The announcement came during morning training. A transfer from Ironwood Pack. Routine. It happened a few times a year—wolves moving between allied territories for work, education, or family reasons. Nobody paid much attention when Declan read the name off the roster.

"Magnus Graham. Nineteen. Sophomore. Ironwood lineage. He'll be joining us starting today."

I was stretching near the sparring rings when he arrived.

I didn't see him at first. Just heard the low murmur of introductions as Declan walked him through the training grounds. A few wolves glanced over. Curious but not particularly interested. Transfers usually kept to themselves for the first few weeks.

Then the wind shifted.

Cedar and dark honey.

The scent hit me like a fist to the chest. My wolf—silent since the severance, a quiet presence I'd learned to live with—surged upright so fast I almost stumbled. Every nerve in my body went taut. My lungs forgot how to work.

*Mate.*

The word exploded through my mind in my wolf's voice. Not a question. Not a suggestion. A certainty.

No.

I straightened slowly, forcing air into my lungs. My hands were shaking. I shoved them into my pockets and turned away from the group, walking toward the tree line with measured steps that felt like they belonged to someone else's body.

Behind me, Declan's voice continued the introductions. I didn't look back. Couldn't. If I looked back and saw him—whoever he was—I didn't trust what my wolf would do.

I made it to the edge of the forest before I had to stop. My chest was too tight. The cedar-and-dark-honey scent clung to the inside of my nose like it had been painted there. My wolf was pacing, restless and insistent, pressing against my ribs.

*Go back. Find him. Ours.*

"No," I whispered out loud.

I'd sworn. After Justin, after the severance, after everything—I'd sworn I would never let another bond rewrite me. I didn't care what the Moon Goddess thought she was doing. I didn't care if my wolf recognized him. I was done.

I stayed at the tree line until the scent faded. Until my hands stopped shaking. Until I could breathe without feeling like something was wrapped around my throat.

Then I went back to my quarters and didn't come out for the rest of the day.

---

Buster knew something was wrong.

He followed me from the couch to the kitchen to the bedroom and back, his anxious brown eyes tracking every movement. When I finally sat down on the floor with my back against the wall, he crawled into my lap and pressed his nose against my neck.

I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes.

Cedar and dark honey. The scent was still there, faint but unmistakable, like it had soaked into my skin. My wolf whined softly in the back of my mind.

"I can't," I told her. Told myself. "I can't do this again."

She didn't answer. Just kept pacing.

I didn't tell Soleil. Didn't tell anyone. When she came home that evening and found me on the floor with Buster, she raised an eyebrow but didn't push.

"Rough day?" she asked.

"Something like that."

She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came back with two mugs of tea and sat down beside me. We drank in silence. Buster's tail thumped softly against my leg.

I didn't sleep that night. Just lay in bed with the window open, staring at the ceiling, while my wolf pressed restlessly against the inside of my chest and the scent of cedar and dark honey haunted every breath I took.

---

Two days later, Magnus Graham showed up at our door with a casserole dish.

I was in the kitchen when Soleil answered the knock. I heard her voice—bright, curious—and then footsteps. When I turned around, she was standing in the doorway with a slightly sheepish-looking wolf behind her.

Cedar and dark honey slammed into me all over again.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair that fell across his forehead. Warm brown eyes that found mine and held. And that scent—Moon Goddess, that scent—it wrapped around me like a living thing.

My wolf went absolutely still. Then she started howling.

"Avery," Soleil said, grinning. "This is Magnus. The transfer from Ironwood. He made lasagna and apparently made way too much."

Magnus smiled. It was a little crooked. A little self-deprecating. "I'm still getting used to cooking for one," he said. His voice was warm. Steady. "Thought I'd share. Hope that's okay."

I stared at him.

Soleil, bless her, didn't notice. She took the dish from his hands and carried it to the counter. "Are you kidding? This smells amazing. Avery, doesn't this smell amazing?"

"Yeah," I managed. My voice sounded distant. "Amazing."

Magnus's gaze hadn't left mine. There was something in his expression—something quiet and patient and far too knowing for a wolf who'd just arrived.

"Well, come in," Soleil said, already pulling plates from the cabinet. "You can't just drop off food and leave. That's against house rules."

Magnus stepped inside. The space between us felt electric. My wolf was vibrating beneath my skin, torn between lunging forward and running in the opposite direction.

