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Elaine’s mouth curves. “Moonbeam has one eye and a very brave attitude about it. Welcome to the library, little one. You can come anytime. Your brother too. Just put things back where you found them.”

“I will,” Damian says, and he’s already moving toward the nearest shelf, his fingers hovering an inch from the spines like he’s afraid they’ll dissolve if he touches them.

“Entertainment Room.” Selena herds them back into the corridor. “Pool tables, card tables, board games, three televisions with every streaming service known to man. The warriors destroy it every weekend. Martha’s crew rebuilds it every Monday.”

“Movie Theater.” Rylan pushes open a door at the end of the hall, and the darkness beyond is punctuated by rows of plush red seats, a screen the size of a garage door, and the faint smell of popcorn that never fully leaves the upholstery. “Four hundred seats. New releases every Friday. Kids’ matinees on Saturdays.”

“Four hundred seats,” Darian repeats. He’s standing in the doorway, and I can feel the particular quality of his silence, the kind that comes from a man who is recalibrating everything he thought he knew about what a pack could be.

“Gym.” Selena doubles back, takes a left, and the corridor opens into a space that makes the hospital gym look like a closet. Weight racks, cardio equipment, a full sized sparring ring, and along the far wall, a glass door that opens onto an outdoor track. “Open from five a.m. to midnight. Warriors train here. Pack members train here. Kids have their own section through that door, age appropriate equipment, supervised sessions.”

“Kids have their own gym,” Damian says. He’s stopped walking. His hand is still in mine, but his body has turned toward the glass door like a compass needle finding north.

“Kids have their own gym,” Selena confirms. “Damian, you’re going to love it. Darlene too. There’s a climbing wall.”

Darlene makes a sound. It’s not a word. It’s the sound a four year old makes when the universe has finally delivered something she didn’t know she was allowed to want.

“Greenhouse.” Selena pushes through a set of glass doors at the back of the gym, and the air changes, wet, warm, thick with the smell of soil and growing things. Rows of raised beds stretch to the ceiling, tomatoes hanging heavy on their vines, herbs spilling over their containers, and a man in overalls waves without looking up from his pruning shears.

“Farm’s behind the eastern wall,” Rylan adds, nodding toward the far end. “Twenty acres. Cattle, chickens, goats. The farmers’ market runs every Saturday in the square, produce, meat, eggs, the works. Martha sources half her kitchen from it.”

“Stables are next door,” Selena says, leading us through another door. The smell hits me first, hay, leather, the warm musk of large animals, and then the horses themselves, twelve of them, heads turning toward us with the particular intelligence of creatures that know exactly who’s bringing the apples. “Warriors ride patrol. Kids learn to ride at eight. Darlene, you’ll be on a pony within the month.”

“Garage.” Rylan points through a window at a long, low building across the courtyard. “Parking for the Pack House staff, visiting dignitaries, emergency vehicles. Every family in the territory has their own garage space at home.”

“Training field.” We step outside and the light hits me full in the face, open grass, obstacle courses, archery ranges, and at the far end, a playground so elaborate it looks like it was designed by someone who’d been told money was no object. “Warriors train here daily. Tournaments every full moon, combat, archery, shifting races. The playground’s for the pups. Swings, slides, that tower thing Darlene is already staring at.”

“Shifting field.” Selena gestures to a wide, flat expanse of packed earth beyond the playground, ringed by low stone walls. “Ceremonial field’s adjacent, that’s where the full moon gatherings happen. The altar, the bonfire, the whole thing.”

“Safety rooms,” Selena says, and her voice shifts, quieter, more deliberate. She stops walking. “Every floor of the Pack House has one. Reinforced steel, silver lined walls, enough supplies for seventy two hours. Food, water, medical kits, communication equipment. If the territory is ever compromised, attack, natural disaster, anything, every pack member knows to get to the nearest safety room. The bond locks onto your location. Warriors extract in order of priority.”

“Priority?” Darian asks.

“Pups first. Always. Then pregnant females, elders, everyone else. The rooms are stocked, maintained, and checked weekly. Nobody enters without authorization. Nobody leaves without an all clear.”

I feel Darian’s hand tighten on mine. The reassurance in the gesture is so immediate, so instinctive, that my chest does the thing again, that cracking, that opening, that dangerous, beautiful unfurling of something I’ve kept clenched for four years.

“Okay.” Selena claps her hands.

“Hospital.” Selena’s already moving, her hand finding Darlene’s as she passes. “Four floors. Surgical suites, recovery rooms, maternity ward, pediatric unit. Healer Thomas runs it. You’ve met him.”

We have. The branch. The Moon Essence. The way his hands moved with the precision of a man who has pulled death back from the edge more times than he can count.

“School.” Selena pushes through a set of glass doors and the corridor opens into a courtyard, sunlight, benches, a playground that makes Darlene’s hand go slack in mine. “K through twelve. Three hundred teachers. Full curriculum human and mystical, math, science, literature, pack history, history of all magical creatures and how to spot them, weaknesses, strengths, combat training starting at age ten.”

“All pack members can have jobs in the human world, but they have to have the proper training to control their wolves to prevent exposure. The only time exposure is okay is when it’s a mate or child situation. Like a fated mate, second chance mate, or chosen mate situation. Or if a mystical have children with a human. The Lycan counsel and werewolf counsel will not tolerate any form of exposure outside of those situations. Entire packs have gone extinct due to previous exposure in history.”

Damian stops walking. “Combat training?”

“Every wolf learns to fight,” Rylan says from behind us. “Every single one. Starting at ten, supervised, progressive. By thirteen, every Silver Moon wolf can hold their own against a standard rogue.”

“Standard rogue,” Darian repeats. His voice carries the particular flatness of a man who has killed thirty of them in a single night and is doing the math.

“Training grounds are behind the school.” Selena points past the playground to a fenced area, obstacle courses, sparring rings, a shooting range. “Warriors train there daily. Kids watch from the observation deck starting at ten.”

“Can I watch?” Damian asks. He’s not asking me. He’s asking Rylan.

“Any time,” Rylan says. “Observation deck is open to all pack members. Just stay behind the rail.”