<b>Chapter </b>113
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Tommy dusted off his hands and crouched beside Elliot, the big, battle–rough beta somehow managing a smile that didn’t make the room feel any heavier.
“Alright, little terror,” he said, tone gentle beneath the tease. “What you did out there? That was brave, controlled, and fast. You kept your head and you protected your people. That’s pack.”
Elliot ducked his chin, shy. “I just… didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“That’s the point.” Tommy tapped two fingers lightly against Elliot’s sternum. “Heart first, always. If you want it, you can starting to my junior training sessions. We’ll make a
spot just for you, age–appropriate drills, control work, team tactics. No heroics, no pressure. We go slow, we go safe, and we do it together. Deal?”
Elliot’s eyes flicked to me, a silent question. I brushed my knuckles over his cheek and nodded. “If you feel up to it.”
“I do,” he whispered, nodding hard. “Deal.”
“Good.” Tommy pushed to his feet and looked over themon room.
A rap at the back door cut him off, followed by the holy scent of melted cheese and garlic. Someone cheered. Two of the older teens hustled in with stacked pizza boxes and paper cups; caretakers swooped, turning the chaos into a tidy distribution line with the kind of battlefield logic only orphanage staff know. nkets were spread, a movie flickered onto
the old projector, and the youngest pups started to settle, wide–eyed, red–cheeked, safe. Macey tugged Elliot to the end of a nket and plopped down, patting the spot beside her
like a queen granting a throne. He hesitated, ncing at me again, and I gave him a little shooing gesture. Go on. He went, shoulders finally rxing as Macey handed him the first slice like an award. Layah padded over and curled protectively at their backs, a living shadow keeping watch. The room’s sound shifted, less frantic, more human. Children whispering over toppings, caretakers counting heads, theforting clink of cups and tes.
Haiden squeezed my hip as he passed me a slice. “Extra cheese for the Luna.”
Levi ghosted in behind him with bottles of water, setting them within reach of the kids
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Chapter <b>113 </b>
before crouching to check a scraped knee. Noah stood at the door, scanning faces and windows in that slow<b>, </b>methodical way that made my bones loosen. Xavier returned from a quick sweep of the yard, met my eyes, and gave a brief nod: clear.
I knelt between Macey and Elliot. “Two bites and a drink,” I said softly. “Then I’ll pop to the packhouse for a bit. You’re staying here with the caretakers until we get back.”
Elliot chewed, then swallowed, then leaned in so only I could hear him. “You’lle back?<b>” </b>
“Always,” I said. I kissed his temple, then Macey’s hair for good measure. “You two are on nket duty. No crumbs on the floor or Layah will file a formalint.<b>” </b>
Macey giggled and fed Layah the tiniest pepperoni in history. Layah epted it solemnly like a signed treaty.
Tommy pped once, drawing the room’s attention without raising his voice. “Warriors
on rotation, two at each exit, one roaming interior.”
“Haiden,” Xavier said, shifting into alpha cadence, “leave three with the caretakers, cycle
fresh pairs every fifteen minutes. I want eyes on the treeline and the service road.”
Haiden nodded, already assigning with quick chin lifts and hand signs. Noah handed the
“Ready?” he asked.
I looked back once more, Elliot shoulder–to–shoulder with Macey under a nket, Layah a
dark crescent around them, the room warm with pizza and the low murmur of a cartoon.
The sight hit me in the soft ce I don’t show anyone.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go make sure it stays this way.”
We slipped out. Thete afternoon sun nted across the yard, gilding the broken fence where the rogues had forced their way in. Warriors were already mending it, stacking fresh boards and setting iron posts with rune–etched caps. The smell of sap and sawdust <b>cut </b>through the old blood. By the time we reached the packhouse, the war room was already lit. Maps of our territory stretched across the central table, corners weighted with river stones. Tommy stood at one edge with Aleisha, markers in hand; Dad was at the <b>head</b>, the quiet gravity of a man who’d led too many battles, too many years.
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“Report,” Dad said.
Xavierid it out clean. “Breach at the orphanage’s west fence. Numbers: twelve rogues confirmed down. No civilian casualties. Minor injuries only. Their entry was fast, messy, and aimed to scatter, not precision strikes.”
Tommy added, “Masks and ash on fur. Someone tried to blunt their scents. Not foolproof,
but it slowed our detection.”
“Markers?” I asked, moving to the map, tracing our west perimeter with a fingertip.
“Found two,” Aleisha said, sliding photos across the table: crude bone totems wrapped with wire, smeared with something dark. “ced low along the ditch line. Fresh, less than
an hour before the push<b>.</b><b>” </b>
Levi set his tablet down. “I’veyered the orphanage doors and windows, reinforced the
fence posts, and seeded proximity rms along the service road. Anything heavier than a fox trips them.”
Haiden folded his arms. “This wasn’t random. They hit our most vulnerable location, at a
time we’re spread between realms. Somebody’s testing response time and nerve.”
“Same read,” Tommy said. He touched three points along the southern ridge. “Last week’s sightings line up with a funnel. They pushed scent east, then curved north. Whoever’s orchestrating isn’t subtle, but they’re learning.”
Noah leaned in beside me, voice even. “We shift from static routes to unpredictability. Double the night watch, but stagger the patterns. Dummy patrols. Decoys. And we expand the safe radius around the orphanage, no gaps, no assumptions.”
I nodded. “And we move the kids‘ outdoor blocks to the inner courtyard until we’ve rebuilt the back fence with iron iys. They don’t lose ytime, we just change the view.”
Assignments moved like water: names to routes, times to teams, wardyers to doors and drains. When thest marker was set, Dad looked at each of us in turn, making sure we were still here, still whole. “They wanted to rattle us,” he said. “Instead, they reminded us who we are.”
Family. Pack. A wall you do not breach.
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“Alright,” Xavier said, rolling his shoulders. “We rotate out and check on the kids.”
“Save me a slice,” Haiden added, already halfway to the door.
Tommy grinned. “Only if you pass my fitness test: sprint to the orphanage and back without stealing from the pizza box.”
“Cruel and unusual,” Haiden muttered, but he went.
As we filed out, I let my hand trail across the map’s edge. The ink might shift tomorrow. The lines might move. But tonight, the orphans were safe, the doors were warded, and the pack was already adapting.
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