Three Werewolves: After The Fall

A week of ordinary days had settled over Libby like a warm blanket.

Mornings in the cabin came with familiar sounds: the hiss and burble of the coffee pot, the low murmur of Kade and Varro talking patrol logistics at the table, Holt rummaging for breakfast like a bear in a pantry, Rime checking the front latch because “door not feel right,” Gabriel tuning his guitar in the corner, Mark muttering over a clipboard of maintenance tasks.

School bells rang now. Glacier Bank opened and closed on a regular schedule. KTNY’s signal drifted from open windows, music and voices threading through Main Street. People grumbled about laundry, laughed about weather, worried about nothing more deadly than burned stew or short tempers.

It felt like the valley had finally remembered how to breathe.

By late afternoon, Rime and Kade were padding up the steps to the sheriff’s office, claws ticking on the worn boards, fur still dusted with forest grit. They had spent the day on the outer loops of the Quiet Circle, checking the tree lines, watching for smoke where it didn’t belong, listening for engines that shouldn’t be there. They’d found nothing more dangerous than a stubborn elk and a squirrel that had tried to throw a pinecone at Kade’s head.

Inside, Hank Daltry sat behind his desk, glasses low on his nose, studying a map. A chipped mug of coffee steamed beside him. His younger deputy, Taylor, sorted papers at the side table, boots up, looking entirely too comfortable.

Hank glanced up as the wolves ducked through the doorway.

“Afternoon,” he said. “You two look like you scared the forest straight.”

Rime rolled a shoulder, sending a faint cascade of dust onto the floor. “Forest quiet. Patrol good.”

Kade nodded, unrolling a hand-drawn map onto the desk. His lines were neat, measured, with written notes along the margins. “No signs of tracks beyond the usual. We checked the north ridge, the river trail, and the old logging road. Only deer, elk, two black bears, and one extremely offended squirrel.”

Taylor snorted. “Offended how?”

Kade’s mouth twitched. “He threw a pinecone at me. Rime laughed. I will never hear the end of it.”

Rime’s ears flicked forward, pleased. “Was good throw.”

Hank leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “I’ll take angry squirrels over raiders any day.”

He was about to say more when the phone on his desk rang, the old landline’s bell cutting through the easy silence. He reached for it automatically.

“Sheriff Daltry.” He listened, eyebrow lifting. “Uh-huh. Fourth and Cedar. And how long…?” Another pause. “Alright, ma’am, we’ll come take a look.”

He hung up, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one thick finger.

Taylor raised a brow. “What’s the crisis?”

“Noise complaint,” Hank said. “Neighbor doesn’t like late-night guitar and singing.”

Taylor grinned. “Oh no. Music. Civilization truly is collapsing.”

Hank gave him a flat look but there was humor there. “Easy. Folks are still learning how to live with each other again. They’re wound tight. They get to be.”

He looked back at Rime and Kade. “You two feel like coming along? Might as well make it a community relations call. People behave better when they see who’s keeping watch.”

Rime’s ears perked. “Noise… like music?”

“Supposedly,” Hank said. “One neighbor thinks it’s a concert, the other says it’s therapy. Let’s go find out.”

Kade nodded. “We’re in. Better to help when it’s small than when it festers.”

They stepped back out into the late-afternoon light. Hank’s truck sat at the curb rather than a cruiser—currently in for maintenance. The wolves trotted alongside as he drove, but once they hit the edge of Main Street he slowed and they hopped into the bed, settling down with practiced ease, claws scraping metal, tails easing into relaxed curves.

Fourth and Cedar lay in one of the quieter residential areas, a mix of restored pre-Fall houses and newer patched-together builds. Power lines hummed overhead. Someone’s radio played KTNY faintly from a porch. Children’s chalk drawings still colored the sidewalk from earlier in the day.

Hank parked at the corner. As they climbed out, a woman in her sixties stepped off the front porch of a small blue house. Her gray hair was pulled back in a rough bun, and she wore a faded sweater that looked like it had survived as much as she had.

“Hank,” she said, relief and irritation tangled together. “Thank God. I about lost my mind last night.”

“Evening, Marion,” Hank said. “This the one you called about?”

“That’s right.” Marion jerked a thumb toward the house next door, pale yellow with a wide porch and a sagging swing. “Him. All hours with that guitar. I like music, Hank—you know I do—but not at midnight, not at one, not at two. I can’t sleep. The walls are rattling. We survived sirens and explosions and men screaming in the dark for years and now I’m supposed to listen to off-key ballads till dawn?”

Her gaze slid past Hank to Rime and Kade and softened, embarrassed. “Sorry. No offense to any wolves who enjoy off-key ballads.”

Rime tilted his head, amber eyes gentle. “Off-key bad,” he said. “But music… not.”

Marion sighed. “I know. I know it’s silly compared to… everything. But I’m tired, Hank. My nerves never went back to what they were. When the world goes quiet at night, I need it to stay quiet.”

Kade stepped forward slightly, posture relaxed, hands open. His voice was calm, even. “Marion, quiet is important. You’re not silly. You’re just honest.”

She looked at him, gratitude flickering beneath the frustration.

Hank nodded. “Alright. Anyone hurt?”

“No,” Marion said. “Just me, in the sleep department.”

“Then we’re dealing with a disagreement, not a crime,” Hank said. “Which means talking first. If talking doesn’t fix it, we talk harder.”

Rime blinked slowly. “Is good method.”

Hank shot him a small smile, then looked back at Marion. “He inside now?”

“Of course he’s inside.” She folded her arms tightly. “If he was outside, you’d already be hearing him. He’s in there strumming like the world’s ending in minor chords.”

Taylor had stayed by the truck, watching the street; now he joined them, hand resting loosely on his belt. Hank gestured for everyone to follow as he walked up the neighbor’s walkway.

A light shone in the front window of the yellow house. As they got close, the soft edge of a guitar chord slipped through the glass, followed by a low, tuneful voice. Not performance-level perfect, but not bad either—just a man singing to himself and whoever might be listening.

Hank rapped on the door.

The music stopped mid-line. Footsteps crossed the floor. The door opened a cautious crack, then a little wider when the occupant saw Hank instead of something worse.

The man was in his thirties, maybe, with sun-browned skin, shaggy dark hair, and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up. The guitar strap still crossed his chest, the instrument hanging at his side. His eyes flicked to Taylor, then to the wolves.

His shoulders tensed. “Uh. Evening, Sheriff.”

“Evening, Jonah,” Hank said. “Can we come in and talk a minute?”

Jonah swallowed. “I—Did I do something wrong?”

Rime leaned sideways slightly, peering, ears pricking forward with interest at the sight of the guitar. “Wrong… maybe loud,” he said. “Not crime.”

Kade gave a small, reassuring nod. “We’re here to talk. That’s all.”

Jonah hesitated only a moment more before stepping back and opening the door fully. “Sure. Yeah. Come in. Watch the… uh… everything.” His eyes went again to Rime and Kade, tracing the claws, the height, the scars, and somehow relaxing rather than tensing further. The wolves of Libby were known now. Feared by some, respected by most.

The living room was small but cared for. A few mismatched chairs, a patched couch, a crate serving as a coffee table. A string of solar fairy lights hugged the ceiling, giving the space a soft glow. A battered notebook lay open on the crate, pages filled with lines of lyrics and chords.

Hank stayed standing, letting Jonah decide whether to sit. “We got a call from Marion next door,” he said. “She says you’ve been playing late. Real late.”

Jonah winced. “Yeah. I… yeah. I probably have.”

“She says it’s keeping her up. You know she’s jumpy at night,” Hank continued. “Most folks still are.”

Jonah shifted his weight, looking more like a kid dragged into the principal’s office than a grown man. “Look, I don’t mean to bother her. Or anybody. I’m not trying to be… you know, that guy. It’s just…”

He faltered, hand tightening on the guitar neck.

Kade spoke gently. “It was very quiet for a long time,” he said. “Too quiet.”

Jonah’s eyes flashed to him, surprised. “Yeah. Exactly that. Thank you. Before the Fall, I played in bars and little coffee shops. No one thought about it. Noise ordinances, sure, but… sound was just life. Cars, chatter, music leaking from ten different places on Main Street. Then the world went dark and we spent years listening to… to bad sounds. Glass breaking. Guns. People screaming. Or worse—nothing at all.”

He looked down at the guitar. “Now I can plug this into that little amp and people can hear it again. It feels like proof that the world came back. That we didn’t imagine it.”

Rime stepped slowly around the room, careful of the furniture, eyes taking everything in. He stopped near the window, gazing at the street. “When world broke,” he said, words slightly halting but clear, “we had… no music. Only wind. Howls. Sometimes… crying.”

Jonah looked at him, fully listening.

“First time Gabriel play for us,” Rime continued, “we sit in dark cabin. Lantern small. Guitar big.” His mouth curved slightly, memory warming his eyes. “He play soft. Not loud. Just… enough. Pack calm. Heart slow. Noise… but good noise.”

He tapped his chest lightly with one claw. “This remember good noise now. But Marion’s heart maybe remember bad noise. Same sound, different heart.”

Jonah’s throat worked. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

Hank nodded, glancing between them. “There it is. You’re both telling the truth. You play to feel like the world’s alive again. She needs quiet to feel like it’s safe again.”

“And we don’t want this turning into a wedge,” Taylor added quietly. “You know how hard folks worked to get to a place where the biggest complaint we take is ‘he’s playing too much guitar.’ That’s a victory, not a problem.”

Jonah sank onto the edge of a chair, setting the guitar carefully across his knees. “I thought… honestly, when you showed up with two wolves, I thought I was in real trouble. Like this was some kind of… official town thing. ‘No playing unless it’s approved by law enforcement,’ or something.”

Kade actually chuckled. “If that were the law, Holt would have been arrested many times for singing.”

Rime made a wounded sound. “Holt singing good. Loud… but good.”

“He’s still learning pitch,” Kade said diplomatically.

Jonah cracked a startled laugh, tension easing from his shoulders. “Wait… Holt sings?”

“Sometimes,” Rime said. “Gabriel teach him guitar. Big paws, soft touch.”

Kade leaned on the back of the couch with easy familiarity. “Here’s the thing, Jonah. Music is good. Very good. It’s part of what makes this place feel alive again. But now we have neighbors again. We have school in the morning. We have early shifts at the dam and the bank and the bakery. That means we also have… what’s the phrase?”

