The next few days were boring.
Thane did not trust boring, but he appreciated it.
Boring meant reports got finished.
Boring meant patrol only needed them for things that did not leave holes in anyone’s clothing.
Boring meant Gabriel had time to complain about the second fridge being “emotionally reorganized” by Silas, Mark had time to clear three follow-up summaries before Crowe could ask for them, and Silas had two straight evenings where he came home from Red Dirt dusty, hungry, and not carrying anything heavier than his lunch bag.
Boring meant the world had briefly forgotten to demand proof.
Wednesday evening, Silas came through the cabin door at 5:41 wearing work pants, a Red Dirt ReBuild shirt, and the expression of someone whose day had involved lumber, concrete dust, and one human coworker doing something inefficient with a pallet jack.
Gabriel stood in the kitchen packing food into containers for the shift.
Thane sat at the island with coffee.
Mark stood beside the counter reviewing something on his tablet because Mark believed the time before shift was best spent confirming that the universe remained organized against all evidence.
Silas closed the door behind him and sniffed.
“Is that chicken?”
Gabriel did not look up.
“It is not for you.”
Silas walked toward the kitchen.
“I did not ask if it was for me.”
“You asked with your face.”
“I have a face.”
“A guilty one.”
Silas stopped at the island and looked at Thane.
“I have been home twenty seconds.”
Thane smiled.
“New record.”
Mark looked up.
“Technically not. Last Thursday Gabriel accused him of stealing bacon before he entered the room.”
Gabriel pointed with a spoon.
“And I was correct.”
Silas pulled out a chair.
“The bacon was in the freezer peas.”
“Hidden bacon is not public bacon.”
“It was poorly hidden.”
“That is victim blaming.”
Thane’s phone chimed before Mark could become involved in the legal theory of frozen meat possession.
The notification showed Dane Holliker’s name.
Thane paused.
Gabriel noticed immediately.
“Wyoming?”
Thane opened the email.
“Yes.”
Silas leaned forward.
Mark set his tablet down.
Thane read it silently first.
Then smiled.
Gabriel’s ears lifted.
“Oh, that is a dangerous smile.”
Thane cleared his throat and read aloud.
“Hey Thane,
We made it back to Laramie safe. Cal says I am required to begin with that because otherwise you will assume I drove into Colorado by accident.”
Gabriel laughed.
Silas smiled.
Thane continued.
“Thank you again for everything. The dinner, the guest room, breakfast, the leftovers, all of it. I know we said it in person, but I do not think we said it enough. You all made a road trip we were nervous about into one of the best things either of us has done in years.
Cal says to tell Mark the cabin framing made him jealous, which is apparently high praise. He also says Gabriel’s coffee was dangerous and should be regulated. I say breakfast should be a public utility.
Mostly, thank you for letting us see the den side of things. Seeing you at the station was amazing. Dinner was amazing. But the cabin mattered in a different way. It helped.
We are back at work tomorrow. Same roofs, same beams, same Wyoming wind, but things feel different. Straighter, like I said.
If you ever make it north, you have friends here.
Dane.
P.S. Cal says that last sentence was too dramatic. I said it was accurate.”
Thane lowered the phone.
For a moment, the kitchen held still.
Not heavy.
Warm.
Gabriel leaned against the counter.
“I like him.”
Mark nodded.
“Cal’s construction opinion is meaningful.”
Silas looked at Thane.
“They made it back.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel’s eyes went distant in a way Thane knew too well.
That was not thought.
That was incoming suggestion.
“No,” Mark said.
Gabriel turned to him.
“I have not said anything.”
“You have a pre-proposal face.”
Silas looked interested.
“There is a face for that?”
“With Gabriel, yes,” Mark said.
Gabriel ignored him and looked at Thane.
“We should go.”
Thane did not answer immediately.
Gabriel spread both paws.
“What? We should. They drove all the way down here to meet us. We should go see them in their world. Wyoming wolves. Construction sites. Mountains. Wind. Probably enormous steaks served by people who understand altitude.”
Mark said, “Altitude does not inherently improve steak.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You don’t know that emotionally.”
Silas leaned back in his chair.
“You want to road-trip to Wyoming?”
