Morning came soft. No alarms, no patrol horns, no shouts. Just the wind off the hills and the smell of frost burning away on the tin roofs of Libby.
Inside the cabin, the pack woke in pieces. Gabriel tuned the guitar on the couch; Holt was already at the stove pretending he knew how to make breakfast again; Rime was half-asleep with a mug he hadn’t drunk from yet. Kade stretched by the window, the light turning his gray-and-black fur silver. Thane was last to move—no rush in him, just that quiet readiness that came from years of being responsible for everything.
Varro sat near the fire, watching them with that stillness that came from a soldier who didn’t yet believe peace was real. His hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee, his eyes distant. The lines across his ribs and arms—old scars, some thin as threads, some thick and uneven—caught the light like pale handwriting across his fur.
He hadn’t said much since the battle. He’d been helping, listening, memorizing. But today was the first morning that felt like a normal day, and that almost unnerved him more than war ever had.
Thane noticed. He always did.
“You keep staring like the world’s going to explode,” he said casually, stepping past to pour his own coffee.
Varro blinked. “Habit.”
Kade leaned against the doorframe, grinning faintly. “You’ll unlearn it. Or at least stop expecting fire every sunrise.”
“Where I came from,” Varro said, “every sunrise was the start of someone’s punishment.”
Holt stopped stirring. Rime’s tail flicked once. The room’s warmth dimmed for a heartbeat until Thane crossed back and clapped Varro’s shoulder.
“It’s different here,” he said simply. “If you want punishment, you’ll have to beg for it. All we’ve got is chores.”
Holt grinned again. “And my cooking.”
That broke the tension—laughter rolling through the room, easy and full. Even Varro smiled.
By midmorning, Thane, Kade, and Varro were out walking the main street. The air smelled of woodsmoke and bread. Human kids darted between fences, chasing a ragged soccer ball. A few of Sable’s younger wolves were helping Hank’s crew patch the south gate—hammering boards, joking in broken English that mixed with the humans’ laughter.
Varro kept glancing around like he expected to be challenged for walking there. No one stared. No one cowered. People waved.
A woman at a fruit stand called out, “You boys want apples? They’re fresh!”
Kade accepted one, tossed it to Varro. “See? They even feed us.”
Varro caught it, still half-disbelieving. “Just like that?”
Thane bit into his own. “Just like that.”
They walked past the schoolyard where a group of kids were painting a big wooden sign—“WELCOME BACK, FERALS!”—in thick blue letters. The sight stopped Varro cold.
“They welcome us,” he murmured. “Openly.”
Thane nodded. “They learned we don’t bite unless we have to.”
Kade laughed under his breath. “Holt’s still on probation for that rule.”
From across the yard, one of the kids spotted them and waved enthusiastically. “Hey! Wolves!”
The group of them came running—half a dozen children bundled in mismatched coats. Thane slowed, crouching slightly so they didn’t have to crane their necks. Kade smiled, relaxed. Varro froze like someone had shouted enemy sighted.
The smallest girl, no older than six, stopped in front of him and blinked up with fearless curiosity. “You’re new.”
“I am,” Varro said carefully.
“Do you live in the big cabin with the others?”
“Yes.”
“You have really big claws.” She reached toward his hand, then paused, looking for permission.
He hesitated, then offered it palm-up. She touched one claw gently, wide-eyed. “Cool,” she said solemnly. Then her gaze drifted up his arm, tracing the scars. “Did you get hurt?”
The other kids gathered closer, curious but quiet. Thane watched from a few steps back, ready to step in if needed—but he didn’t. Kade stayed beside Varro, silent support.
Varro swallowed. “Yes,” he said softly. “A long time ago.”
“Did it hurt?” another boy asked.
He looked at them—their faces open, no judgment, just the simple hunger for truth—and something in his chest ached.
“Yes,” he said again. “It hurt a lot.”
The little girl frowned. “Who did it?”
Varro’s mouth tightened. “Someone who thought hurting others made him strong.”
The boy frowned. “That’s dumb.”
Varro’s voice cracked just slightly when he said, “Yes. It was.”
One of the older kids, maybe ten, looked up at him seriously. “My grandpa says wolves are scary. But you don’t look scary.”
Varro smiled faintly, the smallest curl of warmth finding its way through. “That’s because I’m not anymore.”
The girl tilted her head. “You stopped being scary?”
“I learned better,” he said. “You can be strong without being cruel.”
Thane stepped closer then, resting a hand briefly on the girl’s shoulder. “That’s the lesson we live by here,” he said gently. “Fear breaks things. Kindness builds them.”