“Noise complaints,” Taylor supplied.

“Boundaries,” Kade corrected mildly. “Pack word: boundaries. Wolves howl, but not all night. We hunt, then we rest. We make noise, then we make silence. Sharing space means sharing noise, too.”

Jonah frowned thoughtfully. “So you’re saying… I can play?”

Hank folded his arms. “No one’s trying to take music away from you, son. We just need some reasonable hours. Start earlier. Wrap up before people who wake at dawn are ready to put their heads down. You can pour your heart into this guitar from, say, early evening to… ten?”

“Eleven on weekends,” Taylor suggested.

Hank gave him a look. “We’ll negotiate Friday nights after we see if this works.”

Rime tilted his head. “Maybe make… quiet songs late,” he said. “Soft. Not shout-singing.”

“Ballads instead of bangers,” Taylor muttered.

Jonah leaned back, thinking. “So if I start around supper, keep it down some, and shut it off by… ten, you think she’d be okay?”

“We’ll talk to her,” Hank said. “But that sounds like a civilized plan.”

Kade hesitated, then added, “There is something else. A way to give your music more ears without blasting it through one wall.”

Jonah looked up, interested. “I’m listening.”

“Gabriel plays in the town square during markets and events,” Kade said. “He loves having the valley hear him. Guitar, sometimes old songs, sometimes new. Humans gather, wolves listen, children dance. If you want to be heard, that is the place. Join him.”

Rime’s ears perked. “Yes. Gabriel like company. He say sometimes, ‘I wish another guitar play here. Make sound bigger, warmer.’” He gestured with his hands, miming the shape of overlapping sound. “And Holt learning. He… very happy to play with others.”

“Holt,” Jonah said slowly, imagining it. “The big one. The one who laughs loud.”

“Yes,” Rime said firmly. “Big wolf. Big laugh. Big paws. But soft touch on strings.”

Taylor smiled. “You end up in a band, just promise me you won’t name it something like ‘The Post-Fall Howlers.’”

Jonah’s eyes were brighter now. “You really think Gabriel would… want that? Me playing with him in the square?”

“He would be thrilled,” Kade said. “He loves sharing things. Music, stories, coffee. He taught half the pack to keep tempo with their claws.”

Jonah ran a hand over the guitar body, thoughtful. The weight of the instrument seemed to shift, like it was no longer just armor but opportunity.

“I…” He swallowed. “I’d like that. Playing for people who actually want to listen. In a place that feels right. Not sneaking joy through the walls like contraband.”

Hank nodded. “Then here’s what we’ll propose. You keep the hours sensible—start earlier, end by ten, try not to rattle the windows off the hinges. We make sure Marion understands that you’re not ignoring her; you’re adjusting for her. And we introduce you to Gabriel so you can take some of that energy to the square where loud is welcome.”

Jonah gave a small, earnest nod. “Deal. And… if she ever wants to hear something during the day, I’ll play whatever she wants. Old songs, hymns, whatever. I owe her the sleep.”

Rime’s gaze softened. “Good trade. Night quiet, day music.”

Kade straightened. “Alright. Let’s go talk to her.”

They stepped back out onto the porch, the evening light slipping toward gold. Across the way, Marion watched from her steps, arms folded but expression wary rather than hostile.

“Well?” she called.

Hank walked over with the wolves and Taylor flanking him. “Well,” he said, “Jonah didn’t know how much it was getting to you. He’ll start earlier, end by ten. No more midnight concerts. And he’s going to take louder playing to the town square, where you can hear him at reasonable hours with everyone else, if you want to.”

Marion sniffed. “He said that, did he?”

“He also said,” Kade added gently, “that if you ever want to hear something during the day, he’ll play what you like. You’ve got seniority in this neighborhood. Might as well use it.”

Rime nodded. “He feels bad. Not… bad-wolf bad. Just… ‘I am sorry’ bad.”

Marion looked between them, lips pressed tight, then exhaled slowly. The lines around her eyes softened. “I don’t hate his playing,” she admitted. “Truth is, when he started up the first time, I cried. I hadn’t heard live music since before the world ended. Thought my heart would crack open.”

She shook her head. “But then it kept going. And my body doesn’t know how to tell the difference between last year’s screaming and today’s guitar. It just knows: noise at night means danger. I’m tired of waking up with my heart in my throat.”

“That makes sense,” Kade said. “Your body remembers. It’ll learn new memories over time. Soft ones.”

She looked at him with quiet gratitude. “You talk like someone who’s had to relearn a lot himself.”

Kade’s mouth twitched. “I have.”

Hank tipped his chin toward the yellow house. “He’s not your enemy, Marion. He just wants the world to sound alive again. You want it to feel safe. Those aren’t opposite things. We can make them fit.”

Marion let out another breath. “Alright. Ten o’clock. And he keeps the windows closed when he can.”

Hank smiled faintly. “I’ll tell him.”

She hesitated, then added, “And… maybe I’ll come out to the square next time there’s a market. If he’s going to be playing with Gabriel… well. That sounds like something worth yelling at my knees to walk across town for.”

Rime’s tail gave a small, pleased swish. “Good idea. Pack there too. Safe, loud, happy.”

Marion’s gaze moved to him, and she studied his calm, amber eyes. “Rime, right?”

He dipped his head. “Yes.”

“You ever think you’d spend your days worrying about noise complaints instead of manhunts?”

Rime considered, then smiled with all his teeth, the expression oddly gentle on a predator’s face. “Never. But I like this better.”

Hank and Taylor walked back with the wolves to Jonah’s porch, relaying Marion’s side of the compromise. Jonah agreed without hesitation. The idea of playing in the square burned bright in his eyes.

“I’ll come by the station tomorrow,” he said. “Ask Gabriel when the next market’s running. Maybe… maybe we can work out some songs. I know some old ones. And I can learn new.”

“He’ll like that,” Kade said. “Holt will, too. He’s proud of every chord he can manage.”

Jonah grinned, more relaxed than he had been since the door first opened. “I’ll try not to get shown up by a wolf who just learned which end of the guitar to hold.”

“Do not bet on that,” Rime murmured. “Holt very serious about music.”

They left Jonah at his door, the guitar now an invitation rather than a wedge. The street felt quieter, not because the music was gone, but because the tension had eased.

As Hank, Taylor, Rime, and Kade walked back toward the truck, evening settling around them, Taylor blew out a breath. “I can’t believe it. We really just handled a noise complaint.”

Hank scratched at his beard. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Taylor nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Kade looked up at the paling sky, faint stars beginning to appear. “Where I came from, loud things at night meant someone was dying,” he said. “Or someone was being broken on purpose. Here… it’s just a man trying to remember that the world can sing. We guide it a little. Shape it. Make sure everyone can rest. That is… better.”

Rime walked beside them, humming under his breath—a low, tuneless thing at first, then gradually falling into a pattern that sounded suspiciously like one of Gabriel’s soft evening melodies. He tapped his claws lightly against his leg in rhythm, careful not to scratch.

Hank listened for a moment. “That one Gabriel wrote?”

Rime nodded. “Yes. For nights on porch. He say it is song for ‘nothing wrong.’”

“Seems fitting,” Hank said.

They reached the truck. The wolves climbed into the bed again, sitting with easy balance as Hank got behind the wheel. As they rolled back toward Main Street, the town’s lights glowed softly ahead: homes, the bank, the station, the diner, the schoolhouse.

Behind one window on Fourth and Cedar, Marion turned off her porch light and headed inside, comforted by the promise of a quiet night.

Behind another, Jonah sat back down with his guitar, strummed a few gentle chords barely loud enough to carry past the glass, and smiled to himself, already imagining a makeshift stage in the town square, Gabriel beside him, Holt grinning too big for any spotlight.

The truck rumbled on.

Libby cooled into night, held in the hush between heartbeats—a town where the scars of the old world were healing, where wolves and humans alike were learning that peace sometimes sounded like nothing more dramatic than arguing about guitar volume and agreeing, together, on when to turn it down and when to turn it up.

The valley rested. The pack watched. And in the quiet, the promise of future songs waited patiently for their cue.

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.

KTNY’s old brick studio had never looked better. The neon sign out front buzzed with warm red light. The big tower out back blinked its slow, steady rhythm against the early evening sky. And inside, the station was alive in that distinctly Friday way — full of footsteps, laughter, muffled doors closing, someone rustling chip bags in the kitchen, and the shuffle of wolves getting comfortable in a building clearly not designed for seven of them.

It was 6 p.m. The House Party didn’t go live until seven, but the pack always showed up early, partly out of habit and partly because they liked being here. The place smelled like old carpet, warm electronics, and a thousand memories from the before-times.

Mark was at the engineering desk, hunched over a console with clawed precision as he adjusted the final settings on the station’s AudioVault automation system. “Okay,” he muttered, tapping a monitor. “Top of the hour ID, two bumpers, and the promos are slotted. The music log is loaded. We’re perfect.”

Gabriel was in Studio A, adjusting mic height and fine-tuning the EQ on his channel. He leaned in, testing. “Check one, check one… This is Gabriel, your friendly neighborhood wolf with a face made for radio.”

Rime, entering the studio behind him, blinked and asked, “Why you say that? Your face fine.”

Gabriel turned around dramatically. “Never explain the joke, Rime.”

Rime frowned. “Why?”

Holt laughed so loudly from the hallway that the audio meters bounced.

Thane stepped into the control room, brushing a paw over the soundproofing foam like he was greeting an old friend. “Feels good in here,” he said.

“It should,” Mark replied. “We spent all week getting the last of the dead bulbs replaced. Studio B hums again.”

“Studio B hums?” Thane asked.

“Like an angelic fridge,” Mark said proudly.

Varro stood near the record library, studying the wall of CDs with a strange reverence. “So many… discs,” he murmured.

Gabriel poked his head out of the booth. “Music storage medium. Antiquated. But spicy.”

Kade walked in carrying a box of donuts from the newly reopened bakery. “Thought we might need these.”

Holt immediately took three, stacked them, and ate them like a sandwich.

“Is that even legal?” Gabriel asked.

Holt shrugged. “I am bank security.”

“That’s not related.”

“Still counts.”

The whole room buzzed with easy banter and the comfort of routine. The kind of energy only a valley restored to life could produce.

Thane leaned against the doorway, watching them with a quiet smile. “Feels like a real Friday again,” he said.

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. There are people across this valley right now waiting for the House Party. Not because they need information or warnings… but because they want to hear music and voices and laughter.”