Gabriel pointed at him.
“You say that like it doesn’t sound excellent.”
Silas glanced at Thane.
Thane was already thinking about it.
Not as impulse.
Not entirely.
Dane and Cal had come south with gratitude folded so tightly it had taken a hug to crack it open. They had seen the station. The restaurant. The den. They had gone home straighter.
Maybe going north mattered too.
Not to rescue anyone.
Not to make speeches.
Just to answer the road they had taken.
Mark’s eyes shifted toward Thane.
“If we did it, it would require scheduling, shift coverage, Silas’s probation travel approval, vehicle preparation, lodging assumptions, and time off from Red Dirt.”
Gabriel smiled slowly.
“That was not no.”
“No,” Mark said. “It was a list.”
Silas looked down at his own phone.
“I would need to ask Red Dirt. And Hale.”
Thane nodded.
“Yes.”
Gabriel leaned closer.
“So we are doing this?”
Thane opened a reply.
“We are asking.”
He typed:
Dane,
Glad you made it home safe. Tell Cal the framing compliment has been received with excessive seriousness by Mark.
We had a blast too. You two were easy to host.
Would you want visitors next week? We were talking about coming up, seeing Wyoming, meeting you on your ground for a few days. No pressure. We know work schedules exist.
Thane
He hit send.
The reply came back so quickly the phone chimed before he could set it down.
Gabriel stared.
“That was supernatural.”
Mark said, “It was a push notification.”
Thane opened it.
The entire email body read:
Yes, absolutely yes!!
Thane chuckled.
Silas smiled.
Gabriel clapped once.
“Dane has spoken.”
Mark said, “Cal has not.”
The phone chimed again.
Thane looked.
A second email.
Cal says yes too. He is pretending to be calm about it and failing.
Gabriel pointed at Mark.
“There. Calm officially failed.”
Thane replied:
Probably Sunday afternoon arrival. We could stay a few days if that is okay. We will get time off and confirm.
The answer came back almost instantly.
Yes. Yes. Stay. Absolutely. We will make room. I am not yelling. Cal says I am typing like yelling. I do not care.
Thane laughed.
Gabriel leaned over the island.
“Read that again.”
Thane did.
Silas laughed quietly.
“That is very Dane.”
Mark’s mouth moved faintly.
“It is also efficient.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“In what universe?”
“He communicated enthusiasm, consent, logistics acceptance, and Cal’s commentary in four sentences.”
Gabriel considered.
“Fine. Efficiently unhinged.”
Thane set the phone down.
Then looked at Silas.
“Request next week off.”
Silas nodded.
“I can ask.”
“And Hale.”
Silas’s expression sobered, but not badly.
“Yeah.”
He pulled out his phone.
Gabriel moved the chicken containers farther from him.
Silas looked up.
“I am not stealing shift food.”
“I am creating a secure perimeter.”
Silas ignored him and typed first to his Red Dirt supervisor.
The answer took four minutes.
Silas read it.
“Red Dirt says yes. Schedule is light next week. They can move me to the following Monday.”
Gabriel looked offended.
“Workplaces are not supposed to be that reasonable.”
Silas smiled faintly.
“I have been useful.”
Mark said, “Reliability creates flexibility.”
Silas looked at him.
“I am going to pretend that sounded normal.”
Then he called Hale.
Not texted.
Called.
That mattered.
Silas stood from the island and walked toward the windows, phone to his ear.
“Supervisor Hale? It’s Silas Creed.”
The kitchen quieted.
Not because they needed to listen.
Because they cared.
Silas stood with one paw resting lightly on the window frame.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m calling to request travel permission for next week.”
He listened.
“No, not work-related. Personal. The pack wants to visit two full-time wolves in Wyoming. Laramie area. Dane Holliker and Cal Renshaw. They came down to Cross Timber earlier this week to meet Thane, Gabriel, and Mark. I met them too.”
Another pause.
“Yes, ma’am. I would be with Thane, Gabriel, and Mark the whole time. We would drive up Sunday, probably arrive afternoon. Stay a few days. I can send the address once Dane gives it to us. GPS stays active. Phone on. I will answer check-ins. No alcohol. No weapons. No leaving approved area without calling.”
