"You can't touch that."
I turn. A man in the doorway. Broad, young.
"I'm just—"
"That's the Alpha's cache. Pack resources. His authority." Another person behind him. Then a third. "You can't justwalk in here."
"It's food storage. It's disorganized."
"It doesn't matter. You don't have the right."
Three of them. Filling the doorway. Jaws set, shoulders squared, feet planted.
"Okay." I step back. Hands up. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"You should have asked."
"You're right."
I walk past them. My heart is going and it won't stop. Nobody threatened me, nobody touched me, but my hands are shaking—
My dwelling. I sink onto the stump outside. Nugget waddles over and pecks at my boot. I pick her up. Hold her against my chest. She makes a grumpy sound but stays, her half-bare tail end warm against my wrist where the feathers haven't grown back yet.
Okay. Think.
I reorganized the entire cooking area and nobody blinked. Cooked their food. Nobody intervened. But this—this got people in a doorway in seconds.
I go inside. Start stripping comfrey from the drying bundle—leaf from stem, good from brown.
The light from the doorway disappears.
Keer. Shoulders angled in the doorway. The dwelling shrinks with him standing there. Pine and warm salt and my hands fumble the comfrey and I'm angry at my hands.
I set the stems down. Pull in a breath. Face him.
I already know why he's here. The cache.
This is the part where the Alpha tells the human she overstepped.
Fine. I can do this.
You got this, Mel.
Beat him to it.
"I know about the cache." I meet his eye. "I shouldn't have gone in without asking."
He stops. Whatever he was going to open with, thatwasn't it. His eye narrows.
"You don't need to do any of this."
"Do what?"
"Cook. Organize." He steps inside. "You're not part of this."
"People were hungry. Your cooking area was a disaster." My voice comes out chirpy—every firm point I make ends up sounding like a picnic invitation. "I fixed it."
"This isn't your responsibility."