The kids nodded with that easy, unfiltered acceptance that adults forget how to have. “You wanna see our sign?” one asked. “We’re making it for you!”
Varro blinked. “For me?”
“For all of you,” the boy said proudly. “To thank you for making Libby safe.”
Kade grinned. “Well, that’s a first.”
They walked closer, and the kids showed off the half-painted board. Smudges everywhere, colors uneven, but the words were clear: THANK YOU, PACK.
Varro’s throat tightened again, but this time the tears didn’t fall. He just smiled, genuinely, as if something heavy had loosened deep inside.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice low.
“Wanna help paint?” the girl asked. She held out a brush, dripping blue.
Varro looked to Thane.
Thane shrugged. “You heard the Alpha.”
Varro knelt and took the brush. His claws were too big for the handle, the bristles splayed wrong, but the kids didn’t care. They crowded around him as he carefully filled the outline of the last letter.
When he finished, the little girl clapped. “Perfect!”
Varro laughed softly. “I haven’t been called that before.”
Kade leaned over. “Get used to it.”
They stayed there another few minutes while the paint dried. Thane stood by the fence, arms folded, watching with quiet satisfaction. Peace wasn’t loud, but it carried.
That afternoon, back at the cabin, Varro helped Kade and Rime with the day’s patrol routes. Maps were spread across the table—hand-drawn grids of Libby and the surrounding ridges.
“You sure you want me in on this already?” Varro asked.
Kade shrugged. “You’ve got the best tactical mind here. Rime’s got the instincts. Between the three of us, no one’s sneaking up on this town.”
Rime pointed with a claw. “This ridge too open. Move watch to tree line. Wind good there.”
Varro nodded, adjusting the mark. “Agreed. If they come again, they’ll take the lower river path. Easier to hide a group that way.”
Thane came in mid-conversation, leaned over the map. “Good. You’re learning our rhythm fast.”
Varro looked up. “It’s easy to learn when no one’s waiting to tear your throat out for suggesting something.”
Thane’s mouth curved in that small half-smile. “That’s the bar now? No one kills you for helping?”
Varro gave a short laugh. “You’d be surprised how high a bar that used to be.”
The laughter in the room was easy, genuine. When they’d finished, Kade rolled the map neatly and handed it to Thane.
“We’re calling this patrol pattern ‘The Quiet Circle,’” he said.
Thane looked up. “I like that.”
Varro nodded, the phrase resonating. “That’s what this place feels like. Quiet. Whole.”
Evening settled slow and gold. The pack gathered outside the cabin, watching the sunset bleed across the mountains. Marta walked past with Hank, both waving. The town was alive—smoke from chimneys, laughter from windows, wolves and humans alike moving without fear.
Holt joined them on the porch with mugs of tea. “Still weird seeing humans trust us.”
Thane took his, nodding. “That’s what peace looks like. Still weird for all of us.”
Varro leaned on the railing. “I didn’t know peace could look like anything. I thought it was just silence after the screaming stopped.”
Thane turned to him, eyes steady. “Peace isn’t quiet, Varro. It’s busy in a different way. You’ll see.”
He gestured toward the street where kids were chasing fireflies with jars, laughing, their tiny feet kicking up dust. “That’s peace. The sound of people forgetting what war feels like.”
Varro’s gaze softened. “And we guard that?”
Thane nodded. “Always.”
Kade smirked. “And occasionally we fix their phones and eat their cookies.”
Varro chuckled. “Good balance.”
The laughter faded into comfortable silence. The sun slipped lower, painting long shadows across the valley. Varro felt something inside him click into place—not a soldier’s readiness, but belonging.
They stood there together until the light faded completely, the first stars opening above the ridge like tiny promises.
Inside, Gabriel started strumming his guitar—soft, lazy notes that filled the air with warmth. Holt hummed something off-key. Rime stretched out by the hearth. The cabin felt full without feeling crowded.
Varro sat on the floor near the fire, tail flicking slowly, and just listened. The music, the laughter, the smell of woodsmoke—it all blended into a kind of peace he hadn’t known existed.
Kade passed behind him, hand briefly brushing his shoulder. “You good?”
Varro nodded. “Better than I ever thought I’d be.”
Thane looked over from his chair, one brow raised. “Get used to it.”
Varro smiled quietly, watching the flames. “I think I finally can.”
Outside, the night was calm. The pack’s breath rose and fell with the rhythm of a place that had learned to survive and then learned how to live.
And in that stillness, the newest wolf in Libby finally stopped listening for pain—and started listening for laughter.