical detention coordination, release planning, housing setup, fire-service feasibility conversations, and a dozen other descriptions written in polite legal language that did not say what they meant.
Getting him out.
Keeping him out.
Building the door.
His hand moved before he realized it, touching the edge of the paper but not lifting it.
Then he saw the second one.
This one was not from a law firm.
It bore the state seal.
STATE OF OKLAHOMA TREASURY
Below it, in formal language, was a court-referenced payment entry tied to restitution, fees, court costs, victim loss administration, property loss reserves, and related assessments.
Silas’s eyes found the total.
The world narrowed.
$7,209,881.00
He stopped breathing.
Seven million.
Seven million dollars.
More than seven.
His first thought was that it could not be real.
His second was that it was real because Mark would never leave fake numbers on a table.
His third was that he was going to be sick.
Silas stepped back from the table.
The kitchen tilted slightly.
Seven million dollars.
For what he had broken.
For what he had stolen.
For what had been lost, damaged, appraised, litigated, insured, disputed, replaced, restored, and folded into the court’s clean machinery.
For him.
No.
Because of him.
His vision blurred before he understood he was crying.
He heard laughter from the deck again.
Light.
Easy.
Everyone out there relaxed under the summer sun while seven million dollars sat on the kitchen table like an ordinary receipt.
He picked up both invoices with shaking hands.
Then almost dropped them because his claws were not out but his fingers felt too clumsy anyway.
He moved toward the back door.
Too fast.
Not thinking.
Just needing Thane.
The sliding door opened harder than he meant it to.
The deck went quiet.
Thane stood at the grill with a spatula in one paw, smoke curling around him, wearing a sleeveless shirt and old jeans. Gabriel sat sideways in a deck chair with a drink in one hand. Mark stood near the railing with a plate of sliced tomatoes and onions arranged with unnecessary precision.
Voss sat at the table with a bottle of beer.
Rusk had a whiskey glass with one large ice cube and the expression of a man who had been enjoying a rare afternoon without reports.
There were other drinks on the table too. Hard cider. Beer. Sweet tea. Sparkling water because Mark did not do alcohol.
Everyone looked at Silas.
He stood in the doorway, invoices in both hands, face wet, breath coming too fast.
Thane set the spatula down immediately.
“Silas?”
Silas tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Thane crossed the deck in three long strides.
“What’s wrong?”
Silas held up the papers.
“I saw— I did not mean to— they were on the table, and I saw my name, and I—”
Thane looked at the papers.
Understanding hit his face.
Not panic.
Not anger.
That made it worse.
Silas’s words spilled out.
“I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was that much. I didn’t know what they charged. I didn’t know what the restitution was. I knew it was bad, but I did not— Thane, I didn’t know.”
Thane took the papers gently from his hands and set them on the side table without looking at the totals.
Then he pulled Silas into a hug because that was what his body did before thought had a chance to complicate it.
Silas clung to him.
Hard.
Panicked.
“I am sorry,” Silas said into his shoulder. “I am so sorry. I swear I will pay it back. I don’t know how, but I will. I will work forever. I will—”
“Hey.” Thane held him back by both shoulders.
Silas tried to look down.
Thane did not let him.
“Look at me.”
Silas forced his eyes up.
Thane’s face was calm.
Too calm.
Warm, even.
“What’s wrong?” Thane asked.
Silas stared at him.
“What’s wrong?!”
“Yes.”
Silas gave a strangled sound and pointed at the side table.
“That! That is what’s wrong! Thane, that is seven million dollars!”
Gabriel looked at the side table.
Then at Mark.
Mark sighed quietly, the sigh of a man who had expected this to happen eventually and had hoped it would not happen during burgers.
Rusk leaned back slightly.
Voss set her beer down.
Silas’s voice cracked.
“And the attorneys. Almost two hundred thousand. For me. Because of me. You paid that? You paid all that?”
Thane glanced toward the papers.
Then back at Silas.
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Why are you so upset?”
Silas froze.
“What?!”
Thane’s smile warmed.
“You not being chained up in a concrete room?” He shrugged lightly. “Totally worth it.”
For one perfect second, nobody moved.
Then Gabriel barked a laugh.
Not cruel.
Not dismissive.
Just sudden and helpless because Thane had said it like he was talking about a good deal on patio furniture.
