I thank him, and he leans against the counter, arms folded. “Nick’s worried,” he says, skipping the pleasantries. “Says you’ve missed two check-ins since yesterday and your comms are off again.”
“They’re not off, just on silent.” I dig a bottle from the sack and shake it at Alora, who opens one eye, unimpressed.
“Why?” he asks, but I know he’s already replayed a dozen possible scenarios. Connor’s a born interrogator. “You losing sleep?”
“I’m losing sleep, sanity, and the will to live, not necessarily in that order,” I say it lightly, so he knows I’m not about to jump off a bridge. “She eats every ninety minutes, like it’s an Olympic event.”
He nods, glancing at the baby. “I don’t know enough about these things, but maybe you should try more formula. Or whiskey. For you, I mean.”
I laugh, but it dies quickly. “I’m fine, really. Just need to get through the next month, maybe then she’ll stop hating me.” I don’t mean to say it so bare, but there it is.
He goes quiet, rolling the orange between his palms. “She doesn’t hate you,” Connor says, which is a statement so baldly optimistic that it almost counts as sarcasm. “She’s just got your sense of humor. Weirdly intense, but women fall over themselves anyway.”
I let the joke pass, and instead focus on loading Alora’s bottle, hands moving on muscle memory. “What’s the real reason you’re here?” I ask. “Nick sent you to see if I’ve lost my mind, or if there's something cooking?”
Connor leans back, considering. “Bit of both. We’re running a new schedule for the next moon. The outerperimeter’s been getting weird; scent markers disrupted, a few locals say they saw movement at the old logging runs, and then there’s the matter of…” He stops and looks at me. “We need everyone on deck, even if it’s just for a couple of hours a day.”
“I’m in,” I say, too quick, maybe. “I’ve got help now, after all.”
Connor nods, tossing the orange on the table and taking the cup of coffee I hand him. “How’s that going?”
“She’s good with the kid. Efficient. Makes a schedule, sticks to it.” What I don’t say is that the apartment feels both warmer and colder when Dina’s here; she’s endlessly affectionate with Alora, but her distant politeness towards me is so absolute that it borders on contempt. She comes in, scrubs her hands, checks the log on the fridge, and barely looks at me. It’s clear, in every measured movement, that she’s decided Alora is the only thing in this house worth her attention.
Connor arches a brow. “You sound surprised.”
I shrug. “I figured she’d get bored being a nanny, doesn’t seem the type. Or at least bite my head off by now, given our mutual history.”
He gives me that look; the one that’s half amusement, half diagnosis. “She’s tougher than you think. And you’re not as bad as you think.”
I make a face at that, but before I can answer, there’s a knock at the door. Dina. I glance at the clock and see she’s early, as always.
I open the door. She’s bundled in a parka, hair braided and tucked tight, cheeks raw from the wind. “Morning,” she says. Her eyes skip right over me and zero in on Alora, who’s started to whimper.
“You’re early,” I say, stepping back to let her in.
She takes off her coat and lines up her boots next to the door with military precision. “You said she was having trouble sleeping. I thought I’d help with her morning nap.” She doesn’t look at me, but she does crouch down to Alora’s level. The baby stops fussing and reaches for her, little hands insistent.
Connor stands, stretching, and Dina clocks him with a quick, neutral nod. “Hey, Connor.”
“Dina.” He grins, a little too wide. “Doing well?”
She shrugs and answers a little too quickly. “Of course.”
He nods and glances at me, as if to say, "See, she’s fine?” But I’m watching her. She’s got Alora up on her shoulder, patting her back, and the baby’s eyelids are already at half-mast. Dina’s wolf is all over her, coiled and alert, but she’s got this gentleness with the kid that I know she couldn’t fake. I can’t blame her. Alora is pretty easy to love.
“I’m heading out in a minute,” I tell her. “Got perimeter patrol with Connor.”
She nods, barely listening, already bouncing Alora in that weird, hypnotic way that always works. I feel a sharp, unexpected pang. Not jealousy, exactly, something more like shame. I want to be the person my baby reaches for. I want to be a person Dina doesn’t look at like I’m nothing. I’ve no idea why she makes me feel this way; perhaps it’s just because she’s here in my space.
And she doesn’t laugh at any of my jokes. I find that unnerving.
Connor sees it, but he doesn’t say anything. He just grabs a second coffee and heads for the porch. “I’ll warm up the truck.”
The door shuts behind him, and Dina finally looks at me, eyes narrowed. “You forgot to restock the wipes,” she says.
“They’re in the truck,” I say, running out to bring in the supplies I forgot last night. When I walk back into the domestic scene, it unnerves me, Dina with Alora on her hip, making some bottles up. Not for the first time, I’m left wondering how on earth I got here.
Accepting Alora into my life has been earthshattering, but also surprisingly easy. My wolf knew she was ours immediately, and although I didn’t have kids on my bingo card this year, maybe even this lifetime, the instinct to care for her was instant. But that doesn’t mean I think I’ve been doing a very good job—Dina seems to make it look easy, and Alora responds to that.
