The cabin breathed like a sleeping animal, warm and even, the kind of quiet that happens when snow has argued the world into slowing down. Thane woke to the crack of expanding timber and the gentle clatter of Gabriel testing strings; a handful of notes wandered the hallway like curious ghosts. From the room beside Thane’s, a deep contented groan and the whisper of a pillow being adopted as a sacred object said Holt had discovered comfort. Then a snort, a grumble, and Rime’s steady voice, patient as a river: “Pillow stays. Head here. Not whole wolf.”
“Is good,” Holt muttered, mouth muffled by cotton. “Cloud for face.”
“Bed for body,” Rime countered, unbudging. “Use bed.”
“Bed too soft,” Holt said, resolute. “Turn muscles to cheese.”
Rime’s sigh had seasons in it. “Soft not weak. Smart.” The mattress creaked as he adjusted, a quiet declaration that he would be the wolf who understood furniture for both of them.
Thane padded into the kitchen, claws soft against wood, and found Mark at the table with a battered tablet, stylus hovering while he frowned at notes only he could love. Backup power figures, wire routing, margin scribbles that looked like a cross between music and engineering. The coffee pot burbled like a friendly swamp monster. Next to it sat the abandoned guitar case; Gabriel had already tuned up and moved on, playing in the open space by the map wall where they sometimes put pins and sometimes put memories.
“You’re up early,” Thane said.
Mark didn’t look up. “Power budget says if we add one more thing to the City Hall array, we need to add a panel in the south group or else we’ll brown-out the Sheriff’s Office.”
Gabriel strummed a quick, wicked riff and then slid into something Holt could follow. Holt, who had taken to guitar like a bear to honey and was only slightly less sticky about it, shuffled in moments later carrying his pillow like a trophy. He dropped to the floor beside Gabriel with the gravitas of a knight kneeling for instruction.
“Okay,” Gabriel said. “Same pattern. Count it in.”
Holt’s tongue poked out as he concentrated. “One… two… three… go.” His big paws worked the strings with surprising grace, striking the rhythm Gabriel had drilled into him over weeks of laughter and scolding. The notes were simple, and that made them perfect. He looked up, bright-eyed, when he nailed a change.
“Nice,” Gabriel said. “Again, and then we’ll add the tag.”
They played the pattern twice through, Gabriel layering a soft melody in the measure breaks like he was sewing confidence into the seams of Holt’s hands. Rime leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed, not smiling but very obviously smiling. Thane poured coffee for himself and for Gabriel and had the unwise thought of leaving the pot within Holt’s reach.
Holt noticed the steam. The pillow was immediately demoted from religious artifact to foot-wrangling tool. “Is coffee time?” he asked.
“Uh—” Gabriel began.
“Yes,” Thane said, because the universe gets bored if you don’t give it a chance to be funny. “One cup.”
Holt took “one cup” the way a river takes a bend: quickly and with committed enthusiasm. He sipped, blinked, then made a noise that was not entirely legal. “Strong,” he said reverently, and then, very fast, “More?”
“One cup,” Rime repeated, stern.
“Maybe… cup and half,” Holt negotiated.
Mark, without looking up: “If he gets a cup and a half, I’m sleeping in the truck.”
They compromised on one cup and a smell, which turned out to be worse, because Holt inhaled the steam like a prayer and then began to hum, and then to chatter, and then to discover that his claws could tap a remarkably tight rhythm on the table edge. Gabriel matched him for two bars and then surrendered, laughing. Rime slid into the chair beside Thane, content to watch caffeinated chaos like an art installation.
The handheld radio on the shelf snapped to life with a crackle and the gate guard’s voice, crisp through static. “City Hall to cabin, copy? We need you at south gate. Repeat, south gate. Situation… unusual.”
Thane was already standing. “Copy. En route.” He clicked the radio off, met three sets of eyes—two wired, one calm. “South gate. Something odd.”
“Odd like raider odd, or odd like someone gifted us a dead deer?” Mark asked, already packing the tablet into its sleeve.
“Odd like the voice didn’t want to say it on an open channel,” Thane said.
Holt was at the door before anyone else, tail high, pillow forgotten on the floor like a molted skin. Rime touched Thane’s shoulder as they moved, a wordless check: ready? Always. Gabriel tucked the guitar into its stand and pulled on his coat, eyes already gone flinty. The pack stepped into the morning and left the cabin steaming gently behind them like it had just told them a secret.
Snow squeaked underfoot as they crossed the town. People moved out of their way with nods that said both we’re safe and be careful, two sentiments that used to fight and now held hands. By the time they reached the south gate, Hank’s deputies had already formed a quiet line on the inside, rifles at low ready. The guards on the wall looked like men who’d forgotten how to blink.