Rusk made a dry sound into his glass.
Voss covered her mouth.
Mark looked down, but even he was smiling.
Silas stared at all of them like they had collectively lost their minds.
“You are laughing?”
Gabriel lifted both paws, still laughing.
“Not at you.”
Rusk said, “Mostly at him.”
Thane nodded toward Rusk.
“That is fair.”
Silas looked back at Thane, horrified.
“That is an insane amount of money.”
“Yes.”
“And you are making jokes?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thane’s expression softened, but the humor stayed.
“Because if I do not, you will keep looking like you expect me to hand you back to detention.”
Silas’s mouth closed.
The deck quieted again.
Thane stepped closer.
“Silas. I knew this was going to be spendy.”
Gabriel made a wounded noise.
“Spendy.”
Mark murmured, “Technically accurate.”
Thane ignored them.
“I knew it when I called Eli. I knew it when Nora took the case. I knew it when restitution started getting calculated. I knew it when every expert, appraiser, insurance person, court office, and attorney started turning pain into numbers.”
Silas’s eyes filled again.
Thane’s voice stayed easy, but not careless.
“Consider yourself rescued.”
Silas stared at him.
The phrase hit.
Not quiet.
It hit in sunlight, on a deck, with burgers smoking behind Thane and Voss and Rusk pretending not to be affected and Gabriel wiping his eyes because laughter had become something else.
Thane chuckled once and pulled Silas back into another hug.
“Look, I am thrilled you stopped by.”
Silas made a broken sound that might have been a laugh if it had not been full of tears.
Thane patted his back.
“Have a seat and chill. Burgers are almost ready.”
Silas pulled back just enough to look at him.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am very serious about the burgers.”
“Thane.”
“And about you sitting down.”
Silas pointed weakly toward the side table.
“That is over seven million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“How are you not angry?”
Thane tilted his head.
“At you?”
“Yes.”
“I was never paying because I thought you were cheap.”
Gabriel lost it again, quieter this time.
Rusk looked at his glass.
“That is a sentence.”
Voss wiped at one eye and pretended the sunlight was involved.
Silas shook his head.
“I cannot wrap my head around this.”
“That is fine,” Thane said. “You do not have to wrap your head around it before the burgers burn.”
Mark finally stepped in, because Mark could only let numbers float around emotionally for so long.
“The restitution payment went through the court-administered structure. It is not a direct personal gift to any victim, not a condition purchase, and not a mechanism to influence supervision. It satisfies the financial component cleanly and preserves documentation.”
Silas looked at him.
“That did not help.”
Gabriel said, “It helped Mark.”
Mark nodded.
“Yes.”
Voss leaned forward.
“Silas, listen to the simple version.”
Silas looked at her.
“The money does not erase what happened,” she said. “It does not buy forgiveness. It does not make victims whole in every way that matters. But it does mean the financial harm is not left sitting on their lives while you try to become better.”
Silas swallowed.
Rusk added, “And it means Thane does not lie awake thinking about appraisers.”
Thane looked at him.
Rusk sipped his drink.
“I stand by it.”
Silas looked at the invoices again.
“Seven million.”
Thane smiled.
“You keep saying it like the number is going to apologize.”
“It should.”
Gabriel raised his drink slightly.
“I support numbers apologizing.”
Mark said, “Numbers are descriptive.”
“Not with that attitude.”
Silas let out a thin, overwhelmed laugh.
Then covered his face with one hand.
“I am going to cry again.”
Thane’s voice softened.
“That is allowed.”
Silas shook his head behind his hand.
“I do not know how to be normal about this.”
Thane gently pulled his hand away.
“Then do not be normal. Be here.”
Silas looked at him.
The deck held still around them.
Warm boards.
Smoke.
Summer leaves.
People who knew the cost and had still set out chairs.
Voss gave him a small nod.
Rusk lifted his glass.
Gabriel smiled, eyes wet and bright.
Mark held the plate of tomatoes like it was a sacred duty.
Silas breathed in.
Then out.
“I thought I would owe you forever.”
Thane’s face changed.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
Silas looked at him for a long second.
Then nodded.
“Ok.”
“Good.”
Thane pointed lightly toward one of the empty chairs.
“Then sit down and owe me eating a burger before Gabriel takes yours.”
Gabriel sat up.