“And because,” Kade added, “they like listening to wolves talk about donut sandwiches.”

Holt gave a proud thumbs-up.

Thane chuckled. “It’s been a hell of a month. Currency restored. Glacier Bank running like an actual institution. Savings accounts. Paychecks. Taxes, for crying out loud.”

Rime perked. “Taxes are good?”

“No,” Gabriel answered. “But they’re normal.”

Varro nodded. “People are happy. Easier to trade. Easier to plan. No bartering chickens for tires.”

Mark looked over from the engineering desk. “I do not miss the chicken economy.”

“And the school,” Thane added. “Students laughing again. Teachers teaching. Kids drawing pictures of big wolves with tiny legs.”

Kade looked confused. “Why tiny legs?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Kids are weird.”

Thane stepped into Studio A, the central mic glowing softly. He ran his claws over the desk like the ritual it had always been. “Tonight’s show needs to celebrate that. The wins. The progress. The fact that we’ve gone from patching leaks to building a future.”

Mark entered behind him with a set of headphones. “Already prepared a talking points file: power, water, bank, school, dam crew, restored shops, Eureka trade routes, Thompson Falls patrol network.”

Gabriel gave him a look. “Talking points? That’s adorable. I don’t use points. I freewheel.”

“You rant,” Mark corrected.

“I riff.”

“You ramble.”

“I soar artistically.”

Mark tapped his notebook. “You read this or I unplug your mic.”

Gabriel snatched the notebook. “Fine.”

Thane sat at the main mic — Mic 1. The gravel in his voice seemed to settle into place automatically.

Mark gave him the two-minute warning. “Station ID at the top of the hour. Then your open.”

In the hallway, Holt practiced looking fierce in front of the glass, his reflection doing exactly what he wanted: intimidation with a hint of “please take your money to the bank.”

Rime and Kade settled onto the big old couch near the newsroom window. Varro lowered himself into a chair beside them, watching everything with a quiet contentment that would’ve been impossible months ago.

Thane took a breath. “Alright. Let’s give the valley a Friday night.”

The top-of-the-hour jingle played: KTNY 101.7 — The Voice of the Valley.

Mark pointed at Thane.

The ON AIR sign lit up red.

Thane began.

“Good evening, Libby, Eureka, Thompson Falls… and every cabin, farm, and ridge line in between. This is Thane, and you’re listening to The House Party on KTNY 101.7. It’s Friday night, and for the first time in a long, long while… it feels like an ordinary one.”

Gabriel slid into his chair and leaned into his mic. “The good kind of ordinary.”

“Exactly,” Thane said. “Our towns have power. Running water. Working kitchens. A school full of kids who laugh loud enough to shake the walls. And as of this week… an honest-to-God bank. Wages. Savings. Commerce. A money system that actually works again.”

Mark spoke into Mic 3 with his calm, measured tone. “And a staff that learned very quickly not to hand Holt the stapler.”

Holt shouted from the hall, “I WAS TESTING IT.”

“On a chair,” Mark replied.

“It lost!”

Thane chuckled softly. “We’ve had a month of rebuilding, and all of it has been made possible by the people listening right now. Marta, who has been the beating heart of organization. Hank, who keeps our borders safe. The dam crew, who show up every day like the world never stopped. The mayors of our sister towns — Tom in Eureka and Nora in Thompson Falls — who stepped up without hesitation. And every single one of you who work, rebuild, teach, craft, grow, and just… live.”

Gabriel rested his chin on his fist. “It’s been kinda beautiful to watch.”

“It has,” Thane agreed.

Varro, from the hallway couch, murmured, “Valley strong.”

Thane glanced at him through the glass and nodded.

“And to my pack,” Thane added into the mic, “you’ve done everything that’s been asked of you. More than I could ever expect. You’ve built bridges. Run power. Restored communications. Protected families. And yesterday… you worked real jobs. Honest-to-God nine-to-five jobs. You have no idea how proud that makes me.”

Holt yelled from the hall, “I AM HEAD OF SECURITY.”

“We know,” Gabriel said. “We’ve all heard.”

Thane leaned in a little closer to the mic, voice soft but sure. “Tonight’s show is about celebrating that progress. The normal. The mundane. The beautiful little pieces of life that mean we’ve climbed out of the dark and stepped back into the world.”

Mark queued up the first track and gestured that he was ready.

“Let’s kick things off with something warm,” Thane said, leaning back as the music faded in. “A song for a valley that chose to grow again.”

The first guitar chords of “Beautiful Day” by U2 rolled through the monitors, soft and bright. The wolves settled into their seats around the station, some on couches, some leaning in doorways, some simply listening with closed eyes.

It was a Friday night.

It was peaceful.

It was normal.

And the valley was alive.

The cabin felt unusually full that morning. Full of purpose. Full of a kind of energy they hadn’t felt since before the Fall — the anticipation of a day that wasn’t about danger, but about living.

Thane looked around at the wolves gathered in the great room: Holt at the table crunching something loudly, Rime leaning against the wall with a mug of tea, Mark cross-checking a paper notebook with a tablet he’d resurrected, Kade sitting perched on the arm of the couch, Gabriel tuning his guitar even though they had places to be, and Varro standing with his hands folded behind his back like he was waiting for orders.

Thane cleared his throat. That alone was enough for the whole room to fall quiet.

“Alright,” he said, “this is it. The first real work we’ve done that isn’t about staying alive. Today we’re not fighting raiders or repairing radio towers or rescuing towns. Today we’re just… working. Building. Making life normal again.”

Holt raised a paw. “Alpha. What is normal?”

Gabriel whispered, “Something we’re about to break on day one.”

Thane tried not to smile. “Normal means schedules. Tasks. Getting things done because they need doing, not because the world is on fire. And we’ve been asked to help run the bank. Which means we’re going to treat this like a real job.”

Rime nodded seriously. “Job. Work. Yes.”

“Exactly,” Thane said. He pointed at Varro. “Varro — you’re on security evaluation. Full layout review. Identify every entrance, exit, blind spot, and approach angle. Work with Sheriff Daltry to design the day and night security plan. You know terrain and vulnerabilities better than anyone.”

Varro dipped his head. “On it. Already drafted map overlays last night.”

Of course he had.

Thane turned to Holt. “Holt — you’re head of physical security. The job description is simple: look fierce and intimidating. Scare anyone who thinks about doing something stupid.”

Holt straightened with pride, chest puffing up. “I can do that. I do that already.”

Gabriel whispered, “He practices in the mirror.”

“I HEARD THAT,” Holt growled.

Thane continued before they spiraled into chaos. “You’ll be stationed at the main entrance from nine to five. If anyone needs help, direct them politely. If anyone is suspicious, stare at them until they reconsider their life.”

Holt nodded solemnly. “Yes. Stare.”

“Good.”

Thane looked to Gabriel next. “Gabriel — you’re overseeing the teller staff. Marta’s sending six people. Your job is to keep them organized, calm, and accurate. You’re the numbers wolf.”

Gabriel dramatically cracked his knuckles. “I was born for accounting glory.”

Mark leaned forward. “You literally weren’t.”

“I was reborn for it.”

Thane ignored them both. “You’ll also keep an eye out for counterfeit money. Just in case.”

Gabriel grinned. “I’ll sniff it.”

“That’s… not necessary.”

“It might be!”

Mark cleared his throat. “I’d like to go next before this gets worse.”

Thane nodded. “Mark — you’re restoring and running the bank’s computer systems. Firewalls, backups, teller software, internal comms, account management systems, everything that keeps the place functional. You’re the entire IT department.”

Mark smirked. “Finally. Recognition.”

“And,” Thane added gently, “you’ll also be responsible for teaching the bank staff basic security practices.”

Gabriel whispered, “Like not clicking on fake emails about prize goats.”

Mark glared. “We’re banning prize goats.”

Thane pointed at Rime and Kade. “You two will extend your patrol routes to include loops past the bank every hour or so. Keep eyes on the perimeter. Make sure Holt hasn’t fallen asleep—or chased a butterfly.”

Rime nodded. “We watch. We protect.”

Kade added, “We’ll do it quietly. Routine. Just enough presence to keep trouble from trying its luck.”

Finally, Thane crossed his arms and looked at all of them. “And one last thing. Today is the kind of day we always fought for. The quiet workdays. The schedules. The mundane tasks. We bled for this. We lost for this. We earned this. So do it proudly. Do it well. And enjoy it.”

Holt thumped his chest. “Alpha speech very good.”

Gabriel wiped a fake tear. “I’m emotional.”

Mark muttered, “Just drive the damn Humvee.”

They piled in, fur brushing shoulders, elbows poking ribs. The ride into town was filled with quiet excitement and the occasional anxious tail wag.

When they pulled up to Glacier Bank, the building looked like it had been waiting decades for this moment. Fresh paint. Clean glass. A new sign in the window reading Cash Accepted Here. People were already milling around, curious, hopeful.

Varro immediately set to work, scanning the perimeter, pacing with purpose, taking notes, circling the building twice before disappearing inside to inspect the vault layout.

Mark carried a box of cables and devices inside like it was a sacred offering.

Gabriel immediately greeted the teller staff with a cheerful, “Good morning, financial warriors!”

Holt stepped into position at the front door, folded his arms, and began glaring at shrubbery just to warm up.

Thane watched the whole scene unfold with something like pride swelling in his chest.

The inside of the bank filled quickly with sound — the click of keyboards as Mark’s resurrected systems flickered to life, the soft shuffle of bills as Gabriel trained the tellers on counting techniques, the low rumble of Varro explaining security angles to Marta, and the audible, confident huff every few minutes as Holt reminded the world he was on guard.

For the first time since the Fall, Glacier Bank was open.

The day went smoothly. Peacefully. Beautifully, even.

Varro discovered a blind corner and requested a small desk mirror to fix it, which Marta immediately fetched with a smile.

Holt scared a confused but harmless old man so badly that Gabriel had to tell him to “dial it back two degrees.”

Gabriel caught a worn $20 bill with a rip and simply said, “We can tape that. The world’s taped up too.”

Mark replaced an ancient printer with one he rebuilt from scavenged parts and declared it “a masterpiece of paper-based engineering.”

Kade and Rime passed by the bank every hour, giving Holt a silent nod and receiving a proud grunt in return.

Thane spent the day staying out of their way — not because he wasn’t needed, but because they didn’t need him hovering. They had this. They had work.

