I’ve spent months hidden in plain sight. That’s my gift. Being able to blend into nothing. And he’s looking right through it.
I turn for the door before my legs do something humiliating and walk—too fast, too stiff, every nerve in my back lit up with the certainty that he’s still watching—until I’m inside, the door swinging shut behind me, and I can finally breathe.
I press my spine to the wall just inside the entrance and stand there shaking.
I know self-preservation. I’m fluent in it. I know what it sounds like when it flags something as a threat.
This wasn’t that.
My wolf has been quiet for years. A low, flat presence, barely there—easy to forget I was ever sharing this body with anything at all.
She isn’t flat now. She’s throwing herself against the inside of my chest like she wants out, like she’s been asleep behind a door that just blew open, and the only thing she knows how to say is the one thing I refuse to believe.
It’s him.
Chapter 3
Decker
I don’t go back inside right away. I stay at the wall past the point where the cold starts to bite. Tell myself I’m watching the gate. The gate’s empty. Has been the whole time.
My jaw aches. I unclench it, and it wants to lock again. Under my ribs the bear is up on his feet, pacing a line he won’t quit, and I don’t know what he’s doing.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Decker?
The woman. She got me on the back foot.
I should have moved before she did. I had a second where I could have turned, found something to look at, been a man crossing a yard. I didn’t take it. I stood there and let her catch me looking. That’s the part that sits wrong. Not the look. That I gave it to her.
I go in ten minutes behind her. Any sooner and I’d be following her through the door. Like a stalker.
Not a good look, asshole.
I head for the dining hall. The urn’s at the far end of the line. I fill a cup I don’t want and put my back to the wall.
“Hey.” I know the face, not the man. Comms tech, runs the eastern relay desk—the kind who thinks out loud and has never been told it’s a problem.
“You’re the one who went after the feral wolf.” Not a question.
“He wasn’t feral.”
“Good to hear. I’m Domenic.”
“I know.”
“You’re Decker, right? I’ve seen you around.”
“That so.”
“You keep to yourself.” He nods. “I get it. I’m kinda the same.”
He absolutely isn’t, but it’s not my job to tell him. I grunt.
He tips his head toward the serving line. “Eggs are from a carton. Just so you know.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Coffee’s good, though. Mountain water.” He pours his own. “You here long? Nobody can figure what you’re here for.”