“I would never.”
Mark said, “You would.”
“Only if abandoned.”
Silas looked at the chair.
Then at the side table.
Then back at Thane.
“You are really not mad.”
“No.”
“Not even concerned?”
Thane tilted his head.
“I mean, yeah. You were damn expensive.”
Silas went completely still.
Gabriel’s eyes widened.
Mark looked down at his plate like he knew exactly where this was going and wanted no legal responsibility for it.
Thane gestured toward the grill with the spatula.
“You are why we are having burgers instead of steaks.”
Silas’s face went pale under the shock of it.
For one terrible second, he looked like he had been punched.
Then Gabriel broke.
A sharp, helpless laugh burst out of him. Rusk followed with a low chuckle. Voss covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. Even Mark lost the corner of his composure.
Thane stepped closer immediately, smiling but gentle.
“Silas. Hey.”
Silas stared at him.
Thane put one paw on his shoulder.
“I’m kidding.”
Silas blinked hard.
“That was awful.”
“Yes,” Thane said. “But your face was incredible.”
Gabriel wheezed. “It really was.”
Silas looked around the deck, horrified and slowly realizing everyone was laughing because no one was angry.
Thane squeezed his shoulder.
“You are worth it. Without question.”
The laughter softened.
Thane’s voice stayed easy, but the truth under it was solid.
“We have plenty of cash. Don’t worry about the money. We’re not hurting. We’re not resentful. We’re not sitting out here secretly calculating how many steaks you cost.”
Silas’s mouth trembled.
Thane smiled.
“We’re just glad you are doing well.”
Silas’s smile faded a little, not gone, just overwhelmed again.
“That’s still too much money.”
Thane’s expression softened.
He set the spatula down and stepped closer.
“Silas.”
Silas looked at him.
“The money is no big deal.”
Silas started to object.
Thane lifted one paw.
“To us,” he said. “I know it is a big number. I know what it means. I know why it scares you. But to us, it’s just money.”
The deck quieted.
Thane’s voice stayed warm.
“You are not just money.”
Silas went very still.
Thane placed a paw on his shoulder.
“I love you. I want to see you succeed. I want to see you happy, and safe, and wolf, and proud of what you are becoming. That is worth any amount of money.”
Silas’s eyes filled again.
Thane gave him a small smile.
“So please stop looking at me like you accidentally bankrupted the pack. You didn’t.”
Gabriel said softly, “We remain irresponsibly solvent.”
Mark nodded.
“Financially stable.”
Rusk lifted his glass.
“Still rich. Unfortunately.”
Voss smiled.
Silas let out a wet laugh, but the tears spilled anyway.
Thane squeezed his shoulder.
“You’re doing well. That is what matters.”
Silas swallowed hard.
“I love you too.”
The words came out rough and surprised, like he had not planned to say them until they were already standing between them.
Thane’s face softened all the way.
“I know.”
Silas laughed through the tears.
Thane pulled him into a hug.
Silas held on tight, and this time nobody rushed the moment.
Silas looked down, overwhelmed all over again.
Then he gave a small, wet laugh.
“I hate that I believed you for a second.”
Gabriel lifted his drink.
“That means the joke had structure.”
Mark said, “It was emotionally hazardous.”
Voss nodded.
“Also funny as hell.”
Silas wiped at his face and pointed at Thane.
“You are terrible.”
Thane grinned.
“Yes. But still grilling you a burger.”
“I am concerned the burgers are about to pass medium.”
Gabriel stood halfway.
“That is real.”
Thane turned toward the grill.
Silas caught his arm.
Thane looked back.
Silas’s voice was low.
“I will not waste this.”
The humor eased from Thane’s face, but the warmth remained.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Silas swallowed.
“You should make me promise something.”
Thane smiled faintly.
“I already did.”
“What?”
“Today.”
Silas closed his eyes once.
Then nodded.
“Today.”
Thane squeezed his shoulder and returned to the grill.
Silas stood frozen for one more breath.
Then Gabriel patted the empty chair beside him.
“Come sit before he pretends not to overcook mine.”
Thane called from the grill, “I heard that.”
“I intended you to.”
Silas sat.
Slowly.
Voss slid a glass of iced tea toward him.
“No alcohol for you unless Hale clears it.”
Silas blinked.