Just after 5 p.m., they all reconvened at the cabin. Everyone still smelled faintly of printer toner, money counters, and office dust.

Holt burst into the room first. “I scare fourteen people! No trouble today!”

Gabriel followed. “I taught Betty how to use the bill counting machine again. She kept clearing the count instead of adding it.”

Mark tossed his notebook on the table. “I got the entire system online. Even the vault sensors. And someone brought me a muffin.”

Varro stood in the doorway, posture relaxed. “Security plan complete. Three-tier rotation. Sheriff Daltry approves.”

Rime and Kade both said, “Bank safe.”

Thane looked at the wolves — tired, proud, bright-eyed — and felt something warm settle under his ribs.

“Well,” he said softly, “that sounds like a good day.”

“Good day,” Rime agreed.

“Very good,” Mark added.

Gabriel leaned back in a chair. “Normal day.”

Thane nodded. “Exactly. And that’s everything.”

They spent the evening sharing small stories — someone complimented Holt’s fur; a customer gave Gabriel a drawing of a wolf behind a desk; Mark found a sticky note inside the safe deposit room door that said WELCOME BACK!; Kade overheard two townsfolk arguing about whether they needed checking or savings; Varro saw a child point at Thane’s Humvee and call it “the protector truck.”

Small things. Beautiful things.

Things from a world rediscovering itself.

They stayed up until the fire burned low, laughter drifting across the cabin like something soft and steady, something earned.

Their first day of work was done.

And it felt perfect.

The morning was warm enough that the cabin windows were cracked open, letting in the soft hum of spring and the scent of thawed earth. Thane stood at the kitchen counter, looking at the square in the distance through the window as Mark scrolled through a notebook of inventory scribbles and Gabriel tuned a guitar string lazily just to hear something musical in the quiet.

“You’re thinking hard,” Gabriel said around a yawn.

Thane slid the pencil between his claws and tapped it once on the counter. “We need the next step.”

“Next step of what?” Mark asked.

“Normal,” Thane replied. “Real normal. Not just lights and water and working ovens. Something people can build a life around.”

Gabriel set the guitar down, curiosity flicking across his expression. “What do you have in mind?”

Thane turned to face them fully. “A bank.”

Mark blinked. “A… bank.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Like… money-money?”

Thane nodded. “We can’t rebuild everything on barter forever. It works in a pinch. But not long term. People need wages. Shops need a way to sell. People need savings. Structure. The next piece of civilization.”

Mark’s tail flicked, slow and thoughtful. “It makes sense. Money streamlines trade. And Glacier Bank used to keep an enormous stack of cash because of all the forest service and mill traffic. Pre-Fall notes would still be… well, they’re still money.”

Gabriel grinned. “We’re rebooting capitalism, baby!”

Thane flicked his ear in warning. “Gently.”

“Oh, sure,” Gabriel said. “Soft capitalism. Capitalism with hugs.”

Mark rubbed his face. “Let’s just call it commerce.”

Thane grabbed the Humvee keys. “Come on. We’re pitching it to Marta.”

The drive was short and peaceful — maintained roads now, clean shoulders, fresh paint on curb poles. The world looked startlingly functional. Like it remembered how to breathe.

They walked into City Hall to find Marta elbow-deep in paperwork, a pencil clamped between her teeth. She looked up.

“Oh hello,” she said, removing the pencil before she accidentally swallowed it. “You’re here. What’s on fire?”

“Nothing,” Thane said. “In fact… I want to talk about building something.”

Marta’s eyebrows rose. “That’s new.”

Thane stepped closer. “We need a currency again. Something stable. Trade works in the short term, but it’s starting to hold people back. They want to open businesses. Hire help. Sell goods. Function like towns again.”

Marta leaned back in her chair, expression shifting from curiosity to genuine interest. “You’re serious.”

“Completely,” Thane said. “And Glacier Bank still stands. They kept large cash reserves. We can clean it up, secure it, and designate it as the regional bank. Issue pre-Fall currency for now. People can earn wages, buy goods, save money. It gives freedom. Structure. Stability.”

Gabriel added, “And it means fewer people haggling over chickens in the street.”

Mark nodded. “There’s also accountability. If people get paid, you can track labor. Compensation. Projects. Maintenance cycles.”

Marta stared at them for a long moment, then stood. “I’m going to say something surprising.”

Gabriel whispered, “She’s pregnant.”

“Gabriel,” Thane warned.

Marta ignored him. “I agree,” she said. “A bank is exactly what we need. Commerce is the missing piece. The towns are ready for it.”

Gabriel pumped his fist. “We’re restarting society!”

Marta pointed at him. “No slogans yet.”

They spent the next hour drafting small “Cash Accepted Here” signs — simple white cardstock printed on the town hall office printer. Thane made a list of businesses and shop owners. Gabriel volunteered to call those connected to the phone network. Varro, stationed at the cabin that morning, was sent a runner to deliver a stack of signs to distribute.

By midday, every store in Libby had a sign taped to the window. Some held them with pride. Some stared at them like the past had risen from the grave.

A regional meeting was announced for the next morning — leaders and representatives from Libby, Eureka, Kalispell, Whitefish, Thompson Falls, and the surrounding towns, farms and camps.

When the crowd gathered, the room felt full of something rare: hope with structure. Dozens of voices mingled. People held paper signs. Kids chased each other between chairs. The hum of community felt electric.

Marta stood at the front, Thane to her right, Tom Anderson to her left. Nora from Thompson Falls leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, grin bright. Tarrik stood behind Tom, calm and confident, looking like a wolf who finally knew where he belonged. Seth stood near him, posture stiff, clearly unsure of sharing space with the former Iron Ridge Alpha.

Marta lifted her voice. “We’re here today to talk about the next phase of rebuilding. We have power. We have water. We have communication. And thanks to Thane and his pack, we have safety and cooperation. Today, we’re talking about commerce. Money. A system to support labor, trade, and progress.”

No one booed. No one grumbled. The room leaned forward.

Thane stepped forward. “We’re proposing reopening Glacier Bank as the central bank for the valley. They kept a large cash reserve. Pre-Fall currency is still valid. We’ll use it. Workers can be paid. Shops can sell goods. People can save again. We’ll create a structure — not a temporary barter economy.”

Tom chimed in, “Eureka’s ready. We’ve got businesses reopening already. With real currency, it’ll be smoother than ever.”

Nora added, “And Thompson Falls needs this. Our reconstruction teams have been doing everything on the honor system. I’m not saying it doesn’t work — it just doesn’t scale.”

An older man from the back spoke up. “Money means I can actually hire hands for the sawmill again!”

A woman near the front said, “If we can pay teachers, we can get the school fully open.”

A farmer lifted a hand. “It’ll help with supply trades. Right now, it’s a nightmare figuring out how many eggs equals a chain saw.”

Someone else snorted. “Depends on the saw.”

Laughter rolled through the crowd, warm and easy.

Marta looked at Thane. “You started this. Finish it.”

Thane stepped forward again. “This is the moment we shift from survival to living. From getting by… to growing. Currency gives people choice again. Autonomy. And it ties our communities together through trust.”

A ripple of approving murmurs passed through the crowd.

Mark leaned in and whispered, “You’re good at speeches.”

Thane murmured back, “I’m making it up as I go.”

The room relaxed as questions were answered. Plans formed. Timelines drafted. Signage prepared. A structure snapped into place with an almost audible click: wages, savings, community funds, shared banking security, regional input.

At one point, Gabriel leaned over to Mark and whispered, “This is like watching SimCity but with actual laws of physics.”

Mark shrugged. “Better graphics, though.”

Eventually, people took a break to mingle. Shop owners approached Thane to thank him. Young adults expressed excitement about “real jobs.” A handful of older folks sat together reminiscing about bank lines and balancing checkbooks.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the room, Seth slowly approached Tarrik.

“You look different,” Seth said, eyes narrowed, but not hostile.

Tarrik straightened, ears tilting. “I try different.”

Seth looked him up and down like someone trying to reconcile a ghost with a living person. “Didn’t think I’d see you… like this.”

“Me neither,” Tarrik admitted. “Tom helps. Town helps.” He paused, then met Seth’s gaze directly. “I want say sorry. For before. For how I was. Was bad Alpha. Hurt many.” He swallowed hard. “I want forgiveness.”

Seth froze for a heartbeat—then smiled softly. “You have it. All of it.”

Tarrik blinked rapidly, eyes wet. “Thank you.”

Seth clapped his shoulder. “You’re… good, now. That’s enough.”

Across the room, Gabriel whispered to Thane, “Aw. Look at him. Proud moment.”

Thane smirked. “He’s earning every step.”

The meeting went on for nearly two hours, but not one person complained. When everything was decided — bank reopening schedule, security rotations, signage rollout, currency validation — Marta closed with a simple line:

“Today, we stopped maintaining survival… and started rebuilding life.”

Applause echoed through the hall. Thane felt something warm settle inside his chest, old and new at the same time.

Outside, the sun was warm. Kids laughed. Engines hummed. Someone had set up a lemonade stand — actual lemonade, not a desperate trade for clean water. Spring had found them again.

Gabriel stretched his arms. “Whew. That was big.”

Mark nodded. “Important.”

Thane looked out over the square, watching the people he had nearly died to protect step into a new kind of future.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It was.”

A month of quiet was something none of them had expected. Spring came in softly at first, then all at once, turning Libby into something that felt almost unreal in its peace. No raiders. No emergencies. No tense patrols or midnight howls across the ridge. Just people living. More shops opened their doors. More cars rolled down the streets, slow and casual. Kids chased each other in front yards. Fresh paint appeared on porches. It was the kind of ordinary that would’ve made them cry six months ago.

Thane stood on the porch that morning, clawed hands resting on the railing, watching a couple of townsfolk argue playfully about lawn edging. Mark stepped out beside him with a mug of coffee, tail flicking lazily behind him. Varro followed, stretching his back until it popped in a long, satisfying crack.

“Been quiet,” Mark said, taking a sip.

“Too quiet?” Varro asked.

“No,” Thane said, closing the door behind him. “Perfectly quiet.”

Thane took one last look at the street below, the soft buzz of spring drifting through town, then turned to the two wolves beside him. “Alright,” he said, stretching his shoulders. “Let’s go check the dam. Been a month since we’ve put eyes on it, and I want to see how the new crew’s settling in. After that, we’ll swing up to Eureka and make sure Tarrik hasn’t chewed anyone’s car in half.” Mark huffed a laugh, and Varro’s ears perked in quiet interest. “Grab your gear,” Thane added, stepping off the porch. “Should be an easy run. Just… making sure the world’s still turning the way it should.”

