Semua Bab I Will Find You: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Remy“Back office,” Todd said, very soft, to no one and both of us. “I’ll lock the lobby. Jacek’s covering the road.”I turned, trotted through the shop door, and let the bay swallow me. The concrete was warm from the day’s labor. Grease cut the cold smell and reminded me of the human work that keeps the wolf fed. In the small back room we use for emergencies, I let the shift pull me back upright.People like to talk about the pain of shifting one way or the other as if there’s a difference. There isn’t. It costs both directions. Coming back to two feet means joints complain, muscle fiber rearranges, skin crawls for a fraction of a second as fur goes to sleep. Teeth slide into gums in a way that would make a human throw up if they watched. The worst part is hands—knuckles remaking themselves into smaller bones with more nuance. You feel clumsy until they remember what they can do.I breathed through it, riding the pain down like a sled on a slope, and sat on the bench with my head tip

Holland“How are you holding up?” he asked.“Like a person who just found out her boss is a fairy tale,” I said, and watched his mouth tug in a smile.“That’s one way to say it.” He perched, forearms resting on his thighs, big hands hanging easy. He didn’t fill the room with himself. He left space between words. “Talk to me. What’s the fear actually about? The wolf or the man who stood under the lamp?”“The man,” I said without hesitating. Honesty came easier than I expected. “Robbie. He just… he’s like mold. He gets into the walls.”Todd nodded like that metaphor came pre-installed. “You’re worried he’ll find you here.”“Yes.” The word stuck to my tongue. “He called. Or someone did. And the wind—” My laugh sounded embarrassingly wet. “My brain keeps turning branches into boots.”“Brains do that.” He shifted, slow. “Want to walk the place with me? We can look for actual problems. Sometimes sight beats imagination.”“Okay.” I set the cup down and stood, aware of how ridiculous I felt s

RemyHolland came in before the lobby was supposed to be opened.I heard the lobby door, the quick cadence of her steps, the brief pause at the stairwell like a swimmer testing water with a toe—then the steady climb. No knock. The handle turned and she slipped into my office, soft as a thought you’ve been having all night and decide to say out loud in the morning.“Good morning,” I said, surprised at how careful my voice came out. I’d expected avoidance, a polite orbit. I hadn’t expected Holland, hair damp, eyes clear, walking into the room I’d told everyone she didn’t have to enter.“Good morning,” she echoed. She looked at the chair across from my desk, didn’t sit, then looked at the painting instead: a wolf in a fogged forest, the one I keep because it makes the room tell the truth even when I’m trying to be respectable.“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I’d like to know about… the pack. About how this all actually works.”Relief landed in my che

HollandBy late morning the lobby had settled into a rhythm I could ride without thinking—answer, print, staple, smile, repeat. Diesel ghosts drifted in every time a tech cut through to the showroom; the ficus looked like it was rehearsing its funeral; my stomach had started making small whale noises I tried to ignore.I should’ve packed a lunch. I’d meant to. But the night had been long in a way that made me forget ordinary things. Todd texting from his truck. The wind behaving. Me sleeping in full pieces for the first time in too long. Morning had arrived with a weird calm and a blank spot in my tote where a sandwich should have been.The shop door pushed open and the air did a small shift that had nothing to do with temperature. Remy came through wearing a jacket that said owner without shouting it—clean lines, quiet confidence—and paused at the counter just long enough to see how my face was doing.“Client in the showroom?” he asked, voice low like a question you can answer in fro

HollandThe Maple Corporate Suites sign looked exactly like Banks promised—so boring it felt like camouflage. A rectangle of brushed metal, a font you forget while you’re reading it. The garage gate lifted after my fob beeped, and I slid into a numbered spot that already felt like it belonged to a person who doesn’t make scenes.George stood at the security desk exactly where the packet said he would, a paperback stacked beside his elbow. He had the kind of face that looks like it’s been practicing neutrality for years, and eyes that missed nothing. A gray tuxedo cat curled on a folded sweatshirt under the counter lifted one paw, decided I was not a threat or a tuna can, and set it down again.“Evening,” George said, as if it were any other day that ended in y. He glanced at my laminate. “Ms. Ward. Third floor, corner. Elevator’s right, watch your step—the second cab starts a tad low, and I don’t want you thinking it’s a trap.”“Thank you,” I said. My voice sounded like me but softer.