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Finally, a clear answer. I nearly scooped her up and swung her around. “You’re certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. Her surname is Harper.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

Karen looked at me like I had shit smeared on my cheek. “It proves something. She was connected through an outside placement.”

“What kind of placement?”

Karen snipped another branch. “One of those temporary arrangements your mother was obsessed with supporting when she first became alpha.”

“Mom has supported several.”

“Well, this one involved a family from another region. They needed someone to host a young shifter who didn’t fit well into traditional pack life.”

“Who hosted her?”

Karen frowned at the shrub as if searching for an answer there. “I don’t recall.” She looked at me. “Why are you asking?”

“I’m just curious.”

“You’re never merely curious.”

“I’m trying to understand who she is.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed further, which I hadn’t thought possible. “You’re interested in her.”

“No.” The answer came too fast.

Karen smiled. “Oh.”

“Don’t say oh like that.”

She returned to her pruning with renewed satisfaction. “I don’t care what you do, Hudson. She isn’t related to you.”

“Good.”

At her sly look, I quickly corrected myself. “Useful, I mean. That’s very useful information.”

“Of course it is.”

I walked away before she had a chance to bring up some random grievance.

The collection of explanations remained absurd and contradictory. Still, every version agreed on one important point: Sloane wasn’t related to me.

It shouldn’t have given me such a wonderful feeling of victory, but it sure as hell did.

Our private messages changed after that, though I doubted Sloane noticed why. I stopped measuring every response, allowing myself to answer whenever I wanted rather than waiting several minutes to appear normal. Admittedly, that was a rather ridiculous strategy to begin with.

She shared pieces of her life with me, like her graphic design job and how her parents were distant. We talked throughout the day in pieces. A photograph here. A message there. Sometimes hours passed between responses. Other times, a short exchange turned into an entire evening without either of us acknowledging the late hour.

She sent me a picture of a client brief requesting a design that felt “nostalgic for the future.”

Sloane: I may need to change careers.

Hudson: What careers are you considering?

Sloane: Shepherd. Lighthouse keeper. Mysterious woman who owns an antique store and knows everyone’s secrets.