They loaded into the Humvee, the engine humming to life, and started toward the dam. The road was green and alive on both sides, the forest shaking off winter like an old coat. When they reached the turnoff, all three wolves leaned forward almost at the same time.

There were pickups. Three of them. Parked neatly in the gravel. Fresh tire tracks. Tools laid out. A dirty thermos on a tailgate. Footprints from actual daily work.

The entire grounds looked… healthy. No weeds, no peeling paint, no sagging rails or rusted plates. It looked like a facility that had never gone dark for even a day.

Mark blinked. “This doesn’t feel real.”

Thane opened the door and stepped out. “Let’s take a look.”

Inside, the transformation was shocking. What had once been dusty, dim, and echoing now smelled faintly of disinfectant and oil. Every fluorescent bulb glowed bright and white. The floors gleamed. Tools were organized. Protective gear hung on hooks. Someone had even put a little ceramic frog next to the sink with a handwritten sign taped to it that said, Wash Your Hands — Thank You!

Mark stared at that frog a good long moment, then murmured, “This might actually break me.”

They walked into the control room and found the older man from Eureka — the former BPA worker — standing beside one of his helpers. Both were leaning over the dials, tweaking a setting and reading outputs. The older man looked up with a grin wide enough to split his face.

“There he is! The miracle wolf!” he said. “C’mon in. Look at this place!”

Thane stepped inside and actually had to pause. The dust was gone. Every surface gleamed. The monitors showed stable, even output.

“You boys won’t believe the work we’ve done,” the older man went on, flipping through a clipboard. “Turbines are fully balanced. We replaced five bearings. Cleaned the intakes. Tuned the governor. Realigned the sensors. And look at that panel — look at it! Level all the way across. Haven’t seen that in fifteen years.”

Mark leaned over one of the screens. “This looks perfect. I mean… perfect.”

The helper nodded proudly. “Been coming in every day. Just like old shifts. Seven to three. Coffee at nine.”

Varro ran his claws lightly along the counter edge. “Feels like… it was never broken.”

“That’s the idea,” the older man said with a laugh. “We’re havin’ a blast. Didn’t think I’d ever see these systems lit up again. Hell, didn’t think I’d see my station running without a hundred warning lights screaming at me.”

“You’ve done incredible work,” Thane said sincerely.

“Hey,” the man said, waving him off, “you handed us our lives back. Least we can do is polish ’em a bit.”

They chatted a few more minutes — about repairs, routines, plans, the sheer joy of doing something normal again. When Thane, Mark, and Varro finally headed back out to the Humvee, the older man shouted after them, “We’ll see you tomorrow — turbine number two’s getting new brushes!”

Mark laughed. “I love that guy.”

They climbed back onto the road and continued toward Eureka.

The town was buzzing — not loud, not chaotic, just alive. The sidewalks were clean. Families walked with shopping bags. A delivery truck trundled past with crates stacked high. The schoolyard was full of kids shouting happily over a game of tag.

The city hall parking lot was full and people were going in and out like it was any other day from the old world. Inside, the secretary gave them a familiar smile.

“Tom’s at lunch across the street at the diner.”

They stepped back out and crossed the street, and even before entering the diner, they could smell burgers, onions, and fresh fries. A good smell. A happy smell.

Inside was packed. Every booth filled, people laughing, forks clinking. And near the back, in a booth that looked too small for two men that large in spirit, sat Tom Anderson and Tarrik — plates full, drinks sweating on the table, the two of them genuinely laughing.

Tom was pointing at Tarrik’s claws. “You’re telling me it’s like having climbing gear on your hands all the time?”

“Is good for climbing,” Tarrik said proudly. “And fighting. And opening stubborn jars.”

Tom barked a laugh. “I need that in my life.”

That’s when the three wolves approached. Tarrik saw them instantly and brightened.

“Alpha!” he said warmly, tail giving a small, controlled flick. “Good to see you.”

Tom scooted over, patting the booth. “Sit down, sit down — get some burgers… and some fries. You’ve got to try them with the new fryer oil. It’s a revelation.”

They joined the table, the waitress arriving immediately like she’d sensed wolves in need of meat. Burgers hit the table fast. Hot. Perfect.

“So,” Thane asked, “how’s Eureka?”

Tom grinned. “Better every day. Tarrik’s been a godsend. Knows the land better than anyone, knows where we’re blind. Makes patrol routes like he’s been doing it his whole life.”

Tarrik shrugged modestly. “I like helping.”

“And you’ll love this part,” Tom said, lowering his voice like he was winding up a campfire story. “Couple weeks ago, had a skirmish just north of town. Raiders came down from Canada. Didn’t know what they were walking into.”

Tarrik puffed up slightly, but didn’t interrupt.

Tom continued, animated. “They roll up in a pickup truck — three guys in it, armed — thinking they’ll take what they want. Tarrik here walks out onto the road and just stands there, paws open, staring ’em down.”

Tarrik added, “One shot me.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Shot you?”

Tarrik thumped his chest. “Felt like mosquito. Annoying.”

Tom nearly choked on a fry. “He laughed, Thane. LAUGHED. Jumps on the hood, claws right through the metal — I’m talking four clean holes, like someone punched rebar through it — and launches straight into the shooter.”

Tarrik nodded. “He drop gun. And fingers.”

Tom snorted, picking up the story again. “Then Tarrik reaches into the back seat, grabs the second raider, breaks his arm like he’s snapping a pretzel, shoves him out. Then — I swear to God — he reaches through the window, grabs the driver by the collar, and PHYSICALLY THROWS HIM thirty feet. Guy hit a tree, went down like a sack of flour.”

Tarrik looked quietly proud. “Town safe.”

“It was like a movie,” Tom said, leaning back. “An absolute blockbuster.”

Thane shook his head with a smile. “I’m glad you’re putting your strength to good use.”

“I protect here,” Tarrik said. “I live here. Is good.”

They finished their burgers in easy conversation. Light jokes. Updates on town growth. Kids’ school projects. Plans for restoring more buildings. It all felt normal. Wonderful.

When they finally stood to leave, Varro lingered a moment, stepping closer to Tarrik. He rested a firm, steady hand on the big wolf’s shoulder.

“I forgive you,” Varro said softly.

Tarrik froze. His breath hitched. Tears welled immediately — unhidden, unashamed. He nodded once, deeply.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

They stepped out of the diner a few minutes later, full-bellied and lighter-hearted. The Humvee rolled back toward Libby with the windows cracked, the fresh spring air sweeping in. As they passed the dam again, two of the pickup trucks were still parked outside. Two figures waved from the entrance before heading inside with purpose.

Thane waved back, smiling at the sight. “Looks like they’re settling in just fine.”

Mark rested his head back against the seat. “This valley’s healing.”

Varro looked out the window, voice soft and certain. “And we are too.”

The Humvee carried them home, the world around them humming with life that once felt impossible.

It was barely past midmorning when Thane grabbed the Humvee keys off the hook and jerked his chin toward the door. “Gabriel. Kade. With me.”

Gabriel perked up immediately, guitar still in his hands. “Road trip?”

“Quick check-in,” Thane said. “Eureka.”

Kade tightened his vest straps, tail flicking. “To see if Tarrik’s… adjusting?”

Thane snorted. “That’s the diplomatic way to put it.”

The three wolves left the cabin, claws clicking softly on the porch boards. The Humvee’s engine rumbled as they rolled down the road, tires kicking up little curls of dust in the morning light. The valley was calm, the kind of post-Fall quiet that used to feel eerie but now just felt peaceful.

They crested a bend, and Libby Dam came into view — a big, concrete promise humming against the river. Thane slowed, turning into the service road almost without thinking.

Kade leaned forward in his seat, ears up. “Everything looks undisturbed.”

“Good,” Thane said. “Still wanna check inside.”

Inside the control building, the hum of power felt steady and alive. The control wall glowed green across every panel. No alarms. No flickering lights. No signs of tampering. Thane ran a claw along the console, satisfied.

“All green,” Gabriel said, hands shoved in his pockets. “Music to my ears.”

Kade nodded, sniffing the air. “No one’s been snooping. Dust patterns match last time.”

Thane gave him a sideways look. “Dust patterns?”

Kade shrugged. “I’m a multitool.”

Content, they headed back out and climbed into the Humvee. Onward to Eureka.

The moment they crossed into town, they slowed again — not because they had to, but because the scene before them was somehow unreal. Just like Libby, Eureka was… normal. Almost aggressively normal.

Streets swept clean.
Vehicles coming and going.
Kids with backpacks walking toward the school.
Restaurant signs lit.
A pair of teenagers painting fresh lines in the parking lot.
And in the wide open bay of the firehouse, a firefighter was polishing the side of the engine like it was parade day.

Gabriel leaned forward against his seatbelt. “This is wild, right? Like… déjà vu but in a different town.”

“Libby’s not the only one waking up,” Thane murmured.

They pulled up in front of City Hall and parked in the usual visitor spot, though the sign now had fresh paint. Inside, the building smelled like coffee and paper — real functioning office paper — and the secretary at the front desk was typing something rapidly on an old but working computer.

“Good morning,” she said, bright as sunshine. “Mayor Anderson’s in a meeting with Tarrik, but they’ll be happy to see you.”

Thane exchanged a look with Gabriel and Kade.

“Tarrik?” Kade whispered. “With the mayor?”

“Doing what?” Gabriel whispered back. “Threat assessment? Weather reports?”

The secretary just smiled. “Go on in.”

They stepped into Tom Anderson’s office — and froze.

Tarrik and Tom were hunched over a big laminated map of Eureka and the valley surrounding it. Tarrik tapped specific hilltops and ridgelines with surprising precision, explaining angles and lines of sight. Tom listened intently, nodding, occasionally jotting notes like a student with the world’s most intimidating tutor.

“…and this ridge,” Tarrik said, tapping the map with the back of his claw, careful but still rough around the edges. “See here. High ground. You smell trouble early. Wind carries sound up. Good place to watch from. Hard for anything to sneak past.”

Tom grinned and clapped him on the back like they’d been friends for years. “Perfect. Exactly what we needed.”

All three wolves at the door stared.

Tarrik smiled.