Gabriel whispered, “He is very good at this now.”
Mark nodded.
Silas glanced back at them, caught the whisper, and pointed one claw in warning without interrupting the call.
Thane smiled.
Silas listened again.
His ears shifted.
Then lifted slightly.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand. Thank you.”
A pause.
Then his expression changed.
Softer.
“I will. Thank you.”
He ended the call.
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Well?”
Silas turned from the window.
“She approved it pending address and dates in writing. Red Dirt approval needs forwarded. She said as long as I keep GPS on, answer check-ins, travel with approved support contacts, and stay within the approved plan, she is fine with it.”
Mark nodded.
“Reasonable.”
Thane watched Silas.
“And?”
Silas looked down at the phone.
“She said, ‘Have a great time.’”
No one joked.
Not for a second.
Silas looked faintly embarrassed by the warmth of it, which was how Thane knew it mattered.
Gabriel recovered first, but gently.
“Well. Probation has endorsed vacation.”
Mark said, “Conditional travel.”
“Vacation,” Gabriel repeated.
Silas smiled.
“Conditional vacation.”
Thane stood and grabbed his jacket.
“Then we ask Mercer.”
Gabriel picked up the shift food.
“Nothing says vacation planning like asking the man with antacids.”
Mark looked at the clock.
“If we leave now, we still arrive before handoff.”
Silas looked at the three of them.
“You are going to ask tonight?”
Thane nodded.
“Yes.”
Silas’s smile started slowly.
“Wyoming.”
Gabriel grinned.
“Wyoming.”
Mark collected his tablet.
“Laramie.”
Gabriel sighed.
“Let us have the feeling first.”
Mercer heard the request at 6:32 p.m.
By 6:33, he had removed his glasses.
By 6:34, he had leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling like it might contain guidance from a municipal god with authority over staffing, liability, and emotionally significant werewolf road trips.
Thane stood in front of his desk with Gabriel and Mark beside him.
Crowe leaned against the doorway because she had heard the words “Wyoming wolves” from the hall and decided, correctly, that command awareness was required.
Mercer looked back down.
“You want next week off.”
“Yes,” Thane said.
“To drive to Wyoming.”
“Yes.”
“To visit the two werewolves who drove here because your viral existence altered their relationship with public identity.”
Gabriel looked at Mark.
“He summarized that well.”
Mark nodded.
“Very.”
Mercer pointed at them.
“Do not compliment me while I am processing.”
Crowe’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Thane said, “Routine schedule is clear. No major case pending. Reports are current. Mark checked.”
Mercer looked at Mark.
“Of course he did.”
Mark held up the tablet.
“I can send coverage notes.”
“Of course you can.”
Gabriel added, “Silas got Red Dirt approval and probation travel approval.”
Mercer’s eyebrows lifted.
“Already?”
Thane nodded.
“Hale said have a great time.”
Mercer stared.
Then slowly smiled.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Crowe looked at Thane.
“She approved out-of-state travel?”
“Pending address and written itinerary.”
Mark said, “All conditions ordinary for supervised travel.”
Mercer leaned forward.
“You three understand that if you go to Wyoming, you are not Cross Timber’s roaming werewolf response team.”
Gabriel looked wounded.
“That was my second vacation brochure title.”
“No.”
Mark said, “Jurisdiction remains local. We would be private visitors.”
Thane nodded.
“If something immediate happens, we render aid and hand off. Same off-duty rule.”
Mercer looked between them.
“That better stay theoretical.”
“It usually does not,” Gabriel said.
Mercer closed his eyes.
Crowe said, “Gabriel.”
“What? It was honest.”
Mercer opened his eyes again.
“You have earned some chill time.”
That made Thane stop.
Mercer said it plainly.
No sarcasm covering it.
“You have. All of you. The department can survive a few days without Night Shift making the building more interesting.”
Gabriel looked touched.
Then suspicious.
“Is this a trap where you assign us training modules?”
“No.”
Mark asked, “Will we need to submit formal leave requests?”
“Yes,” Mercer said. “Because civilization has forms.”
Mark nodded.
“Good.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You are happy.”
“I prefer official approval.”
Crowe crossed her arms.