“I wasn’t going to—”
“I know,” Voss said. “But it is good to have one person on this deck sounding responsible.”
Rusk lifted his whiskey.
“I nominate Mark.”
Mark set the tomato plate down.
“I am already responsible.”
Gabriel looked at Silas.
“How does it feel to join a social gathering mid-financial crisis?”
Silas gave him a weak glare.
“I hate all of you.”
Gabriel beamed.
“He is recovering.”
Thane plated the burgers and brought them over, stacking them with the confidence of someone who believed food could stabilize at least twenty percent of emotional emergencies.
He set one in front of Silas.
Silas stared at it.
Then at Thane.
“Eat,” Thane said.
Silas picked it up.
Took a bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Then laughed once, soft and disbelieving.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
Silas looked at the burger.
“I am sitting here crying about seven million dollars and this is a really good burger.”
Thane pointed at him.
“That is the correct emotional balance.”
Rusk nodded.
“Grief, shock, and proper seasoning.”
Voss said, “That sounds like one of your reports.”
“It would be one of Gabriel’s,” Rusk said.
Gabriel looked offended.
“My reports have flair.”
Mark said, “Your reports have avoidable adjectives.”
Silas laughed again.
This time it did not break.
It stayed.
They ate.
The conversation did not pretend nothing had happened. It simply made room around it.
Voss asked Silas about Red Dirt. Silas told her Alejandra had promoted him from “do not touch the label maker” to “touch the label maker only if Cam is not nearby.” Rusk said that sounded like a major workplace advancement.
Mark asked about Station 3. Silas said Reaves had made him roll hose until his hands remembered it better than his head.
Gabriel asked whether Reaves had smiled yet.
Silas said no.
Everyone agreed this was probably wise.
Thane ate two burgers and watched Silas slowly return to himself.
The invoices remained on the side table.
Still enormous.
Still real.
But they no longer owned the deck.
Eventually, Silas looked at Thane again.
“I do not know how to thank you for that much.”
Thane wiped his paws with a napkin.
“You can start by not stealing any more houses.”
Silas stared.
Gabriel made a strangled sound.
Rusk closed his eyes.
Voss said, “Thane.”
Mark said, “Technically—”
Silas started laughing before Mark could finish.
He bent forward over his plate, shoulders shaking, and this time the laughter was not overwhelmed panic. It was horrified, relieved, helpless laughter.
Thane smiled.
Silas pointed at him.
“You are awful.”
“Yes.”
“I am trying to have a serious emotional moment.”
“I noticed.”
“And you said that.”
“Yes.”
Silas wiped at his face.
“I hate you.”
“You do not.”
“No,” Silas admitted. “I really don’t.”
The deck softened again.
Thane leaned back in his chair.
“Besides, you owe me something else.”
Silas froze.
Not badly.
But enough.
Thane grinned.
“You owe me a full felony transformation one of these days.”
Silas stared at him.
“No.”
Thane reached behind him and produced a pair of handcuffs from somewhere.
Silas’s eyes went wide.
“Why do you have those?”
“I am a detective.”
“You are grilling burgers.”
“I multitask.”
Gabriel slowly lowered his drink.
“Oh no.”
Thane hooked one cuff over one claw and gave it a lazy spin around his finger.
“All I am saying is, for historical accuracy, we start with the cuffs. You do the arrogant little smile.”
Silas pointed at him.
“No.”
“Then you say the line.”
“I am not saying the line.”
Gabriel’s face had gone bright with anticipation.
“Say the line.”
Silas glared at him.
“You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on entertainment’s side.”
Thane kept twirling the cuffs.
“Then you break them, shift, throw the door open, make the dramatic hallway entrance—”
Voss put her beer down.
“Absolutely not.”
Rusk lifted one hand.
“I am retiring before I write the phrase ‘voluntary felony transformation reenactment’ in any report.”
Mark said, “There will be no custodial-escape roleplay on the deck.”
Thane looked wounded.
“It would be supervised.”
“No,” Mark said.
“Controlled.”
“No.”
“Educational.”
“No.”
Silas folded both arms.
“I am not attacking you for nostalgia.”
Thane grinned.
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“A tasteful lunge?”
“No.”
“One menacing step?”
Silas stared at him.
Thane spun the handcuffs again.
“I can work with one menacing step.”
Gabriel wheezed into his drink.