Outside the gate, three green Humvees idled in a neat row on the frozen road, paint sun-faded but still the color of authority. Twelve men in camouflage stood beside them in formation, boots planted, rifles slung. Not scavenger-chic—uniforms. The lead man wore a staff sergeant’s rank on his sleeve and an expression like someone who had practiced being obeyed in a mirror.
“Looks official,” Gabriel murmured. He didn’t mean it as praise.
The gate opened partway. Thane stepped out with Rime and Holt flanking, Gabriel and Mark just behind. The cold made the Humvee exhaust hang in the air like a boundary. The twelve men tracked the wolves with their eyes, and the wolves watched their hands.
The staff sergeant stepped forward, hand lifted to a brow in a sharp salute. “Staff Sergeant Patrick Tully,” he said. “United States Air Force. We’re from the recommissioned Malmstrom base in Great Falls, representing the reconstituted United States government. We’re here to inspect this community, assess compliance, and restore you to federal order.” His voice was practiced. His boots were too clean.
Thane let him finish. Then: “You’re not Air Force.”
A ripple went down the line of uniforms. Tully’s jaw twitched. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Thane said. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. “You raided a dead base for clothes and vehicles. You’re wearing a story you think people want to believe.”
Tully gave a short laugh with too many edges. “We’re bringing the United States back online, son. You going to stand in the way of your own country?”
“Show me your comms,” Thane said. “Your base station. Your secure frequencies. Your chain of command. Show me a single working credential that isn’t sewn to your shirt. Or—” he tilted his head “—tell me the truth.”
Tully’s eyes slid for just a second. Rime saw the lie the way a wolf sees a rabbit that thinks it is grass. Holt rocked slightly forward on his clawed toes, energy gathering like a storm. Mark stood with his hands in his coat pockets and the patience of a bomb tech.
Tully tried again. “We’re the authority here. Open the gates. We’ll speak to your mayor. We’ll get your little town registered and compliant.”
“Registered with what?” Gabriel asked, tone flat as a lake under ice. “Your imagination?”
“Son—” Tully started.
“Don’t,” Gabriel said. The single syllable carried a promise that had nothing to do with mercy.
Thane didn’t move closer, but somehow the space shortened anyway. “This town is under our protection,” he said. “We trade with four cities. We’ve rebuilt a phone network across the valley. We are not a ‘little town’ and we don’t kneel to your costumes. So—one more time. Truth, or leave.”
Something in Tully snapped. Maybe it was the way the wolves didn’t blink. Maybe it was how nobody on the wall scrambled to obey him. Maybe it was the bone-deep insult of power meeting the one thing it couldn’t digest: indifference.
“You’re obstructing a federal operation,” he said, raising his rifle.
Holt’s growl came out of the earth.
“Put that down,” Mark said, voice neutral. “You don’t have the right. That kind of thinking is what ruined the old world.”
Tully flipped the selector with a practiced thumb and fired a three-round burst into Thane’s chest at point-blank range.
The sound slammed the air. Snow jumped in place. Thane rocked back a half step, more from the kinetic shock than pain. Heat flared under his fur; three bright bullet wounds scorched through his jacket and into his chest—but the fire of impact faded almost as fast as it came. His body knitted itself back together in seconds, sealing torn skin and expelling flattened lead slugs with a slow, huffing exhale. A faint smoke curled from the holes in his shirt as he stood up straighter, expression unreadable. He inhaled once. Exhaled. Lifted his gaze, steady and unbroken.
Holt arrived before the echo did.
He hit Tully like a landslide wearing a body, jaws clamping the sergeant’s throat with surgical restraint that only looked like murder if you didn’t understand love. Tully’s rifle clattered onto the ice and skidded under a Humvee. The other eleven men froze. The ones closest to Holt didn’t even breathe.
“Next one that moves,” Gabriel said, not shouting, barely speaking, “dies.” —and every word came with a flash of fangs and the flex of claws at his side, ready to tear through the next threat without hesitation. The air around him seemed to grow sharper, colder, like winter itself had picked a side and was glaring from behind his eyes. His voice held the same calm finality as a locked door.
Rime was already there, one paw on Thane’s shoulder, the other steady at his elbow. He didn’t ask if Thane was fine; he set him back onto his heels with a certainty that said he had never doubted it. His gaze flicked to Holt, gauging tension, measuring the exact second a whisper would matter more than a shout.
On the wall above, Hank’s men had their rifles trained but didn’t fire. Hank’s voice carried from the gate, controlled and ready. “Hold the line.”