“I will approve at unit level. Mercer can push it through admin. Keep your phones on for genuine emergencies only.”
Gabriel pointed at her.
“That is still phones on.”
Crowe looked at him.
“Do you want the leave?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“Then accept victory quietly.”
Gabriel closed his mouth.
Mercer picked up a pen.
“Send me dates, where you are staying, and emergency contact information once Dane and Cal give it to you. I will put the request through.”
Thane nodded.
“Thank you.”
Mercer’s expression softened by one degree.
“Go see Wyoming. Meet the people. Eat whatever horrifying quantity of beef Gabriel is already imagining. Come back rested.”
Gabriel lifted one paw.
“The beef quantity is not horrifying if everyone participates.”
Mark said, “That is not how quantity works.”
Mercer pointed toward the door.
“Go do handoff before I reconsider every word after ‘yes.’”
Crowe stepped aside.
“Move.”
They moved.
In the hall, Gabriel exhaled like he had been holding his breath for the entire meeting.
“We are going to Wyoming.”
Mark said, “Pending paperwork.”
Gabriel turned to Thane.
“We are going to Wyoming.”
Thane smiled.
“Yes.”
Handoff was normal enough to feel rude.
Voss and Rusk were waiting in the detective room with coffee, two folders, and the weary satisfaction of people who had created order and were ready to make it someone else’s problem.
Voss looked at the trio as they entered.
“Mercer approved your wolf exchange program?”
Mark said, “It is not an exchange program.”
Gabriel smiled.
“That phrasing is spreading.”
Rusk leaned back.
“I am calling it the Wyoming summit.”
Thane shook his head.
“No.”
Voss said, “Too late. It has minutes.”
Crowe entered behind them.
“There are no minutes.”
Rusk looked at Mark.
“There could be.”
Mark considered.
Crowe said, “Mark.”
He looked down.
“No minutes.”
Gabriel whispered, “The summit survives in spirit.”
Voss handed over the first folder.
“Before you emotionally leave the state, two burglary follow-ups. Both routine. First: pawnshop lead on the Haskell lawn-equipment theft. Owner claims the mower was brought in by a man named Brent Tavener. Patrol has not located Tavener yet. No urgent action tonight unless he falls into your lap.”
Mark took the folder.
“Understood.”
Rusk handed over the second.
“Second: fraud complaint from Cedar Pines Senior Living. Someone called residents pretending to be from the county assessor. Staff caught it early. Financial crimes has most of it, but night patrol may get calls if residents panic after family members hear about it.”
Gabriel frowned.
“Scamming seniors. Charming.”
Voss nodded.
“Exactly. Be patient if patrol calls. Some of them are embarrassed. Staff is doing the right thing.”
Thane nodded.
“What else?”
Rusk checked his notes.
“Domestic disturbance from last night, no arrest, parties separated. Patrol may ask for follow-up if the brother returns for his tools.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“His tools?”
“Specifically a tile saw, two batteries, and a cooler he claims contains brisket.”
Gabriel’s head came up.
“Contains?”
Voss pointed at him.
“No.”
“I have questions.”
“You do not.”
Mark said, “Property dispute. Not food investigation.”
Gabriel muttered, “That is how food crime hides.”
Crowe looked at Voss.
“Anything serious?”
“No,” Voss said. “Which I know guarantees nothing.”
Rusk stood.
“Also, Mrs. Keene dropped off brownies again.”
Thane looked toward the break room.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“Again?”
Voss smiled.
“She said they were for Night Shift.”
Rusk picked up his jacket.
“We protected them by eating two.”
Mark said, “That is not protection.”
Rusk said, “Evidence reduction.”
Voss walked toward the door.
“Have a quiet one.”
Gabriel pointed after her.
“You know better.”
She looked back.
“I do.”
Then she left with Rusk, both of them escaping into the evening like people who had handed the baton cleanly and wanted no further relationship with it.
Crowe looked at the trio.
“You have normal patrol support tonight. Keep it normal.”
Gabriel said, “We do not control the city’s commitment to weird.”
Crowe looked at Thane.
“Try.”
Thane nodded.
“We will.”
She looked at Gabriel.
“You specifically.”
Gabriel put a paw to his chest.
