Selene growls, pacing as she sniffs every corner of the room. Her hackles are stiff. Even though she''s just a dog right now, it''s still intimidating.

    That bastard was here, Selene confirms, after sniffing around the bedroom. He won''t harm you. Her lip curls back into a soft snarl. I can smell his regret with every step he took.

    I collapse, my legs too weak to hold me up. That refreshed, revitalized feeling is gone. Only fear remains.

    "What am I going to do? I can''t stay here. If he found me, that means Dad can find me."

    Perhaps. Selene stretches with a large yawn. I would not worry yet, cub. You are not as defenseless as you once were, and you cannot run forever.

    "But—"

    You cannot run forever, Selene repeats forcefully, and I fall silent, struggling against the panic fluttering against my ribcage. One day, you might have to fight back.

    Fight back?

    I''d never imagined fighting back.

    How can a wolfless defect fight back?

    You are not wolfless, she reminds me, settling on the couch after a few circles. You are strong. You have me. We will not return to your pack.

    "What will we do?" I ask helplessly.

    Selene yawns again. Live, she says simply. Just as you have been. Do not borrow trouble before it finds you.

    That evening, Selene leads me through a series of basic calisthenics in the privacy of my small living room—push-ups, sit-ups, air squats, a hundred each. My muscles strain and burn with the unaccustomed exertion, but I grit my teeth and push through the discomfort.

    This becomes our new routine. Three nights a week, after leaving work early, I meet with a self-defense instructor named Kyle that Selene somehow dug up. He''s an older packless wolf, his lined face and calloused hands speaking of a hard life. But his pale blue eyes hold a kindness that puts me at ease from the start.

    To Kyle, Selene is just an ordinary husky tagging along with her owner. He doesn''t seem to notice anything amiss, which is probably for the best. I''m not sure I could explain the truth even if I wanted to.

    The training is grueling. Kyle runs me through basic strikes, blocks, grapples and takedowns, pushing me to my limits. I leave each session bruised, my body screaming in protest.

    But I persevere, following Selene''s firm encouragement. Because with each passing week, I can feel myself growing stronger. My endurance increasing, my movements becoming more fluid and precise.

    I''m toughening up, preparing myself for whatever challenges may still lie ahead. No longer will I be a helpless victim waiting for someone else to save me.

    A few nights a week, I come home to the scent of Lucas in my apartment, but I have yet to catch sight of him. I''m not sure how to feel about that, so I try not to think about it too much. I changed the locks, but he still makes it in.

    More shifters have been appearing in town, stopping by The Novel Grind. I can hear them talking about war between the Blackwood and Westwood packs. I want to know more, but I don''t know how to dig up the information. It isn''t like I can just check this sort of news on the internet—werewolves tend to lie low with their pack information.

    I haven''t heard any more talk about me, though. I''m not sure what that means, and I''m too scared to find out. I should probably reach out to the pack alpha here, but I don''t know how he feels about my family or my pack. I can''t risk him wanting to hand me over.

    So I just—live. Like Selene said. I go to my class. I work at The Novel Grind. I train.

    I''m not at ease, though Selene doesn''t seem too concerned. I can''t help looking over my shoulder more often these days. But aside from Lucas'' presence in my room, his scent all over my things, there''s nothing different around me.

    Until now.

    I put on a fake smile, looking at the person in front of me like I don''t recognize them. "Hello. What would you like to order today? We are currently running a special on all our hot coffee."