Page 17 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

I’d come here with this idea in my head: that I’d meet people who were either too much or not enough. That monsters were charming and careless and beautiful in ways I couldn’t competewith. That I’d need to prove myself again and again just to feel like I belonged.

But Jason didn’t ask Nolan to prove anything.

He just... saw him.

It shouldn’t surprise me anymore.

But it does.

Later, after breakfast cleanup, I find Nolan near the flagpole with two other campers. He’s holding court, retelling his transformation story with all the dramatic flair of a campfire myth.

“...and then,” he says, eyes wide, “Ifeltit. Like my chest was gonna burst. But instead of fire coming out of my nose or something—which, by the way, I totally thought would happen—I just... shifted.”

The kids gasp. One of them claps. Another calls him “Commander Nolan” and he doesn’t even blush. Henods.

I catch Jason watching the whole thing from across the field, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He meets my eyes for a moment—then grins and shrugs likeWelp, guess I made a dragon happen.

I don’t smile back right away.

Instead, I walk over.

“Hey,” I say, toeing the dirt with my sneaker.

“Hey,” he replies, rocking back on his heels. “He’s a beast now, huh?”

I nod. “You really helped him.”

Jason gives a soft snort. “He did all the work. I just held the metaphorical flashlight.”

“I don’t think that’s how flashlights work.”

He grins. “Then I was the emotional duct tape.”

That gets a quiet laugh from me. I glance back at Nolan. “He’s... confident.”

“He was already brave. Just didn’t know it yet.”

I look up at him. “How’d you know what he needed?”

Jason’s mouth opens like he’s gonna toss out something flippant. But then he just exhales.

“Because I needed it too. Once.”

My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say to that. But something about the way he says it—soft, unarmored—makes me feel like I’m seeing him clearly for the first time.

And it’s not just the Jason who howls and flirts and makes kids climb walls. It’s the one who remembers what it’s like to be small. The one who sits in the mess of other people’s pain without trying to fix it, just to prove they’re not alone.

It’s... disarming.

He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I know I’m not exactly Mr. Stability. But... yesterday felt good. Real. Like maybe I’m not just coasting for once.”

My voice is small. “You’re not coasting.”

Jason looks at me then—really looks.

And it does that thing again. That weird, nervous flutter under my ribs. The kind I haven’t felt in... years, maybe. Not the warm, comfortable kind. The sharp, thrilling,dangerouskind.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say quickly, before I can chicken out. “I might’ve been wrong about you.”

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