Tully tried to swallow and found his windpipe owned by another creature. Holt’s teeth pressed enough to promise an ending. Tully’s hands trembled like he wanted to push the jaws away and knew how that story would end.
Thane stepped past Rime. He put a paw on Holt’s shoulder, weight there, warmth there. “I’m fine, Holt,” he said softly, close enough that only Holt could really hear. “I’m okay.”
Holt’s whole body vibrated with the need to rip and the need to obey. He cut a glance at Thane’s chest, saw the torn fabric and the unbroken breath, and a muffled sound came out of him that had too many vowels to be language. “He—shot,” he said, each word separate, like stones. “Not again.”
“I know,” Thane said. “I know. Let him up.”
Holt didn’t move for a heartbeat. Then, like releasing a held earthquake, he backed off the offender and stepped away, every muscle still coiled, every molecule still a threat. Tully coughed and dragged air into a throat that had just met the shortlist of its future.
Thane faced him. He didn’t raise his voice; his canines did that for him. “Care to try again,” he said, each word precise, “but with the truth?” He let a sliver of tooth show. A small one. The kind that makes men remember they are meat.
Tully’s composure cracked down the middle. He looked left at his line and saw in their eyes exactly how much faith they had left. The youngest of them—barely more than a kid, with a private’s single stripe hung on by hope—looked sick. His rifle hung low and wrong, like he’d never wanted to lift it in the first place.
“We—” Tully started. He stopped. Tried again. “Malmstrom’s dead. The whole base. We… we found the motor pool. The armory was picked clean ten winters ago. We took what was left. People listen when you say ‘United States.’ They open doors. They give. They don’t shoot.”
“They also don’t ask questions,” Mark said, mild as math. “You forged the uniform and expected to inherit obedience. That’s not law. That’s theft—of trust.”
“We kept order,” Tully said weakly.
“You kept fear,” Gabriel said. “Different animal.”
The young private swallowed. “I thought it was real,” he blurted, as if confession might save the part of him that still believed. “I wanted it to be real. My dad—he was—he always said if the flag flew again, we’d be okay.”
Thane looked at him. The kid’s hands shook so hard the rifle barrel shivered. He seemed smaller inside the uniform now that it had been named a costume. “The flag can fly,” Thane said, gentler than anyone expected. “But you don’t get to raise it over lies.”
Marta had arrived at the gate, breath frosting, eyes taking in every angle. Hank stepped out with her, posture of a man who would like this to end without graves.
Tully saw the mayor and latched onto an old instinct. “Ma’am,” he started, “we—”
“Stop,” Marta said. She didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. Her voice had municipal gravity. “You came here dressed in the last good story people remember and tried to make it a leash. That won’t fly in this valley.”
“We can leave,” Tully said quickly. “We’ll leave. No trouble.”
“You’ll drop your weapons,” Hank said like a stone hitting clay.
The eleven rifles hit the ice with a clatter like hail. The hum of the Humvees idled on, oblivious.
Thane studied Tully. He considered the road that had brought them all to this place—the dead base, the stitched patches, the long hunger for order, the cheap trick of wearing it. He considered Holt’s tremble, Rime’s stillness, Gabriel’s claws, Mark’s unflinching logic, the kid’s eyes that had never learned how to counterfeit.
“You should be ashamed,” he said softly, which landed harder than any roar. “You took the shape of hope and tried to bend it into fear. People are building something here. You don’t get to break it just because you scavenged a uniform.”
Tully’s shoulders sagged. “We’ll go,” he said.
“You’ll go now,” Thane said. “All of you. Slowly. No sudden moves.”
They began to back toward the Humvees, hands raised. The young private lingered a second, met Thane’s eyes, and in his face was a thank you he didn’t have the language for. Then he followed the others.
Thane let them get almost to the vehicles. Then: “One thing.”
They froze. Holt’s head snapped up, delighted at the possibility of complications. Rime made a tiny sound between a chuckle and a warning that only Thane could hear.
“I’ve always wanted a Humvee,” Thane said, as calm as a breeze. “One of those is now mine.”
Every face turned to him with the same expression—Is he serious?—and then realized of course he was, just in the exact way that meant nobody had to die.
Tully swallowed. “Take the last one,” he said, voice small. “Keys are in it.”
Holt’s grin could have lit a runway. “We get truck,” he whispered to Rime, joy trying very hard to be a secret.
“Alpha gets truck,” Rime corrected, but his eyes warmed.
Mark stepped forward, practical to the end. “Spare tires, tool kit, the jack, and any fuel cans in the back,” he said. “You don’t get to leave with the good bits after scaring a town.”
Tully nodded quickly. “Take them. Take all of it.”