Voss was laughing now despite herself.
Rusk pointed at Thane.
“You are the reason policy manuals get longer.”
Thane looked at Silas, still hopeful.
Silas leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed.
“You are enjoying this way too much.”
“Yes.”
“That was one of the worst nights of my life.”
The deck quieted by half a breath.
Then Silas’s mouth twitched.
“And somehow you have turned it into dinner theater.”
Gabriel lost it.
Mark looked down, shoulders shaking.
Thane’s grin softened.
“Only because you are sitting here safe enough to tell me no.”
Silas blinked.
The laughter gentled.
Thane set the handcuffs on the table.
“No reenactment.”
Silas watched him.
Thane added, “But the reveal was still cool as hell.”
Silas looked away, trying and failing not to smile.
“You are impossible.”
“Yes.”
“And I am never doing the felony transformation.”
Thane picked up the spatula again.
“Noted.”
Rusk said, “Documented.”
Mark said, “Denied.”
Gabriel lifted his drink.
“Appeal pending.”
Silas groaned.
“I hate this pack.”
The deck erupted.
Gabriel nearly choked on his drink.
Voss laughed outright.
Rusk set his glass down carefully like it had become a hazard.
“I am not writing that report.”
Voss wiped at her eyes.
“No one is writing that report.”
Mark said, “If a voluntary full shift occurs under approved conditions, it is not—”
Gabriel interrupted.
“Mark, please do not legalize the felony transformation.”
Silas put his face in both hands.
“I cannot believe these are my mentors.”
Thane’s voice softened under the laughter.
“Your terrible rescue package.”
Silas lowered his hands.
His eyes were wet again, but he was smiling.
“Yes.”
That one word was quiet enough that only wolves would have heard the full weight of it.
Thane did.
Gabriel did.
Mark did.
Voss and Rusk understood anyway.
The afternoon moved on.
Burgers became second burgers.
The drinks sweated on the table.
The sun lowered behind the trees.
At some point, Silas went quiet and looked back toward the kitchen through the glass door.
Thane noticed.
He always noticed now.
“Hey.”
Silas looked at him.
“You okay?”
Silas took a long breath.
“I think so.”
“That sounded careful.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
Silas looked at the kitchen again.
“I thought seeing a number like that would mean I was too much.”
Thane’s expression softened.
Silas continued.
“Too expensive. Too hard. Too much damage. Too much trouble.”
Gabriel’s face went still.
Mark looked down at the table.
Silas looked back at Thane.
“But everyone here already knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you invited me anyway.”
Thane nodded.
“Yes.”
Silas’s voice dropped.
“That may take me a while.”
Thane leaned forward.
“We have a while.”
Silas’s mouth trembled.
Then steadied.
“Today?”
Thane smiled.
“Today.”
Rusk lifted his glass.
“To today.”
Voss lifted hers.
“To today.”
Gabriel lifted his cider.
“To terrible rescue packages.”
Mark lifted his sparkling water.
“To clean documentation.”
Everyone looked at him.
Mark shrugged.
“It matters.”
Silas laughed and lifted his iced tea.
“To not being chained up in a concrete room.”
The laughter that followed was soft.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was survivable.
Thane watched Silas drink, watched the sunlight catch the gray in his dark hair in human form, watched him sit at the table with people who knew the worst numbers and did not move away.
Worth it.
Every dollar.
Every apology.
Every legal meeting.
Every time he had stopped himself from making help dirty by pushing too hard.
Worth it.
Silas set the glass down and looked at him.
“What?”
Thane smiled.
“Nothing.”
Silas narrowed his eyes.
“That is suspicious.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“He is thinking emotional things.”
Mark nodded.
“Likely.”
Rusk said, “Dangerous.”
Voss smiled.
“Let him.”
Silas looked at Thane a little longer.
Then, for once, did not ask him to explain.
He just sat back in his chair, on the deck of a house built for wolves, with the smell of burgers in the air and the sound of pack around him, while two invoices proved that sometimes rescue came with numbers too large to understand and love too stubborn to be sensible.
The sun slipped lower.
The burgers disappeared.
Nobody mentioned leaving.
And for one more ordinary, impossible Saturday afternoon, Silas Creed was not being stored until he failed.
He was here.
Rescued.
Laughing.
And totally worth it.