“You’re back!” Pixie shouted from the far side of the room. “We picked colors! Amelia’s throne is almost done—don’t worry, it’s structurally sound, probably—and Gwenna’s not allowed to leave until she smiles at least once!”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” Gwenna said flatly from across the room. She was standing near the wall, arms crossed, eyes tracking everything like she was still waiting for someone to pull a knife.

  Ethan stepped forward slowly, motioning to the others to hang back a bit. “Hey. You doing okay?”

  “I’ve been offered cake, three drinks, two nicknames, and a seat on something called the Streamer Council,” Gwenna said. “So either I’m in danger… or I’ve been accepted.”

  “I’d say you’re officially Pack-adjacent,” Ethan said.

  “I’m still waiting for my probation hearing,” she replied.

  “You’re not the only one,” Buster muttered behind him.

  Gwenna narrowed her eyes. “So... are we just not going to talk about the fact that your beasts are talking?”

  Ethan hesitated. “Yeah. We were kind of hoping the party would distract you.”

  “It didn’t,” she said flatly.

  “I figured,” Ethan said.

  She watched him for a long moment, expression unreadable. “That’s not normal.”

  “No. It’s not,” Ethan replied.

  “And you don’t seem surprised by it,” Gwenna said, narrowing her eyes.

  “I was,” Ethan said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

  “I’m still surprised,” he admitted. “I’m just... adjusting out loud.”

  “We’re very eloquent,” Buster said, huffing.

  “Look. I want to take your offer and release you from the system oath,” Ethan said. “We can talk after the party.”

  Before Gwenna could answer, someone tugged lightly at Ethan’s sleeve.

  He turned to find Senna standing there, holding something wrapped in a square of cloth and tied with what looked like a braid of mismatched thread. Her face was pink, but determined.

  “I made this for you,” she said. “As a thank-you. For saving people. Pixie’s been telling me stories about all the things you’ve done. I wanted you to know I liked that... and for being... not scary.”

  Ethan blinked. “Oh. Wow—thanks, Senna.”

  He took the bundle carefully. Inside was a small carved pendant—uneven, a little charred around the edges, but unmistakably shaped like a dog. Or possibly a very happy bear.

  “It’s one of the wolf-things,” she said. “I mean... your dogs.”

  “It’s perfect,” Ethan said, and meant it.

  Senna beamed and immediately ran off before anyone else could comment.

  Little early for fan clubs, don’t you think? Buster said through the bond.

  Ethan didn’t look at him. It’s a very thoughtful gift.

  She’s going to write poetry about you, Buster added. You’re not ready.

  Please stop talking, Ethan said through the bond.

  Lyra leaned against the wall, trying to look casual while something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. She watched Senna hand Ethan the little wrapped bundle. Watched his expression soften as he accepted it, the genuine warmth in his smile as he thanked her.

  It wasn't jealousy. That would be ridiculous. Senna was barely thirteen, the gift was probably just a carved trinket, and Ethan was just being kind—because that's who he was.

  But knowing all that didn’t stop the knot forming in her stomach. Didn’t quiet Buster’s words echoing in her mind. Fan club. Poetry collection.

  She looked away, jaw tightening, and forced herself to focus on literally anything else in the room. This reaction was beneath her. Five decades of life, and she was letting this get to her? Pathetic.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Through the bond, she clamped down hard on her thoughts, hoping none of it leaked through.

  Across the room, Pixie’s head shot up.

  “I SENSE EMOTIONAL TURMOIL!” she announced to no one in particular, then immediately began bouncing her way toward Lyra.

  “No,” Lyra said, already stepping back. “Whatever you're thinking, no.”

  Pixie skidded to a halt in front of her, eyes wide, silver-blue ribbon bobbing with the movement. “You're having FEELINGS. I can tell. The bond is all prickly and spiky where you are.”

  “I’m fine,” Lyra said, keeping her voice neutral.

  “You’re the opposite of fine,” Pixie insisted. “You’re un-fine. You’re fine-adjacent.”

  “Pixie—”

  “Is this because Ethan got a present? Because I can make you one too. I’m very good at presents. I once gave Buster a stick and he chewed it for THREE HOURS.”

  Lyra sighed. “It’s not about—”

  “OR,” Pixie interrupted, bouncing higher, “is it because you LIKE him? Because if you LIKE him, I have EXTENSIVE romantic strategies I’ve been developing.”

  Lyra stared at her in horror. “I do not need romantic strategies from a yappy little chaos-beast.”

