I stop. Mags is watching me with the look of someone who has already drawn her conclusions.
"Venison steaks," she repeats. "You? The woman who delivered a twenty-minute lecture on factory farming over the dinner Nash cooked the night you arrived?"
I flush, biting into the roll to buy time. It tastes like heaven: sugar and butter and civilization.
"Things change," I say with a mouth full of pastry.
"Clearly." She pours me a cup of coffee. "So? Did you find him? The famous Waldo?"
"We found him," I say. "We got the collar off him. We got the data."
"And?"
"And we got chased by a wolf pack up a vertical scree slope," I add casually.
Mags drops the spoon. "Excuse me?"
Mags retrieves the spoon, mutters something about her good silverware, and steps into the pantry to find a clean one. The kitchen settles into a heavy, comfortable hush. I wrap bothhands around my coffee and let the heat work into my fingers. The knot of shame from the mudroom is still sitting in my chest.
The back door opens, and Nash walks in, carrying the first load of gear. He brings a blast of cold air with him. He looks at me, and the war Finn named is right there on his face.
"She says you two got chased by wolves," Mags announces, pointing at Nash with the spoon. "Is that true?"
Nash sets the heavy case down on the floor with a groan. "They were just curious wolves, Mags. Very enthusiastic."
"They tried to eat us, Nash," I correct him. "They ate the young bull. They had a plan."
Finn walks in behind him. "You ran into the Black Rock pack?"
"We ran into something," Nash says, pulling off his gloves. "Big male. Gray. Very confident. He marked the perimeter of our camp."
Finn lets out a low whistle. "You're lucky you didn't have to shoot your way out."
"We climbed our way out," Nash says. He walks over to the counter, pours himself a coffee, and leans against the island next to me.
He doesn't touch me. He doesn't put his arm around me. But he stands close, inside my personal space, close enough to say it without a word.Claimed.
Finn notices. His eyes flick from Nash to me, and a slow, smug grin spreads across his face.
"So," Finn says, leaning back against the refrigerator. "Successful trip, then? All objectives met?"
"Shut up, Finn," Nash says into his coffee cup.
"I didn't say anything!" Finn holds up his hands. "Just asking about the science. How was the … data collection?"
"The data is safe," I say, steady, though my face feels hot. "The hard drive is in the case."
"Speaking of the case," Nash says, looking at me. "You need to charge the satellite modem. Check your messages."
The reality of the world crashes back in. The grant. Dean Reynolds. The deadline.
"Right," I say, setting down the half-eaten roll. "I need to … I need to see if I still have a job."
I grab the case with my laptop and carry it to the great room. Finn's satellite modem sits on the shelf by the window, already plugged in. I connect, and the laptop hums to life.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The notifications cascade down the screen like a waterfall.14 Unread Emails. 6 Missed Calls. URGENT: Grant Compliance Warning.
