CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

KNOX

The message from Alpha Decker came three days after we got back from Cascade.

I was in Riley's kitchen — I'd been sleeping in the building's second unit since the week I arrived, which was technically a separate apartment, but I'd been eating breakfast in Riley's kitchen every morning and that boundary had eroded naturally and without discussion. Hunter had something to do with it. He'd started appearing at my door at seven-twelve every morning with the specific expression of a four-year-old who needed someone to make eggs and had identified the most reliable source.

The message was formal. Pack protocol, correct syntax, nothing overtly hostile. Alpha Decker of the Silverthorn Pack requested a meeting with Alpha Blackthorn at a mutually convenient location to discuss territorial matters and the recent council ruling.

I put the phone in my pocket. Kept making eggs.

Hunter was watching me from the counter. He had silver eyes that tracked everything in a room the way good hunters' eyes do — constantly, without appearing to. He'd been doing it since he was two, Riley told me, and at first it had startled people and now everyone who knew him just accepted it as the way he processed the world.

"Something wrong," he said. Not quite a question.

"Not yet," I said.

"That's a weird answer."

"Yeah." I slid eggs onto his plate. "Eat."

Luna came to the table without looking up from the book she was carrying — the marine biology one, still, which she'd been reading for four days and showed no signs of finishing. She sat, located the fork by feel, and began eating without fully transitioning away from the chapter about bioluminescence.

Riley appeared in the doorway, looked at both of them, looked at me. She had the particular awareness of a woman who'd been reading rooms since childhood — the ability to walk into a space and take its temperature in under five seconds.

"Someone's coming," she said.

"Another Alpha. Decker. Silverthorn Pack."

She poured coffee. "Why."

"Officially — territorial discussion and congratulations on the council ruling." I turned off the burner. "In practice, he wants to see the situation. Decide if it's opportunity."

"Opportunity for what."

"Depends on what he finds when he gets here."

She understood immediately — I watched her parse it. A recently challenged Alpha, bond not yet completed, mate not yet fully integrated into the pack structure, heirs young and powers still developing. From certain angles, that looked like instability. Instability, to an ambitious neighboring Alpha, looked like a door.

"When," she said.

"He suggested next week. I haven't responded."

She drank her coffee. Looked at Hunter, who was watching this conversation with his full tracking attention while pretending to eat eggs. Looked at Luna, who was reading about anglerfish with complete focus and was also almost certainly listening to every word.

"Let him come," Riley said.

I waited.

"Let him come here. To the shop. On a workday, not a formal meeting, not at the facility. He wants to see the situation — let him see it." She set the mug down. "I want to see what he does with it."

I thought about that. The shop. Riley in her element, covered in grease, running her business, the twins around if it was after school. Me in that context — in her space, on her terms, not performing Alpha authority but embodying domestic reality.

"That might not send the message he's expecting," I said.

"I know." She picked up the mug again. "That's the point."

I texted Grayson: *Decker's coming. Schedule at the shop. Next Thursday after three.*

Grayson responded in forty seconds: *inspired. whose idea.*

I looked at Riley, who was finishing her coffee and reaching for her jacket, already transitioning into her working day.

*Riley's,* I texted back.

The response came fast: *obviously.*