I forced myself to move. To breathe. To act like a normal wolf meeting a normal transfer.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "For the food."

His smile widened just slightly. "Anytime."

Soleil served the lasagna. It was perfect. Rich and layered and exactly the way I liked it—which should have been a coincidence but felt like something else entirely.

Magnus sat across from me at the small table. He asked Soleil about her training schedule. Laughed at her stories. Answered her questions about Ironwood with easy warmth. And every few minutes, his gaze would drift back to mine, steady and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

My wolf pressed against my ribs. *Ours.*

I looked away.

When he finally left—with Soleil's enthusiastic invitation to come back anytime—I stood in the kitchen and gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles went white.

Soleil appeared beside me, eyes bright. "He's nice," she said. "And that lasagna? Incredible. We're keeping him."

I didn't answer.

Because I could still smell cedar and dark honey in the air. Could still feel the weight of his gaze on my skin. Could still hear my wolf's insistent, undeniable claim.

*Mate.*

And I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do about it.

The pack house kitchen smelled like coffee and something sweet someone had baked that morning. I was refilling Buster's food bowl when Cassidy walked in.

She wasn't alone.

Three pack members trailed behind her—wolves I recognized but didn't know well. Mid-rank. The kind who showed up to ceremonies and training but kept to the edges. Safe audience. Controllable.

I set the bowl down slowly.

Cassidy stopped a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her. Her voice came out soft. Wounded. "Avery. I'm glad I ran into you."

I didn't answer. Just watched.

"I've been wanting to talk," she continued, glancing at the wolves behind her like she needed their presence for courage. "About everything that happened. I just... I feel terrible. I never meant to come between mates. I was new, and I didn't understand, and—" Her voice caught. Actual tears welled in her eyes. "I just want everyone to heal. To move forward. I hate that there's all this tension in the pack because of me."

One of the wolves behind her—a younger she-wolf named Tara—made a sympathetic noise.

I leaned back against the counter. Crossed my arms. Let the silence stretch.

Cassidy's expression flickered. Just for a second. Uncertainty crept into the wounded-doe routine.

"I mean it," she pressed. "I know you're angry, but I think if we could just talk—really talk—we could fix this. For the pack's sake."

"For the pack's sake," I repeated quietly.

She nodded, relief washing over her face. "Yes. Exactly."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. Set it on the counter between us with a soft click.

Cassidy blinked. "What—"

"You started messaging other pack members about Justin three days before the bonfire," I said. My voice was calm. Factual. "Asking about his schedule. His favorite training routes. Whether he had a mate."

I swiped to the first screenshot. Turned the phone so everyone could see. Cassidy's name at the top. Timestamps clear as daylight.

Tara leaned forward, squinting at the screen. Her expression shifted.

"You posted on the forum the morning after the ceremony," I continued, pulling up the next image. "Anonymous account. But the IP trace came back to the pack house guest network. Same login you used to access the dining schedule that week."

Cassidy's face went pale. "That's—you can't—"

"You told three different wolves that Justin 'deserved better than someone so cold,'" I said, scrolling to a thread she'd participated in under a barely-disguised username. "You encouraged the narrative that he made a choice. That he picked you. You built that story while the bonfire was still burning."

The kitchen had gone completely silent.

I looked up from the phone. Met Cassidy's gaze. "So when you say you 'never meant' to come between mates and you 'didn't understand,' what you actually mean is you understood perfectly. You just didn't think anyone would pull the receipts."

Cassidy's soft, breathless register cracked. Her voice came out sharp. Ugly. "You don't know what it's like. Coming into a new pack. Trying to find your place. You had everything handed to you—"

"I earned my place," I said quietly. "You tried to steal one."

Her mouth opened. Closed. The tears were gone now. What was left behind was something harder. Meaner.

"You're just bitter," she spat. "Because he chose me."

I picked up Buster's bowl. Walked to the food bin. Refilled it with slow, deliberate movements. "He didn't choose you, Cassidy. He chose the path of least resistance. And you positioned yourself directly in it. Congratulations. I hope it's everything you wanted."

I walked past her. Past the three wolves who were now staring at Cassidy with expressions that ranged from uncomfortable to openly skeptical. Out of the kitchen. Down the hall.

Behind me, I heard Tara's voice, low and careful. "Cassidy... those screenshots..."

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

---

Magnus stopped showing up.

