Page 33 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

JASON

I’m not spying.

Let’s just get that clear.

I’m walking past the office—like a normal, shirtless man with a clipboard and a mission to track down the missing guitar tuner—when I hear Alice’s voice drift through the cracked window.

I stop. Freeze, really.

It’s her tone that gets me.

Quiet. Uncertain. A little frayed around the edges.

Julie’s in there too. I hear her laugh softly. “No pressure, Alice. Just think about it.”

“I am,” Alice replies. “I just... I’m not sure. It’s been a lot.”

I lean in an inch. Just one.

Not spying.

Just... investigating.

Alice sighs. “This place means more to me than I thought it would. But that doesn’t automatically mean I belong here full-time.”

Something cold stirs in my chest.

Julie says something else—reassuring, soft. I can’t make out the words. Then footsteps, and I’m backing away like a guilty raccoon caught raiding the snack tent.

I duck behind the bulletin board just as the door swings open.

Alice walks out.

She doesn’t see me.

She’s fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie, biting the inside of her cheek.

And the cold in my chest goes from a stir to a throb.

She’s leaving.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But she’s already pulling away.

I don’t talk to her during lunch.

I mean, I say hi. Smile. Keep the banter up with the kids.

But I don’t sit next to her.

Because if I do, I’ll say something stupid. Like “Don’t leave.” Or “Was that kiss just for fun?” Or worse—“Tell me it mattered.”

I’m not built for this kind of vulnerability.

Give me a mud pit, a broken canoe, a kid shifting into a badger mid-talent show—I can handle that.

But this?

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