Chapter 5

Before the winter solstice, Sea Cliff and Black Pine hosted a joint dinner at a downtown event hall. Dad oversaw border patrol. Mom ran Sea Cliff’s pack clinic. Their territory and business interests had been tangled together for years, so whenever they fought in public, someone inevitably came looking for me to smooth things over.

This time, they were fighting about Lena’s spring internship. Mom wanted her at the clinic. Dad wanted her with patrol.

“She’s trained for almost six months,” Dad said. “You want her sitting at your front desk checking patients in?”

“Better than dragging her up a mountain at midnight and bringing her home injured.”

“Are you saying I can’t protect my own daughter?”

The conversations around them died. The banquet manager approached with a pitcher of water, took one look at their faces, and turned to me. “Miss Hart, perhaps you could—”

“Get Lena,” I said. “They’ll listen to her.”

He stared at me in surprise. In previous years, I would have stepped between my parents, softened one person’s words, and coaxed the other back into a chair. This time, I didn’t move.

Two years earlier, at a dinner much like this one, they had fought over Lena again. I asked Dad to let Mom finish speaking, and he accused me of wanting to stay with Sea Cliff. When I turned to calm him down, Mom told me that if I was so loyal to Dad, I shouldn’t bother coming back the following year.

In the middle of it, a server dropped a tray of glasses. A shard sliced my calf. I grabbed the table as blood ran into my sock.

Both my parents looked at me, then kept arguing.

Lena came back from the restroom and went pale at the sight of the blood. Their fight stopped instantly. Dad blocked her view while Mom wrapped an arm around her and led her into another room.

A young server found the first-aid kit and cleaned my leg. My wolf had strained toward Mom’s scent, desperate for comfort, but all I could smell was the direction she had walked away.

Tonight, Lena crossed the terrace in a dark blue dress. The second she spoke, both Alphas fell silent. Dad agreed that patrol could wait. Mom promised the clinic would hold an internship open for her too.

When Mom sat down again, she finally looked at me. “Every one of our business partners saw that. You just stood there. Do our packs’ reputations mean nothing to you?”

“Standing up never stopped either of you before.”

Her expression hardened, as if she had never heard me answer back. Then Lena called her over to watch a training video. Mom left without another word. Dad followed.

In January, I completed my Redwood interview alone. The panel asked why I had chosen search-and-rescue signal mapping. I told them about the flash flood that cut off our school rescue team in the mountains. A lost pup was eventually found, but he spent a long time in the hospital. A better signal map could have led rescuers to him hours sooner.

I talked about the physics teacher who loaned me equipment and the nights Josie stayed awake checking data with me. I didn’t invent supportive parents to make my application sound prettier.

At the end of the interview, the professor chairing the panel smiled. “We’d like you to continue this work with us.”

My acceptance arrived in March. The scholarship covered tuition, housing, health insurance, and research costs. It also included a teaching-assistant stipend.

Ms. Bennett cried before I did. Then I started laughing, and kept laughing until my nose stung and my vision blurred.

I forwarded the offer to my parents. Dad never replied. Two days later, Mom sent a message.

[Don’t be late for the August handoff. Take your winter clothes when you move to Black Pine. I need to clear the storage room for Lena.]

At graduation in May, Josie’s family and Ms. Bennett sat in the front row. As I gave the valedictory speech, two seats remained empty.

When I stepped down, Josie’s father handed me a bouquet of sunflowers and said they’d booked a table for dinner. I went with them. It was the first time I didn’t turn around for one last look at the empty chairs.

At the end of August, I packed two suitcases. Mom assumed I was moving back to Dad’s house.

“Be on time for lunch tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t keep everyone waiting.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t tell her the people waiting for me wouldn’t be at that restaurant.

Josie drove me to the airport the next morning. She steadied one suitcase while I pulled up the confirmation email on my phone.

“Everything is really done?” she asked.

“My transfer request was approved. Once the plane leaves Sea Cliff territory, my registration ends.”

She hugged me hard. “What if they call?”

“I’ll decide whether I want to answer.”

The boarding announcement sounded. I sent Josie one last picture, then turned off my phone.

The Sea Cliff bond still ran deep in my mind, stretched close to breaking. At noon, Mom and Dad would sit at their usual table to decide which pack had to take me for another year.

By then, my plane would have crossed Sea Cliff territory. The bond would be gone, my withdrawal final.

The cabin door closed.

For ten years, they had passed me back and forth.

Today, they would finally agree on one thing:

Neither of them had me anymore.