A real one. Bright-eyed. Tail resting comfortably behind him. Healthy fur. No tension in his shoulders. No fear in his posture.

He looked up, saw them, and lit up even more.

“Thane,” he said, voice warm in a way they had never heard from him. “Welcome.”

Tom stepped forward, offering a handshake and a grin. “Didn’t expect you today, but damn, it’s good to see you.”

Thane blinked. “Who are you,” he said dryly, staring at Tarrik, “and what have you done with Tarrik.”

Tarrik actually laughed — a startled, pleased sound he wasn’t used to making. “I am learning things. Useful things.” He tapped the map again. “Mayor Anderson has many blind spots in the valley. I help him fix.”

“You’re helping,” Gabriel said, stunned. “Voluntarily helping?”

“I live here now,” Tarrik said simply. “I protect here now. Is good. I eat on time.”

Kade raised a brow. “He eats on time. Truly a changed wolf.”

They chatted warmly for several minutes — about lookout points, night patrols, which neighborhoods needed more attention, how the schools were handling the return of electricity and running water. Tarrik answered every question confidently. Tom backed him like a man who had gained not just a protector, but a partner.

Then the secretary poked her head in. “Tom? There’s someone here asking for you.”

An older man was ushered in — wiry, weathered, wearing Keen work boots that had survived the Fall better than most humans had.

“Sir,” the man said, holding his hat respectfully, “I used to work for Bonneville Power Administration. At the dam, specifically. Oversaw the power systems for thirty years, until the night the world fell, actually.”

The room quieted. The man swallowed, nerves visible.

“I… well, the whole town’s buzzing about the power coming back on. I’d like to know how in the world that happened.”

Tom smiled and pointed directly at Thane. “You’re looking at the reason.”

The man turned, eyes wide. “You got it running? I thought half that equipment would be scrap by now.”

Thane shrugged modestly. “I read the manuals.”

Gabriel coughed. “We did.”

Kade nodded. “Front to back. Twice.”

“But still,” the man said, floored, “that’s… dam power isn’t simple. Not trivial. The alignment alone—”

“It was fun,” Gabriel said, deadpan.

The man stepped closer. “Well… sir, if you’d like, I’d be honored to help run it again. I know two others who worked with me. They’d probably cry from joy at the idea. We could maintain it proper. Monitor demand. Keep the turbines happy.”

Tom looked at Thane. “This is your call. That dam is running because of you and your pack.”

Thane didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Absolutely. Please.”

The man brightened like the sun had turned up a notch. “Excellent! Great! I’ll go get them. We’ll head down there today. No need for keys, I still have my old set.”

And with that, he hurried out, energized, muttering something about generator spin-up and intake cleaning.

Gabriel watched him disappear. “I adore motivated old men.”

Kade nodded. “He’s going to adopt the dam.”

“I hope he does,” Thane said.

They spent a few more minutes with Tom and Tarrik. Finally, Thane stepped toward Tarrik and gestured for a moment alone. Tarrik followed without hesitation.

Up close, Thane took in the changes: fuller face, calmer eyes, lighter posture. Not the beaten, angry, desperate wolf from Iron Ridge. Someone new. Someone rebuilding.

“I’m happy for you,” Thane said softly. “Really happy.”

Tarrik’s throat worked as he swallowed. “You spared me,” he said quietly. “You gave me chance. I would never… I can never repay that.”

“You already have,” Thane said. “Seeing you like this—helping, living, being… happy? That’s more than enough.”

Tarrik’s ears dipped, humbled. “Thank you, Alpha.”

Thane squeezed his arm. “Take care of this town.”

“I will,” Tarrik promised.

After goodbyes and a few more laughs, the wolves headed out. They climbed back into the Humvee, rolling slowly through the streets of Eureka, marveling at the echoes of Libby — another town waking up, coming alive, remembering itself.

Kids on playgrounds.
People sweeping porches.
Engines idling at crosswalks.
A café with a chalkboard sign reading: “Today’s Special — Hot Soup!”

Gabriel chuckled. “It’s happening everywhere.”

Kade smiled faintly. “Feels good.”

“Feels right,” Thane said.

On the way home, they passed the dam again. Two pickup trucks were parked at the entrance, doors open, tools laid out, three figures already walking toward the service building with purpose.

One of them waved as the Humvee rolled by.

Thane slowed just enough to wave back, warmth settling in his chest. “Looks like they’re getting to work.”

Gabriel leaned back in his seat. “Good thing we read those manuals.”

Kade grinned. “Yeah. But they’ll read ’em better.”

The Humvee rumbled down the road toward Libby, toward home, toward the rhythm of a valley that had finally begun to breathe again.

And Thane couldn’t stop smiling.

Morning light slid across the cabin like it was in a better mood than usual—warmer, brighter, almost smug about it. Thane was the first one awake, mostly because Kade had once again stolen all the blankets in the night and Rime had curled up against him like a space heater with claws.

Thane stretched, joints cracking pleasantly instead of painfully, and padded across the wood floor on clawed feet. Steam rose from the bathroom as Holt stepped out, fur damp, grinning like an idiot.

“Hot water is good,” Holt declared proudly, as if he had fixed the dam himself. “Feel like… cloud hug.”

Gabriel, still sprawled on the couch with a pillow over his face, muttered, “Dude, you were in there for fifteen minutes. That’s a war crime.”

“Not crime,” Holt said confidently. “Clean.”

Mark emerged next, towel over his shoulder, ears perked. “Showers work. Toilets flush. Sinks run. Civilization has returned. It feels very… weird.”

“It’s supposed to,” Thane said, brushing fur back from his face. “Normal always feels strange when you’ve lived without it.”

The cabin door opened and Varro stepped in, shaking off the morning air. His fur was wind-tossed, eyes sharp but softened by routine. “Kade stole my towel,” he announced dryly.

Kade, seated at the table sipping tea, didn’t look up. “I did not steal your towel. Your towel fell into my paw.”

Rime nodded sagely. “Happens. Towels tricky.”

Varro just stared at them. Slowly. Then at Thane. “This is my life now.”

Thane clapped him on the shoulder. “And you chose it.”

Varro didn’t deny it—which was progress.

The wolves drifted around the cabin like a big, mismatched family enjoying their first taste of ordinary comfort in ages. Gabriel tuned his guitar. Holt attempted to make toast and somehow burnt it. Rime tried to repair the toaster afterward and made it worse. Mark fixed it with a flourish and then lectured them all on proper toaster etiquette. Normal chaos. Familiar chaos.

Then something strange happened.

A rumbling.

A low, mechanical rumble that made every wolf freeze mid-movement, ears pivoting.

“What was that?” Gabriel asked.

Holt’s ears shot up. “Truck. Big truck.”

Kade stood slowly. “Sounds like… municipal.”

Thane frowned. “Municipal what?”

And then it hit them all at once.

“Oh hell,” Mark whispered. “Is that… a trash truck?”

Thane blinked. “There are no trash trucks. Trash trucks do not exist anymore.”

Rime’s eyes widened. “Truck has growl.”

Holt pressed his face to the window. “TRASH TRUCK,” he barked triumphantly. “IT EAT GARBAGE!”

Gabriel yanked the door open and they all spilled out into the morning sunshine like nosy neighbors.

And there, rolling casually down the street, was in fact a full-sized, fully functioning white-and-green city sanitation truck. The driver—a middle-aged man with a neon vest and a grin so wide it had to hurt—lifted a hand in greeting as he rolled past.

“Morning, wolves!” he called. “Route starts on Mineral Avenue! Trash day is back, folks!”

Thane stood there, dumbfounded. “He’s doing trash pickup.”

Mark rubbed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Gabriel started laughing—a slow build into a hysterical cackle. “This is incredible.”

And then something even more surreal happened.

Residents all over the street began panicking in the best way possible. Someone shouted from their porch:

“THE TRASH TRUCK IS BACK! GO! GO! GO!”

Doors flew open. People scrambled. Rolling trash bins appeared like wild creatures emerging from hibernation. Folks sprinted down driveways shoving old food scraps, broken lamps, post-Fall debris, scraps of metal, torn clothes, burned cookware—anything and everything they’d been meaning to throw out for the last couple of years.

An elderly woman trundled her bin out with surprising speed, waving frantically. “WAIT, TODD! I’VE GOT TWO MONTHS OF JUNK!”

Todd—apparently the man in the truck—held up a “come on then!” hand and grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment since civilization fell.

Holt was mesmerized. “Human ritual… amazing.”

Rime nodded. “Trash truck Alpha.”

Varro crossed his arms, amused. “This feels like a hallucination.”

Thane exhaled a long breath. “Let’s go see the square. Something tells me the morning got interesting.”

The pack walked through Libby like strangers in their own town. Everything looked right—too right. Street sweepers hummed along the curbs, brushes spinning, dust clouds swirling like it was any ordinary Tuesday. Workers in neon vests swept sidewalks. A dump truck headed toward the far side of the rail yard. The faint beeping of a reversing forklift came from behind the hardware store.

Kade whispered, “This is surreal.”

“It is more than surreal,” Varro said softly. “It is… eerie. Like walking into memory.”

Holt pressed close to Thane. “Town too clean. Not trust.”

“It’s okay,” Gabriel said, patting Holt’s shoulder. “Clean is good. We like clean.”

Holt squinted. “Maybe.”

They turned the last corner onto Mineral Avenue—and stopped dead.

The entire square was alive.

The bakery sign was lit with warm yellow bulbs. Real bulbs. The window showed trays of something hot steaming inside. The general store had its front door propped open and displayed handmade signs advertising tools, rope, kerosene, and “POWERED ITEMS RESTOCKED SOON!” Someone was sweeping the front steps of City Hall while another person painted the doorframe.

A neon OPEN sign buzzed lazily from the diner window—an actual neon sign Thane could’ve sworn was dead forever.

Mark muttered, “I feel like we wandered into a parallel dimension where the apocalypse never happened.”

“Same,” Gabriel said, pointing. “Look—there’s a running Coke machine inside the diner.”

Holt gasped loudly. “Coke machine ALIVE?!”

Rime pressed his face to the glass. “Cans cold. Want cold.”

Kade laughed. “Control yourself, snowball.”

Thane stood still a long moment, taking it all in—the hum of electricity, the rhythm of normalcy, the heartbeat of a town coming back to life.

“This,” he said quietly, “is what we fought for.”

