Chapter 3

Four days left until I leave.

Silver Bay Healing Center granted me an online interview.

It wasn't for the original research position, but rather a three-month clinical fellowship. If I passed the evaluation, I could apply for a permanent role.

I spent two days reviewing my material, flattening out the creased evaluation certificate and placing it next to my webcam.

The interviewer asked how I would handle panic responses in pups during their first shift.

By the time I reached the third case study, the nerves finally vanished.

I knew how to distinguish a damaged wolf spirit from pure emotional distress, and I knew exactly when forced training needed to stop.

When the interview ended, the interviewer smiled. "Irene, report for duty next Monday."

I confirmed a short-term apartment near the healing center, paid the deposit, and slid my license into my carry-on bag.

In the afternoon, I went to see a healer alone to have my wolf checked.

Nora stepped out from the depths of my consciousness. Her silver-gray fur was a bit duller than before, but she was still willing to respond to my call.

The healer advised me to avoid shifting for a short period after the bond dissolution and prescribed pain relievers. As long as my condition remained stable on the day, I would be cleared to fly as planned.

When I got home, two dinners were set on the dining table.

Leon hadn't gone to the office.

He stood in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, sauce staining the edge of the skillet. Seeing me walk in, he forced a stiff smile. "It's the mushroom risotto you used to love. I asked the chef at the restaurant for the recipe."

After a pause, he asked, "Could you sit with me for a minute?"

I sat down.

He pushed a new staffing schedule toward me.

Someone was assigned to accompany Martha to physical therapy, an extra supervisor was added to the pup clinic, and my Luna administrative duties were redistributed.

I had brought up this exact plan to him at least five times before.

"I'll make adjustments," he said. "If you want to work, you can pick anywhere in town. I know all the directors at the research center."

Then, he added, "Troy died saving my life. Every time Livie says she's scared, I'm reminded of that day. Irene, you know what I owe her."

"You can cover her medical bills and arrange reliable help for her." I looked at him. "But why did you hide my acceptance letter?"

He didn't answer.

So, I asked again, "When she was trying on clothes that day, did it really have to be you by her side?"

"When I'm with her, I don't have to walk through the door and immediately deal with shift schedules, complaints, and endless decisions," he replied.

I gripped my water glass, my palms slowly growing cold. "And who left all those things for me to deal with?"

Leon raised his head. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Right then, Noah forwarded the final schedule for the foundation's launch, asking me to confirm the medical introduction section.

I tapped on the attachment.

On the first page, right beneath Livie's photo, was a single line of text—"Founder of the Pup Trauma Recovery Initiative."

I scrolled down.

The tiered assessments, family interventions, wolf tracking, and even the moon cards I had designed to help the pups recognize their progress were printed in full right there in the brochure.

My name was nowhere in the entire document.

I handed the phone to Leon. "Do you know who created this program?"

He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted. "I can explain."

I didn't pull the phone back. "Have you seen this version before?"

He stayed silent.

The last page bore his approval stamp, and it was dated yesterday.