“I am wounded by selective realism.”
Crowe left.
Mark checked the board.
Gabriel checked the brownies.
Thane checked his phone.
Dane had already sent another email.
Cal is making a list of things to show you. I am making a better list. His includes construction sites. Mine includes steak. Both include Vedauwoo because if you come to Laramie and do not see the rocks, Wyoming revokes us.
Thane smiled and put the phone away.
Shift started.
The first patrol assist came at 8:14 p.m.
Officer Boyd requested detective backup at a duplex near Pine Hollow after a neighbor reported “someone breaking into a shed with a power tool.”
That sounded promising.
It became less promising when they arrived and found Boyd standing in the driveway with a woman in paint-stained jeans, a man holding a cordless drill, and a shed door halfway off its hinges.
The man lifted one hand.
“I live here.”
The woman pointed at him.
“He used to live here.”
Boyd looked at Thane with the expression of a man who had been standing between divorced adults for twelve minutes and wanted a second species involved.
“Detectives.”
Gabriel surveyed the scene.
“Property dispute?”
Boyd nodded.
“Former fiancé. Mr. Lyle Brannon. Ms. Tessa Morland. He moved out three weeks ago. Says his tools are still in the shed. She says he was told to arrange a time and not show up with a drill.”
Lyle held up the drill.
“I did not break in. The lock is mine.”
Tessa said, “It is on my shed.”
“It was our shed.”
“It is on my lease.”
“It has my saw.”
“It has my Christmas decorations too, and I did not bring a crowbar to your apartment.”
“It is a drill.”
“Emotionally, it is a crowbar.”
Gabriel leaned toward Mark.
“She has a point.”
Mark said, “Emotionally is not legally dispositive.”
Thane looked at Lyle.
“Put the drill down.”
Lyle looked at the drill.
Then at Thane.
Then put the drill down on the driveway with great care.
“Thank you,” Thane said.
Lyle swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
Tessa folded her arms.
“He always listens when the huge wolf says it.”
Gabriel said, “That is a common but legally insufficient dispute-resolution model.”
Boyd covered a smile with one hand.
Mark walked through the facts.
Lease in Tessa’s name.
Text messages showing Lyle had agreed to pick up property Saturday morning with her brother present.
No permission tonight.
No forced entry yet, but lock damaged.
Tessa wanted him gone.
Lyle wanted the saw because he had a job tomorrow.
The solution took twenty-seven minutes, three phone calls, and one written civil standby agreement for Saturday morning. Tessa agreed to let Boyd remove the tile saw from the shed tonight if Lyle stayed by the curb and did not approach the house. Lyle agreed to leave immediately after receiving it. The rest would wait.
Boyd retrieved the saw.
Lyle took it like a man receiving a hostage under treaty.
Tessa watched from the porch.
Gabriel looked at the shed door.
“You need a new hasp.”
Tessa sighed.
“I know.”
Thane handed her a case card.
“Call patrol if he comes back outside the agreed time.”
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
Lyle loaded the saw into his truck and looked back once.
Thane said, “Saturday. Daylight. Officer present.”
“Yes, sir.”
He left.
Boyd exhaled.
“Thank you. They were on loop.”
Mark said, “Property disputes often become repetitive because both parties are arguing ownership and hurt simultaneously.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“That was bleakly romantic.”
Thane looked at the damaged shed.
“Normal night.”
Boyd smiled.
“So far.”
Gabriel pointed at him.
“Do not.”
The second call came from Cedar Pines Senior Living.
Voss had called it.
Patrol requested Night Shift because three residents had received voicemails from the fake county assessor scammer after dinner, and one man had packed a shoebox with cash because the voice told him his property taxes were delinquent and deputies would come tonight.
Officer Serrano met them in the lobby.
“Staff caught it before any money left the building,” she said. “But Mr. Jory is embarrassed and angry. Mostly embarrassed.”
Gabriel’s expression changed.
He hated scams.
Thane did too.
Mark hated the structure of them.
They found Mr. Neil Jory in a small sitting room with a staff member named Alina Graves. Jory was eighty-two, narrow, sharp-eyed, and furious enough to sit very upright despite the cane beside him.