The others fell silent. For a breath, the town simply glowed.

And then—

“OH MY GOD!”

A woman came sprinting out of the boutique, pushing a rolling bin toward the curb, waving wildly at the sanitation truck approaching the square.

“I THOUGHT YOU MISSED THIS STREET!”

The driver called back, “Never miss the square, Cindy!”

Gabriel wiped his eyes. “We need to put this in the history books. Libby’s first Trash Day Post-Fall.”

Marta met them halfway down the steps of City Hall, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair pulled back tighter than a tactical ponytail.

“Well,” she said with a smirk, “good morning, wolves. Feeling the returning glow of civilization?”

“Marta,” Thane said, “what’s happening?”

She shrugged like it was no big deal. “Oh, you know. The town decided to… function again. People showed up to City Hall this morning and said, ‘Well, there’s power. There’s water. Guess we ought to do our jobs.’ And then they did.”

Gabriel grinned. “That’s it? Civilization rebooted because folks felt like clocking back in?”

“Pretty much,” Marta said. “Street crews are out. Sanitation’s running. Store owners are opening up. A few folks even asked about starting a weekly farmer’s market again.”

Holt puffed out his chest. “Pack help. Pack fix dam. Humans happy.”

Rime nodded. “Dam big. Pack big.”

Marta smiled warmly. “Yes. And the whole valley knows who to thank.”

Varro stood behind Thane, watching Marta with quiet respect. “It feels… unreal,” he admitted. “Almost fragile. Like if we touch it too hard it will break.”

Marta’s expression softened. “Then don’t touch it. Just enjoy it. You earned this.”

They wandered the square, each wolf drawn to something familiar or bizarre.

Rime circled a street sweeper, fascinated. “Machine clean ground,” he declared. “Ground clean now.”

Holt found a kid with a popsicle and stared until offered one. He devoured it in three bites and yelled “COLD!” like he’d been betrayed.

Gabriel found the diner griddle running. “Breakfast is BACK,” he whispered reverently.

Kade eavesdropped on old men debating lawnmower belts. “I never thought I’d hear complaints about yard work again.”

Mark discovered cinnamon rolls with actual icing and nearly wept.

When the pack regrouped, the trash truck finished its loop. Someone threw confetti. Holt howled. Rime joined. Todd fist-pumped from the driver’s seat.

“I never thought trash day would make people emotional,” Gabriel said.

“It’s not trash day,” Marta said. “It’s… normal day.”

Varro looked around at the lights, the sounds, the people laughing. “This is the first morning that feels like… hope without fear attached.”

Thane stood quietly, letting it wash over him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

The diner insisted they eat. They squeezed into a long booth, nearly breaking it. The waitress approached, bewildered but cheerful.

“Seven wolves in the breakfast booth. Alright then. What’ll it be?”

Holt didn’t hesitate. “PANCAKE MOUNTAIN.”

Rime pointed. “Toast. Also pancake mountain.”

Mark raised a paw. “Cinnamon roll. And another cinnamon roll. And—”

Thane gave him a look. “Moderation.”

Mark frowned. “I hate moderation.”

Kade ordered eggs and coffee. Varro asked for oatmeal like he was still practicing gentleness. Gabriel got french toast. Thane ordered coffee and a double breakfast plate.

The waitress scribbled. “You got it.”

When she left, Holt whispered loudly, “Alpha get double. Alpha strong.”

Varro nodded solemnly. “As it should be.”

Gabriel nearly fell out of the booth laughing.

When the food arrived, the table went quiet—soft, warm, peaceful.

“Listen,” Kade said.

They did.

Outside was the sound of engines, footsteps, sweeping, hammering, trash bins rolling, a phone ringing in City Hall.

Life.

Actual, ordinary life.

Varro breathed out. “A morning without fear. A morning where things just… work.”

Thane leaned forward, forearms on the table. “It’s the first time since the Fall the world feels like it’s healing.”

Gabriel nudged him. “We made it happen.”

“Not alone,” Thane said. “Never alone.”

Holt raised his fork. “To pack. To town. To trash truck.”

Rime echoed, “To trash truck.”

Kade lifted his mug. “To normal.”

Varro lifted his bowl. “To… beginning again.”

They all looked at Thane.

He lifted his coffee with a rare smile. “To home.”

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, a familiar engine note rumbled past. Hank cruised by in his polished Ford Police Interceptor SUV, lightbar dark but presence unmistakable. He had one elbow out the window, coffee in hand, waving to townsfolk like it was the most normal morning in history. “Mornin’, boys,” he called as he rolled past, giving the pack a quick chin-lift and a grin. Holt waved enthusiastically. Rime saluted for reasons no one understood. Hank just shook his head fondly and kept on with his patrol, the sheriff doing what sheriffs do now that the world worked again.

Street sweepers glided.
Trash truck beeped.
Neon signs buzzed.
Shops opened.
Kids played.
The bakery bell chimed.

Thane stood still, soaking in the moment.

Holt nudged him. “Alpha okay?”

“Yeah,” Thane said softly. “Yeah. I really am.”

Rime leaned on his shoulder. “Town alive.”

“Town’s alive,” Thane agreed.

Gabriel stood beside him. “Feels like waking up from a long winter.”

Thane breathed deep. “It’s normal,” he said. “Finally… normal.”

And together, the pack walked forward into the square, into the noise and light and laughter—a world reborn around them.

The morning Thane delivered Tarrik to Eureka was cold and sharp, the kind of morning where every breath felt like clean slate. The Humvee rumbled down the forest road with a steady diesel growl, tires crunching old frost as the sun crested the ridge.

Thane drove.
Tarrik sat in the passenger seat — back rigid, paws folded, gaze fixed on the windshield like a soldier marching into judgment.

He hadn’t spoken since they’d left Libby.
He hadn’t needed to.

Thane’s presence alone was enough to hold him together.

After a long stretch of quiet, Tarrik finally spoke, voice low and stripped of the old authority. “Why you do this… for me?”

Thane didn’t look over. “Because no wolf should die believing he can only be what someone else taught him to be.”

Tarrik’s breath hitched.

“And because,” Thane said, shifting gears, “strength without purpose isn’t strength. If you want to be better, then you need a place to give that strength meaning.”

The broken wolf stared at his paws — still scarred from battles, still capable of violence, still shaking slightly from the weight of everything behind him.

“I won’t fail you,” Tarrik whispered.

“You won’t fail Eureka,” Thane corrected gently. “This isn’t about me.”

The road opened, and Eureka appeared ahead — cozy homes, a modest city hall, smoke curling from chimneys, people moving about in the way of a small town finally finding peace again.

It looked… safe.
It looked like a place that deserved protection.

The Humvee rumbled into the main square and rolled to a stop. People turned — startled at first, then curious, then relieved when they recognized Thane’s presence. The wolf who brought light back to the valley was always welcome.

Mayor Tom Anderson stepped down from the city hall porch, coat wrapped tight around his shoulders.

“Thane,” he called warmly. “We weren’t expecting you again so soon.”

Thane opened the driver’s door. “Morning, Tom. I’ve brought someone.”

When Tarrik stepped out of the Humvee, several townsfolk tensed. They didn’t know his history, but they knew wolf instinct when they saw it. Tarrik looked like a soldier carved out of metal and regret — intimidating even in humility.

Tom blinked up at him. “And you are…?”

Tarrik bowed his head deeply. “I am Tarrik. I come to offer service. Protection. Whatever you need.”

The mayor blinked in surprise at the formal tone. “Service?”

Thane stepped beside Tarrik. “He’s here under my direction.”

That alone eased every human within earshot. If Thane said it, it meant something.

“You know how dangerous the valley has been,” Thane continued. “You know what raiders are capable of. You know what the winter brings. Tarrik is a warrior — a savage one.”

Tarrik flinched at the word, but Thane didn’t soften it.

“He fought through things most wolves never survive. He knows every tactic, every ambush route, every weakness a raider band can exploit. He’s been forged in cruelty and fear.”

Tom swallowed, glancing at Tarrik with newfound caution.

Thane kept going, steady and calm.

“But he is not here to bring any of that to you. He is here to stand between you and whatever may come next. He is here because no wolf in this valley is better at facing down danger. And because,” he added, voice dropping just slightly, “he wants to prove he can be more than what he was.”

Tarrik stared at Thane as though those words didn’t belong to him — like he had never imagined they could.

The mayor looked between them. “A protector?”

“Yes,” Thane said. “One who will take orders from your council. He will not lead. He will not dominate. He will guard.”

Tom studied Tarrik carefully. “Do you accept that?”

Tarrik’s voice cracked but didn’t shake. “I do.”

“And you won’t harm anyone here? Or use your strength against them?”

Tarrik bowed again. “Never. I give claws, give life, for their safety.”

Thane watched him with a quiet, unreadable expression.

Tom exhaled slowly. “Then… welcome to Eureka, Tarrik. We could use a set of strong paws watching the perimeter. Hank mentioned some wolves might be posted to towns, but I didn’t think it would happen this fast.”

“Things change fast,” Thane said.

A small crowd had formed now — curious, cautious, whispering among themselves. Tarrik lowered his head in respect to them all.

Thane placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, guiding him a step forward.

“Tarrik,” he said. “Speak the truth you told me.”

Tarrik swallowed hard. “I did terrible things,” he said, voice low. “Fear made me. Made me cruel. I do not want that anymore.”

He looked up — meeting the eyes of the people before him.

“I want to protect. That’s all.”

The honesty in that last sentence softened several faces instantly.

Mayor Tom nodded slowly. “Then you’ll start with the northern perimeter. We’ve had reports of cougars near the trailhead. And if raiders come through again…”

Tarrik’s voice sharpened. “They won’t touch your gates.”

Tom almost smiled. “Good.”

Thane leaned toward Tarrik, voice low but firm.

“You will check in with me in one month,” he said. “Dam road. Alone.”

“Yes,” Tarrik said. “I will be there.”

“And you will follow Eureka’s rules. Their laws. Their people.”

“I will,” Tarrik said. “I swear it.”

“And if you ever harm them,” Thane said — not threatening, just truth — “I finish what I didn’t finish before.”

Tarrik bowed deeply. “I know.”

Thane looked satisfied.

But Tarrik… Tarrik looked shaken.

Because he’d never been defended before.
Never vouched for.
Never spoken of as anything but a weapon or a curse.

And now Thane — the wolf who had every reason to kill him — had stood before an entire town and said, He can be something good.