Gabriel stood easy. “And your radio,” he added. “If it’s just a shell, fine. If it’s not, we’ll find out.”
They stripped the last Humvee with clinical efficiency, but without cruelty. Holt lifted two fuel cans in one paw and did not pretend not to enjoy it. Rime took the radio set and handed it to Mark, who cradled it like a newborn he fully intended to take apart. Thane climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key; the engine rolled and settled into a bass note that felt like success.
Tully and his men clambered into the remaining vehicles, smaller now in their green skins. The young private paused, looked back once more, and then climbed into the passenger seat like a person getting into a story that would not be his forever.
“Drive slow,” Hank said. “And don’t come back dressed as anything else.”
They left at a speed that honored the fact that some wolves can run faster than cars. The snow swallowed their sound. The road took their tires like the world was erasing them.
Silence gathered at the gate, then broke into the small sounds of breath and relief. Gabriel exhaled slowly, the last inch of winter leaving his shoulders. He turned to Thane. “So. You going to let Holt drive it or make him beg for a month?”
Holt’s eyes got very large. “Drive?”
“No,” Rime said instantly, with the authority of someone who has seen the future and chosen mercy.
Marta stepped to Thane, looked at the three torn holes in his jacket, then up into his face. “You keep getting harder to kill,” she said.
“Or people keep getting worse at it,” Thane replied, which made Hank snort despite himself.
Mark thumped the radio against his palm, already thinking in circuits. “If this has any life, I’ll get it talking to City Hall,” he said.
Holt drifted in close, eyes searching Thane’s chest again like reassurance needed a second round. “You good?” he asked, low, almost shy around the edges.
Thane set his paw on Holt’s forearm. “I’m good,” he said. “You did right.”
Holt beamed. “I hold throat very gentle,” he said, proud as if he’d written a poem.
“You did,” Thane said, letting himself smile. “It was… perfect.”
Rime gave Holt a single approving nod, which for Rime might as well have been fireworks. “Next time,” he added, “less coffee.”
Holt looked offended. “Coffee make me strong.”
“Coffee make you hurricane,” Rime corrected. “Town not need storm every morning.”
Gabriel slung an arm around Holt’s shoulders, steering him back toward the gate. “C’mon, hurricane. You owe me ten minutes of clean strums without vibrating.”
“I can do,” Holt said, instantly solemn. Then, unable to help himself, “Maybe coffee first.”
“No,” three voices said at once—Rime, Mark, Thane—and Holt laughed so hard he had to lean on Gabriel for balance.
They brought the Humvee inside to a scatter of cheers from people who pretended they weren’t cheering for a vehicle and absolutely were. Children swarmed it like it was a dinosaur that agreed to be petted. Hank took charge of disarming and cataloging the surrendered rifles with the care he reserved for things that could ruin a good day. Marta put a hand on the hood and looked almost mischievous. “I’m not riding in the back,” she said.
“You can have shotgun,” Thane said. “Holt can… not drive.”
“Alpha cruel,” Holt lamented, to general delight.
By the time the gate closed, the morning had stepped into afternoon. The world hadn’t ended. It had been reminded what it was becoming. The cabin would be warm when they got back. The guitar would be waiting. The pillow would be exactly where Holt left it, which meant on the kitchen floor for someone to step on and swear about.
Thane stood for a moment at the gate, breathing the cold, letting his heart find its slow pace again. Rime took his usual place at Thane’s shoulder without asking. They watched the empty road together, not suspicious, just attentive.
“You saw it,” Thane said quietly.
“Yes,” Rime said. He didn’t mean the bullets.
“They’ll come again,” Thane said. He didn’t mean those men.
“Yes,” Rime said again. “Different costumes.”
Thane nodded. “We’ll be here.”
Rime tipped his muzzle up slightly, scenting the air. “Pack strong,” he said. “Town strong. Not bow.”
“Never,” Thane said.
They turned back toward home. Behind them, the Humvee’s engine ticked as it cooled, sounding for all the world like laughter finally remembering how to be easy. The snow gave under their claws the way it always did, and the town breathed around them, and inside the breathing was a certainty that had nothing to do with uniforms and everything to do with the way a door opens when you knock like you belong.
At the cabin, Gabriel would scratch out a new riff for the day, and Holt would try to play it and succeed on the third attempt and claim it was the first, and Rime would pretend not to care while caring more than anyone, and Mark would find a way to make a dead radio talk in a language older than wires. Thane would hang his torn jacket in the same place he always did and stitch the holes no one was watching. And in the space between breath and laughter, they would all understand the lesson without anyone having to speak it:
The world can dress up as power and try to make you kneel.
But a real pack?
It stands.
It teaches.
It does not bow.