The shoebox sat on the table.
It had once held loafers.
Now it held cash, a cashier’s check, and three letters that had nothing to do with taxes.
Jory looked at the three werewolves entering the room.
“Oh, wonderful. They sent the big guns because I nearly got taken like a fool.”
Thane took the chair across from him.
“No.”
Gabriel sat beside him.
“They sent us because the scammer is a fool and we are available.”
Jory’s eyes narrowed.
Mark remained standing, tablet ready.
Serrano leaned near the door.
Jory pointed at the shoebox.
“I taught shop class for thirty-six years. I served on the library board. I know better.”
Mark said, “Scams are designed to bypass knowledge by creating urgency.”
Jory looked at him.
“What?”
Gabriel translated.
“They scared you on purpose so you would not have time to be as smart as you are.”
Jory looked down at the shoebox.
That landed.
Alina’s face softened.
Thane asked for the voicemail.
Jory played it.
The voice was synthetic-smooth, official enough if someone was worried and alone. Delinquent property assessment. Enforcement window. Immediate payment required. Failure to comply. Deputy dispatch.
Mark recorded details. Number spoofed. Script matched county-assessor scam. They would forward it to financial crimes.
Thane looked at Jory.
“No deputy is coming for taxes tonight.”
Jory barked a laugh.
“I know that now.”
“Good.”
“I almost gave him my bank number.”
“But you did not.”
“Because Alina knocked before I finished.”
Alina said, “Because you missed pudding.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Pudding saves lives.”
She nodded.
“Tonight it did.”
Jory’s mouth trembled once, anger fighting shame.
“I hate feeling stupid.”
Thane leaned forward.
“Then be angry at the person who lied to you. Not the man he tried to trick.”
Jory looked at him for a long second.
Then nodded.
Once.
Hard.
Mark gave staff a clean list of reporting steps, numbers to block, signs to watch for, and a short script they could use with residents in the morning. Gabriel asked whether the residents would respond better to a plain-language warning sheet.
Alina said yes.
Mark had one drafted before they left the room.
Gabriel stared.
“You had that ready?”
Mark said, “Voss warned us.”
Serrano looked at the tablet.
“This is actually helpful.”
Mark blinked.
“Yes.”
Gabriel whispered, “Praise him carefully. He may create a packet.”
Mark said, “Already done.”
Thane smiled.
Jory stood slowly and held out a hand.
Thane took it.
The old man’s grip was thin but firm.
“You catch him?”
“We will try.”
Jory nodded.
“Good. Tell him an old shop teacher said his script needs work.”
Gabriel smiled.
“That may be our entire report title.”
Mark said, “No.”
At 10:22 p.m., they were sent to the Cross Timber Public Library.
Not for a crime.
Not technically.
The night custodian had called because the automatic doors would not lock, the alarm panel kept chirping, and he was convinced someone was still inside because motion sensors showed movement in the children’s section.
Patrol was tied up with a minor crash, so Night Shift took it.
Gabriel looked at the library as they pulled up.
“If this is another squirrel, I resign.”
Mark said, “You cannot resign from squirrel jurisdiction. There is no such jurisdiction.”
“That is what squirrels want us to think.”
Thane parked the Humvee near the entrance.
The custodian, a college kid named Morris Lintz, met them outside with a flashlight and the haunted look of someone who had spent twenty minutes inside a dark library while something moved near picture books.
“I swear I checked twice,” Morris said. “Nobody answered. But the sensor keeps going off.”
Thane smelled dust.
Carpet.
Paper.
Cleaning solution.
Old glue.
Human anxiety.
No intruder scent fresh enough to worry him.
Gabriel sniffed.
“Not squirrel.”
Morris paled.
“Was squirrel an option?”
Mark checked the door.
“Door lock is failing. Strike plate is misaligned.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You got that from one glance?”
“Yes.”
“Show-off.”
They entered.
The children’s section was dark except for emergency lighting and the glow of the security keypad.
Motion sensor blinked red.
Something moved behind a low shelf.
Morris made a strangled sound.
Thane lifted one paw.
“Stay.”
He walked forward.
Slow.
No drama.
A small shape rose from behind the shelf.
Not a person.