Tarrik’s voice was barely a whisper. “You… you think I am protector.”

Thane looked at him steadily. “Because you want to be. That matters more than what you were.”

Tarrik swallowed, tears shining faintly at the edges of his eyes. “Thank you.”

Thane rested a hand on his shoulder once more — grounding him, centering him.

“Be what you choose, Tarrik,” Thane said. “Not what fear made you.”

For a moment, the big wolf couldn’t speak.

Tom stepped forward gently. “Let’s show you the lookout posts.”

Tarrik nodded, composed himself, and followed him — walking a little taller, a little steadier, though still humbled to his core.

As they walked away, Thane climbed back into the Humvee. Gabriel moved from the back seat, now sitting where Tarrik had been, and glanced through the window at the scene unfolding.

“You think he’ll make it?” Gabriel asked.

Thane watched Tarrik greet a curious child who peeked around a porch post, the big wolf lowering himself to eye level, speaking gently.

“I think,” Thane said softly, “that for the first time in his life… he wants to.”

Gabriel leaned back, nodding. “You know, Alpha… you’re building more than a valley. You’re building a world.”

Thane didn’t reply.

He just watched Tarrik walk the perimeter, shoulders squared, posture humble but determined — a wolf choosing his first good step.

Then Thane turned the Humvee toward home.

And the valley, once divided by fear and blood, grew stronger by one more choice.

The first warning wasn’t a scent. It wasn’t a sound. It wasn’t even the shift in the wind.

It was Rime.

He lifted his head from the porch railing where he’d been sharpening one of Varro’s field stakes, nostrils flaring once. His ears tipped forward, his whole posture tightening the way only a wolf’s can — like a bowstring pulled taut without a sound.

Thane stepped out of the cabin just in time to catch the change ripple through the pack like a silent jolt.

Kade straightened from where he was oiling the hinges on the cabin’s back door. Varro pivoted sharply, hand dropping toward his knife without thought. Holt froze mid-chew with a cookie half stuck to his claws. Even Gabriel’s guitar slid into stillness as the last note faded.

Rime’s voice was low, tense enough to raise the hairs along anyone’s spine.
“Wolf coming. Alone.”

Thane felt his heartbeat settle instead of quicken — grounding himself in that deep, practiced stillness older than the Fall, older than fear.

“Direction?” he asked.

Rime nodded toward the trees north of the cabin. “Old scent,” he murmured. “Anger. Grief. Ash.”

Varro stiffened, expression tightening. “Iron Ridge.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “Only one left is—”

He didn’t say the name, because he didn’t need to.

The forest answered for him.

Tarrik.

The last survivor of the Iron Ridge Pack. The tyrant. The wolf Thane had promised would die if he ever returned. The wolf Thane had spared only to end a cycle of violence that had devoured too many already.

Varro inhaled sharply. Holt’s ears flattened tight to his skull. Even calm, careful Kade dropped into a low, ready stance.

Thane stepped forward, lifting one claw in a small but commanding signal.
“No one moves until he approaches. Let him come.”

Rime glanced at him, concern flickering behind his amber eyes. “Alpha… you said he would not survive another meeting.”

“I know what I said,” Thane replied quietly.

He looked toward the trees.

“And I know what I meant.”

Minutes later, the forest opened and Tarrik emerged.

He didn’t stride. He didn’t posture. He didn’t carry the ruthless, coiled authority he once wielded like a weapon. He walked like someone who had been hollowed out by winter and regret.

His fur, once sharp black and silver, was ragged. His ribs showed beneath his hide. His eyes — once cold and domineering — now looked shattered, like someone had taken a chisel to whatever pride he once had and cracked it from the inside.

He stepped into the clearing… then collapsed to his knees.

Dust puffed up around him. His claws dug into the dirt. His head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground.

Rime sucked in air.
Holt whispered, “He fall down…”
Varro’s breath hitched — memories stirring, painful and raw.
Gabriel stared in stunned silence.

Tarrik’s voice came out a cracked whisper.
“Alpha Thane…”
He swallowed.
“I have come… to die if you choose it.”

The clearing fell utterly still.

No theatrics.
No manipulation.
No dominance.
Just a simple truth spoken by a broken thing.

Thane didn’t speak. Not yet.

Tarrik continued, each word pulled like a thorn from scar tissue.

“I have lost all. My pack… gone. My land… empty. My name… worth nothing but fear.” His shoulders shook. “I walked alone after the battle. And in the silence… I saw every face I hurt.”

Holt blinked, confused and strangely moved. Rime’s posture eased half an inch. Varro looked away, jaw clenching, because hearing it didn’t erase the wounds but did something strange to the space inside his chest.

Tarrik breathed in shakily.
“I am not here for mercy. I am not here for forgiveness. I deserve neither.”

He bowed lower.

“I came so you could end me properly. Before I become the monster I was again.”

Thane stepped forward then, slow and steady, his presence deepening the air.

“Tarrik,” he said. “Look at me.”

It took time — but eventually, Tarrik lifted his gaze. What Thane saw in those eyes wasn’t defiance or fear or rage.

It was grief.
And something like shame.
And the faint, awful realization of what he’d become.

“You think I want you dead?” Thane asked.

“Yes,” Tarrik whispered. “You should.”

Thane studied him — the ruined creature he’d once fought under a storm of snow and gunfire.

“You came here to surrender,” Thane said.

Tarrik bowed again. “Yes.”

“You came here because you have nowhere left.”

“Yes.”

“And you came here because you finally saw what you were.”

Tarrik’s voice broke. “Yes.”

Thane’s tone remained calm, but beneath it pulsed the iron core of his leadership.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I don’t want your death.”

The pack behind him shifted. Even Gabriel blinked.

Tarrik stared at Thane as if he’d been struck. “You… don’t?”

“No,” Thane said softly. “I want you better.”

The clearing held its breath.

Tarrik’s mouth opened — then closed — then opened again. “Better?”

“Yes,” Thane said. “A wolf who harms others for control isn’t powerful. He’s wounded. Deep. And for too long, hurting others was the only thing you knew.”

Tarrik’s voice trembled. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“You can learn,” Thane said.

Tarrik shook his head weakly. “You would teach me?”

“No.” Thane’s tone sharpened, but not cruelly. Just honest. “You can’t join my pack. They would never accept you. They shouldn’t. And you know it.”

Varro exhaled shakily — gratitude and pain mixing in equal measure.

“But,” Thane continued, “you can still protect others.”

Tarrik lifted his head fully now, stunned. “Protect…?”

“There is a town called Eureka,” Thane said. “Good people. Small. Growing. They have no wolf. No guardian.”

He stepped closer.

“They need someone who knows how to fight. How to watch the woods. How to stand between danger and the innocent.”

Tarrik blinked through the disbelief. “You… you would trust me with that?”

“No,” Thane said again, firm. “But I trust the wolf you can become.”

Tarrik let out a weak, choking breath.

“And if I fail?” he whispered.

Thane leaned in, voice dropping to that dangerous, resonant tone that made even Gabriel straighten.

“If you harm a person under my protection, I will finish you myself. Quickly.”
He paused.
“Do you understand?”

Tarrik nodded immediately. “Yes. I swear it.”

“And if you don’t fail,” Thane said, “if you choose differently even once… then you will have done something good with the life you almost threw away.”

Tarrik bowed so low his forehead hit the earth. “I will try. I swear. I will try.”

Varro stepped forward then — slow, conflicted.

Thane tensed subtly, ready to intervene if needed.

Varro stood before Tarrik, the wolf who had tormented him, belittled him, shaped him with cruelty. His voice came low, raw but steady.

“You hurt me,” Varro said. “You hurt everyone around you.”

Tarrik’s breath caught. “…I know.”

“I don’t forgive you,” Varro said. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”

Tarrik nodded — accepting.

“But…” Varro continued, surprising even himself, “…I hope you become someone worth forgiving.”

Tarrik closed his eyes. A tear slipped into the dirt.

Gabriel let out a slow, shaky exhale, eyes bright.

“You know,” he said, “this might be the bravest, stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”

Thane shrugged softly. “Most good things start as both.”

Holt stepped forward, head tilted. “You be good wolf now?”

Tarrik’s voice broke entirely.
“I… will try.”

Holt nodded with certainty. “Trying important.”

And somehow, coming from him, it meant everything.

Kade approached last, his expression soft but serious.
“Eureka will not understand you at first,” he said. “But if you show them respect… protection… kindness… they will.”

Tarrik bowed again. “I will.”

Thane placed a hand — firm, grounding — on his shoulder.

“You will leave in the morning,” he said. “You will go to Eureka. Marta will prepare the way. They will not call you Alpha. You will not lead. You will guard.”

“Yes,” Tarrik whispered. “Thank you.”

“And once every month,” Thane continued, “you will meet me on the dam road. Alone. So I can see the wolf you are becoming.”

“Yes,” Tarrik said. “I will come.”

Thane stepped back and said in a calm, almost gentle voice, “Go now. Tomorrow is the first step.”

Tarrik rose shakily, bowed one final time, and disappeared into the trees — not running, not fleeing, but walking with a strange, fragile purpose.

The valley swallowed him quietly.

Later that night, the pack gathered inside the cabin. The fire crackled, casting warm light across fur and wood.

Gabriel polished his guitar, still stunned. Holt chewed a cookie in thoughtful silence. Rime watched the door, protective instincts softened but alive. Kade leaned against the wall, arms crossed, golden eyes thoughtful. Varro stared into the fire, haunted but lighter than before.

Mark finally spoke from his seat near the table.

“You know,” he said to Thane, “you didn’t just save him.”

Thane looked up. “No?”

“You saved whatever town he’ll protect,” Mark said softly. “And maybe… you saved the wolf he could’ve been a long time ago.”

The pack absorbed that.

Thane nodded slowly. “He gets one chance,” he said. “One. If he breaks it, it ends.”

Gabriel smiled faintly. “And if he doesn’t?”

Thane looked into the fire — the heart of the cabin, the heart of the valley.

“Then the valley grows stronger,” he said.

Rime murmured, “Pack grows in many shapes.”

Thane gave the smallest nod. “Yes. It does.”

Outside, the valley lay quiet, lit by steady power humming across the dark. And somewhere far away, the last wolf of Iron Ridge waited for morning.

A wolf trying, for the first time in his life, to be something good.

And that — Thane knew — was how a world rebuilt itself:

one choice at a time.