Two days passed. Then three. The casserole dish sat clean and returned on my counter—Soleil had walked it back to him—but he didn't come by again. No knock on the door. No warm voice asking if we needed anything from the market.

I told myself it was fine. Better, even. I didn't need him around. Didn't need the cedar-and-dark-honey scent making my wolf pace. Didn't need the complication.

Buster missed him, though. He kept going to the door and whining softly, ears pricked like he was listening for footsteps that didn't come.

"He's just busy," Soleil said on the third night, watching me watch Buster. "Transfer wolves have a lot to adjust to."

"I know."

She gave me a look. "You could go see him."

"I'm not going to chase down a wolf I barely know."

"Right," Soleil said slowly. "You're just going to sit here being absolutely not bothered by his absence."

I didn't answer.

On the fourth day, Magnus showed up at my door.

His eyes were slightly red. He was holding a small bottle of allergy tablets in one hand and something wrapped in wax paper in the other. When I opened the door, he smiled that crooked, self-deprecating smile.

"So," he said. "Turns out I have a fur sensitivity I didn't know about. Omega-class wolf-dog hybrids, specifically. Took me a few days to figure out why I kept sneezing."

I stared at him. "You're allergic to Buster."

"Apparently." He held up the tablets. "But I decided I'm not going to let a little histamine response stop me from visiting. If that's okay."

My wolf surged upright so fast I had to grip the doorframe. *Let him in. Ours. Keep him.*

I stepped aside.

Magnus walked in, immediately crouching down to greet Buster, who launched himself at Magnus's legs with a delighted yip. Magnus laughed—warm and genuine—and pulled the wax paper open to reveal a homemade dog treat.

"Made these this morning," he said, offering one to Buster. "Peanut butter and oats. Figured if I'm going to suffer through allergies, I should at least bribe him properly."

Buster took the treat with reverent care. His tail wagged so hard his whole body shook.

I closed the door. Leaned against it. "You didn't have to do that."

Magnus looked up at me. His expression was soft. Patient. "I wanted to."

The silence stretched. Cedar and dark honey filled the small space. My wolf pressed against my ribs, insistent and undeniable.

"I was studying earlier," Magnus said, straightening. "Big exam next week. Your kitchen table has better lighting than mine. Mind if I camp out here for a bit?"

I should have said no. Should have kept the boundaries clear.

"Sure," I heard myself say.

He smiled. Settled at the table with his books. Buster curled up at his feet. And just like that, the space that had felt too quiet for three days filled with warmth again.

I made tea. Magnus asked about my training schedule. We talked—easy, low-pressure conversation that didn't require anything from me. When Soleil came home two hours later, she found us both at the table, Magnus's notes spread across the surface, Buster snoring softly between us.

She caught my eye. Grinned. Didn't say a word.

Magnus stayed until late. When he finally left, he paused at the door. "Thanks for letting me invade your space."

"Anytime," I said. Meant it.

He smiled. Walked out. The cedar-and-dark-honey scent lingered long after the door closed.

I stood there in the quiet, Buster pressed against my leg, and felt something in my chest shift. Loosen. Just slightly.

My wolf hummed. Satisfied.

I didn't fight her.

---

Late that night, I couldn't sleep. I got up. Padded to the kitchen for water.

The light was still on.

Magnus was standing at the counter. I'd left the door unlocked—habit from when Soleil came home late—and he must have let himself back in. He had his back to me. Completely still. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something I couldn't hear.

The stillness was wrong. Too complete. Too controlled. It didn't match the warm, slightly clumsy wolf who blushed when Soleil teased him. This was something else. Something that felt old. Predatory.

I froze in the doorway.

Then Buster knocked his water bowl off the counter with a clatter.

Magnus moved. Caught the bowl without looking. Laughed—easy and bright. "Buster, buddy, you're a menace."

He turned. Saw me. Smiled. "Sorry. Forgot my notebook. Didn't want to wake you."

The stillness was gone. Completely. Like it had never been there.

I stepped into the kitchen. "It's fine."

He grabbed his notebook from the table. Held it up. "Got it. I'll get out of your hair."

"See you tomorrow?"

His smile widened. "Absolutely."

He left. I stood in the kitchen with Buster at my feet and stared at the space where Magnus had been standing. At the counter. At the bowl he'd caught without looking.

I filed it away. Didn't pull the thread.

Not yet.