Not a squirrel.
A helium balloon.
It bobbed gently in the air, silver, star-shaped, half-deflated enough to drift unpredictably whenever the air conditioning kicked on.
Its string had tangled around a chair leg. Every few minutes, the vent pushed it into the sensor field.
Gabriel stared at it.
Then at Thane.
Then at Mark.
“Balloon jurisdiction.”
Mark said, “Apparently.”
Morris put one hand over his face.
“I called the police on a balloon.”
Thane caught the string and pulled the balloon down.
“It happens.”
Gabriel leaned toward Morris.
“Does it?”
Thane looked at him.
Gabriel cleared his throat.
“It happens now.”
Mark found the door issue. The lower hinge had loosened, causing the door to sit just out of alignment with the lock. Morris had basic tools in the maintenance closet. Mark fixed the strike plate enough for the door to secure until facilities could repair it properly in the morning.
Morris watched him work.
“You know how to fix doors?”
Mark looked up.
“We encounter many doors.”
Gabriel made a small sound.
Thane turned his head.
“No.”
“I did not say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Gabriel looked at Morris.
“Some doors are emotionally significant.”
Morris, wisely, did not ask.
They left the balloon tied to the circulation desk with a note that read:
False alarm source. Recommend removal before opening.
Gabriel added beneath it:
Suspect detained without incident.
Mark crossed that out.
Morris looked disappointed.
Thane took the pen and wrote:
Balloon secured.
Morris looked pleased again.
Mark sighed.
“Technically acceptable.”
The shift kept its promise after that.
Mostly.
They backed up Serrano on a traffic stop where the driver had nine unpaid parking tickets and one very angry iguana in a carrier on the passenger seat. The iguana was legal. The insurance was not.
They helped Boyd locate a missing wedding ring in the gravel outside a banquet hall after a groom’s uncle insisted he had been “pickpocketed by gravity.” Thane found it under a cigarette butt, Gabriel advised the uncle never to use that phrase in court, and Mark documented the recovery as property returned.
They responded to a complaint about loud chanting behind a strip mall and found a fantasy-card tournament in the back room of a game store, where eight adults were arguing about whether a necromancer could legally summon through a wall.
Gabriel tried to answer.
Mark physically turned him toward the exit.
At 1:36 a.m., patrol asked them to stand by while a tow truck pulled a minivan out of a drainage ditch. The driver had swerved to avoid a raccoon, which Gabriel declared “legally different from squirrel jurisdiction,” and everyone ignored him.
At 2:12 a.m., they checked on a convenience store clerk who had called because a man had been sitting in the parking lot for forty minutes crying into a steering wheel.
His name was Preston Valez, which made Mark immediately glance at Thane because it was close enough to other names in their lives to require mental filing but not close enough to matter.
Preston was twenty-four, exhausted, and had just failed his nursing-board exam by three points.
He was not drunk.
Not high.
Not suicidal.
Just crushed.
Thane stood near the driver’s door while Gabriel talked him into breathing and Mark found the official retake information on the state board site from Preston’s own phone, careful not to touch anything he did not need to.
“You can take it again,” Mark said.
Preston wiped his face.
“I studied for months.”
“Then you have a base for the next attempt.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“That sounded almost motivational.”
Mark said, “It is accurate.”
Preston let out a wet laugh.
Thane looked toward the store.
“The clerk worried about you.”
Preston looked ashamed.
“I didn’t mean to scare her.”
“Then tell her that before you leave.”
He did.
The clerk gave him a bottled water and a packaged muffin without charging him. Gabriel paid anyway. The clerk tried to refuse. Gabriel looked personally offended, so she accepted.
When they got back to the Humvee, Gabriel was quiet.
Thane looked at him.
“What?”
Gabriel buckled in.
“Nothing. Just thinking about Dane saying they go back straighter.”
Mark looked out the windshield.
“People usually do not know which small event becomes load-bearing.”
Thane started the Humvee.
“No.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“You think Wyoming will be weird?”
“Yes.”
“Good weird?”
Thane thought about Dane’s email.
Cal’s lists.
Silas’s call with Hale.
Mercer saying they had earned chill time.
“Probably.”
Mark said, “It will be logistically complicated.”
