"I'm setting you up a spreadsheet," Rhys decides, already typing. "And I'm logging this as a research-team extraction sinceAris is contracted personnel. Reid ran it at full throttle for an hour. That's expensive."
"Bill it," Aris says, closing her eyes and snuggling deeper into the blankets. "Budget code 808-Alpha. Expense category: Tactical Extraction."
Rhys types it in immediately. "Done. See? That is how you handle logistics."
I stand up and walk over to the couch, sitting down next to Aris. She leans into me immediately, her head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, feeling the solid warmth of her presence. She's alive. We're alive.
"Your family is …" She trails off.
"Intense?" I suggest.
"Efficient," she decides. "In a chaotic way."
"That's us."
Finn walks in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "I got a look at that leg while you two were thawing out. Hell of a job on those sutures, Aris. Clean work."
"Field medicine," she murmurs. "You pick things up."
"Well, it paid off." Finn looks at me, his expression sobering. "So. The Alpha is dead. The pack is scattered. What now?"
The question hangs in the air. The adrenaline is gone, the threat is neutralized, but the reality of our situation remains. The kitchen window at Misty Meadows is boarded over, the back door is barely holding, and it's the dead of winter.
I look around the room. Reid has produced a notepad from somewhere and is sketching mesh panels with the focus of a man drafting a battleship. I look at Rhys, who is three tabs deep into a spreadsheet that already has my name on it. I look at Finn and Mags, checking the pantry for food.
And I look at Aris, safe and warm beside me.
"Now," I say, "we rebuild. We raise a new smokehouse. We fix the window."
"And the summer?" Aris asks, looking up at me. "The calving grounds? The research?"
"We do that too," I say. "But we're going to need help. I can track the caribou, but I can't build a field station in the middle of nowhere while watching our backs."
I look at Reid. "Hey. Welder-man."
Reid looks up from his sketch. "Yeah?"
"How are you with cabins?"
"I can build anything," Reid says, a slow grin spreading across his face. "If the price is right."
"The price is university funding," Aris says. "Federal rates. Plus hazard pay."
Reid's grin widens. "I'm listening."
"We need a base camp," I explain. "Up the coast, at the mouth of the valley that runs inland to the calving grounds. Something solid. Something that can handle winter if we stay late."
"And boats," Aris adds. "We need to move gear up the coastline."
"I have boats," Reid says. "And I have tools. But I'm expensive. And I have … conditions."
"Conditions?" I ask warily.
"I bring my own music," Reid says, counting off on his fingers. "I don't eat freeze-dried food. I require fresh fish. And I get to name the camp."
"Deal," Aris says before I can object.
"Excellent." Reid pockets the notepad. "Rhys, put me down for a consulting fee."
