Home.
It wasn’t my home. They weren’t my people. They didn’t even know my real identity.
I knew all of that.
I also knew I had spent years waiting to feel prepared enough to enter my own life. I waited to call Missy until I knew what to say. I waited to apply for better jobs until I thought my portfolio was perfect. I waited to make friends until I had more money, more energy, better clothes, a less embarrassing apartment, and a personality that didn’t require advance preparation.
Waiting had produced nothing except a great deal of time alone.
Going to the reunion would be reckless. Possibly dangerous. Definitely dishonest. It would also place me in the same room as Hudson.
My fingers moved before the responsible part of my brain completed its objection.
I clicked on the link and opened the RSVP form.
Name?
Sloane
Will you attend?
I selected yes.
Address?
Why the hell would they need my address?
I tried skipping the question, but it was a required field. I briefly considered putting a fake address but decided not to just in case they tried to track me down and found an old man living at the listed address. That would surely give me away.
I reluctantly listed my address and prayed to the gods it wouldn’t be used for anything that might reveal I was human.
Number of guests?
One.
Dish you plan to bring?
Cupcakes.
Do you need overnight accommodation?
I stared at the question, calculating the logistics. The Blackwell Community Hall was nestled deep in the valley, approximately thirty minutes from my apartment in the city. Navigating winding, unfamiliar mountain roads at night while coming down from a massive anxiety spike sounded like a recipe for a highway disaster. However, I needed an exit plan for if things went awry. I chose no.
The final question asked for any additional information relevant to pack safety.
I stared at the empty box, tempted to type out the truth.
Human imposter with no wolf form, poor cardiovascular stamina, and an incomplete understanding of supernatural law.
I doubted that would go down well, so I left it blank and submitted the form.
The group chat was celebrating before I could reconsider.
Grandma Ruth: SLOANE IS COMING.
Patty: YESSSSSSS
Julie: Wonderful!
Trevor: bring cupcakes
Sloane: I already put them on the form.
Trevor: bring more than u think u should
Karen: Someone should clarify whether the frosting requires refrigeration.
Hudson’s private message arrived moments after.
Hudson: You said yes.
My heart pounded so hard, I had to press a hand against my sternum.
Sloane: I did.
Hudson: I’m glad.
I stared at those two words until my face hurt from smiling. Then I opened a new browser tab. The search bar waited.
How to convincingly pretend to be a wolf shifter.
I had three weeks to figure it out.
HUDSON
HYDRATION INSPECTION: PASSING
The community hall always smelled like cedar and fresh-brewed coffee. Even empty, it carried the feeling that people belonged there.
My great-grandfather had funded its construction more than eighty years ago after deciding the pack had finally outgrown rotating reunions between family farms. He’d insisted a family needed a place that belonged to everyone, somewhere babies could take their first steps, teenagers could dance badly, couples could get married, and where every season could begin and end with the pack together.
Every wedding reception, funeral wake, holiday dinner, birthday party, baby shower, council briefing, and pack reunion had happened here for as long as I could remember.
Tomorrow was the first pack reunion in a long time, which meant I would spend the day focused on exciting elements like ladders, folding tables, and extension cords.
I was on the ladder, fastening another strand of café lights to the porch roof, when Trevor wandered over, three plastic tubs stacked nearly to his chin.
“A little help?” he asked.
“You need more than a little help. You can’t even see where you’re going.”
“I can see enough.”
“You nearly walked into a porch post.” I climbed down before gravity introduced Trevor to another structural support.
The tubs contained handmade centerpieces. Tiny carved wolves sat beside pinecones, wildflowers sealed in resin, and little wooden place card holders shaped like mountains.
“These look great,” I said honestly.
Trevor’s face lit up. “You really think so?”
I smiled and put the lid back onto one of the tubs. “I’ve been telling you that for weeks.”
“I know, but now you’re seeing the end product.” He picked one up carefully. “I almost added glitter.”
“I’m proud of you for resisting.”
“I didn’t completely resist.” He pointed toward the wolf. “If you tilt it into the light…”
I did. The resin contained microscopic gold flecks.
Trevor grinned. “See, it’s subtle.”
I shrugged. “I’ll allow it.”
He looked absurdly pleased, which happened more often than people noticed. Most conversations with Trevor ended with someone telling him what not to do. It wasn’t malicious. He simply generated ideas faster than the rest of us could evaluate them.
But sometimes, he needed encouragement instead of critical feedback.
He lugged the tubs inside while I got back on the ladder. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out, smiling as I opened the text from Sloane.
Sloane: Hydration inspection.
Hudson: Passing.
Sloane: Evidence?
I took a photo of the insulated bottle sitting on the porch railing and sent it.
Hudson: Exhibit A.
Sloane: Acceptable.
Sloane: Have you eaten?
Julie and Mom had been in the kitchen since seven, preparing enough food to satisfy a small army, but I hadn’t stopped to grab a bite.
Hudson: Working on it.
Sloane: Hudson.
I laughed softly as I typed.
Hudson: I had coffee.
Sloane: I’m choosing to believe that wasn’t your real answer.
Before I could defend myself, the door to the hall opened, and Julie stepped out, carrying a paper plate full of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, watermelon, and a biscuit.
“I assumed,” she called, “that if I didn’t physically hand this to you, you’d think lunch was optional.”
I snapped a picture.
Hudson: Saved by Julie.
Sloane: Julie deserves an award.
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