Gabriel smiled.
“Great weird.”
They made it back to the station at 4:08 a.m.
No one had been shot.
No one had shifted unexpectedly.
No one had used a ladder, broken a door, or generated a new fiscal category.
That made it a successful night by several department metrics that had not existed two years earlier.
Mark filed the library note under property assist.
Gabriel tried to title the Cedar Pines report addendum Pudding Saves Lives.
Mark changed it to Fraud Prevention Contact — Cedar Pines.
Gabriel appealed to Thane.
Thane said, “Mark is right.”
Gabriel looked wounded.
Silas texted at 4:22.
Hale approval email sent. Red Dirt approval forwarded. Wyoming address pending. Also Gabriel’s chicken was in the second fridge and I did not touch it.
Gabriel leaned over Thane’s shoulder.
“He thought about touching it.”
Thane typed back.
Good. Proud of you.
A second later:
For travel approval or chicken restraint?
Thane smiled.
Yes.
Silas replied with a wolf emoji, then:
Tell Mark Hale wants written itinerary once you know dates. Tell Gabriel his secure perimeter was obvious.
Gabriel put one paw on his chest.
“He insults my food security from home.”
Mark said, “He identified it correctly.”
Thane pocketed the phone.
Crowe passed the report room door with a mug in hand.
“Quiet?”
Gabriel looked up.
“Library balloon.”
Crowe stopped.
Looked at him.
Then at Thane.
Thane said, “Handled.”
Crowe closed her eyes briefly.
“Good enough.”
She kept walking.
Gabriel waited until she was gone.
“Do we tell Mercer?”
Mark said, “It is in the report.”
Gabriel smiled.
“Then history will know.”
Thane looked at the mostly clear board.
The week ahead had begun to take shape in his mind.
Road north.
Humvee loaded.
4Runner maybe waiting somewhere outside Laramie.
Dane probably vibrating with enough excitement to register on weather radar.
Cal pretending not to.
Silas in the back seat, approved by probation, traveling not as a risk being moved but as pack going to visit friends.
Gabriel planning food stops.
Mark planning actual stops.
Wyoming wind.
Another den, maybe not as large, not as reinforced, not as wealthy, but theirs.
Their world.
Their ground.
A road they had followed south once.
Now answered north.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair.
“You know what Wyoming has?”
Mark did not look up.
“Do not say altitude steak.”
“Altitude steak.”
Mark sighed.
Thane smiled.
The night outside the station windows had gone soft and blue at the edges, not morning yet but no longer fully dark.
Boring days.
Normal calls.
Paperwork.
A balloon detained without incident.
A scam stopped before money left a shoebox.
A failed test not becoming a final sentence.
A trip forming quietly between shifts.
For once, nothing had demanded blood before letting them have a future thing to look toward.
Thane accepted that without argument.
It was rare enough to respect.
At 4:37 a.m., Dane emailed again.
Thane opened it.
I know it is late there or early or whatever night-shift time is, but Cal made me wait two whole hours before asking if you know whether Silas likes mountains. Also Gabriel needs to know we have good breakfast places, but Cal says not to challenge him because he will escalate. Mark may inspect our job site if he signs a waiver. I am kidding. Mostly.
Thane read it aloud.
Gabriel sat forward.
“Breakfast challenge received.”
Mark said, “Job-site inspection requires permission.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“That was your takeaway?”
“Yes.”
Thane typed:
Silas likes places where nobody asks him to be small. Mountains probably qualify.
Gabriel accepts breakfast information as a threat.
Mark wants the waiver.
See you Sunday.
He sent it.
The reply came back less than a minute later.
Yes. See you Sunday.
Then another.
Cal says he is hiding the waiver.
Then another.
I found it.
Gabriel laughed hard enough to make Crowe look in from the hall.
Mark shook his head, but he was smiling.
Thane set the phone down.
Sunday was not here yet.
There was still paperwork, sleep, shift, forms, lists, vehicle checks, Red Dirt scheduling, Hale’s written approval, Mercer’s official leave, and whatever ordinary nonsense Cross Timber could fit into the space before they left.
But the road north was real now.
And somewhere in Wyoming, two wolves were waiting.