  Pixie drew herself up proudly. “Excuse you—I’m part terrier, part beagle, and probably something dignified. Like a wolf. Or a fox. Or a very small dragon. Not just a chaos-beast.”

  “I can hear both of you,” came Ethan’s voice through the bond.

  Pixie froze mid-bounce. “OOPS.”

  Lyra’s ears flattened completely. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

  “It sounds EXACTLY like what it is,” Pixie insisted. “You’re jealous of a CHILD’S GIFT. It’s both sad and adorable.”

  “I am five decades old,” Lyra hissed. “I do not get jealous of children.”

  “And yet,” Pixie said, grinning, “here we are.”

  Before Lyra could respond, Jorrin appeared with a tray of fresh-baked pastries.

  “Anyone hungry?”

  “FOOD EMERGENCY!” Pixie shouted, immediately abandoning all thoughts of romance to dart toward the smell of warm bread.

  Lyra exhaled slowly, watching Pixie go. Crisis temporarily averted.

  She turned—

  And found Moose sitting silently beside her, watching with calm, knowing eyes.

  “Don’t,” she said quietly.

  “Didn’t say anything,” Moose replied. But his steady gaze said plenty.

  “I’ll get over it,” Lyra muttered.

  Moose gave a slow blink. “We all have our moments.”

  “Not you,” she said.

  “Especially me,” he corrected gently. “Ask Ethan about the time I hid in the bathtub for three days because he brought home Buster.”

  Lyra’s lips twitched despite herself. “You didn’t.”

  “I did,” Moose confirmed. “Dramatic sulking is a noble tradition.”

  She snorted softly. “I’m not sulking.”

  “Of course not,” Moose agreed, still watching her. “Just contemplating life’s inequities while staring intensely at nothing.”

  Lyra rolled her eyes, but some of the tension had left her shoulders. “Go guard something, old dog.”

  “Already am,” Moose said simply, and padded away.

  Across the room, Tessa climbed onto a chair and raised both hands dramatically. “ATTENTION EVERYONE! IT’S TIME FOR THE CEREMONY!”

  The room quieted. Senna stepped forward, holding what looked like a crown made of paper streamers, twist-ribbon, and a few bits of glitter-dusted twine. Tessa clapped her hands for silence, even though no one was speaking.

  “We’re here to celebrate,” she declared with the full authority of a six-year-old in charge, “our VERY BRAVE guest of honor... AMELIA!”

  Amelia, who had been sitting quietly near the hearth, blinked. Her ears perked up as every eye in the room turned toward her.

  “Amelia saved me,” Tessa said, her voice softening. “When I was lost in the market. When I was scared.” Her fingers rose to brush the gray ribbon now braided into her hair—the one Amelia had given her in the alley.

  “She found me. She protected me. And she gave me her most special thing.”

  Tessa stepped forward and motioned for Amelia to come closer. The young wolf hesitated—just for a moment—then padded toward the center of the room. She’d grown even in just a few weeks: leaner, more confident, but still bright-eyed and alert.

  “Amelia is the bravest, best, most heroic wolf EVER,” Tessa announced.

  Senna carefully placed the crown on Amelia’s head. It was slightly too large and drooped a bit over one ear, but Amelia didn’t move.

  “This is her Wolf Queen Ceremony of Honor!” Tessa shouted.

  Kip, standing nearby with his wooden sword, tapped it solemnly against the floor in what he clearly thought was a formal knighting gesture. He nearly toppled over, but recovered with dignity.

  Amelia sat very still, her tail brushing the floor. Through the bond, Ethan felt her quiet pride flicker through the air—warm, startled, and glowing. Underneath it, something deeper stirred. This was her first real moment of being seen—not just as a beast, or a bonded creature, but as someone who mattered.

  Jorrin emerged from the kitchen with a small, neatly plated honeycake and a solemn nod. “For the guest of honor.”

  Amelia’s tail thumped once. That was all.

  “You’re supposed to bow to the queen!” Tessa stage-whispered.

  Pixie immediately dropped into a dramatic bow, nose to the floor, rear end still up. “YOUR MAJESTY!”

  Buster groaned, but bowed his head.

  Moose offered a slow, subtle incline.

  Across the room, Lyra met Ethan’s eye. She gave him a small, genuine smile—one that reached all the way to the bond—and offered a graceful curtsy to Amelia.

  Ethan, caught somewhere between pride and amusement, gave a short bow of his own. “Your Majesty,” he said, and meant it.

  Amelia’s ears flicked in mild embarrassment, but her tail was still wagging.

  This is unnecessary, she thought through the bond.

  Let them honor you, Ethan replied. You deserve it.