Page 64 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

I smile without hesitation. “Feels like it.”

She raises her cup. “Knew you had it in you.”

Then she disappears again, off to manage a scheduling conflict between the kitchen and the werebat night flight crew.

I look around the room, filled with laughter and glue and more color than the sunrise.

This is the job.

This is the life.

And for the first time in years I feel like I’m right where I’m meant to be.

CHAPTER 22

ALICE

The cabin is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like a secret. The sun’s warm glow filters through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. Jason’s sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the back, his boots kicked off by the door. He’s scrolling through something on his phone, but his attention’s half-hearted at best. I sit cross-legged next to him, a book in my lap, but I haven’t turned a page in ten minutes.

“You’re staring,” he says, not looking up.

“Am not.”

“You are. It’s weirdly intense. I can feel it.”

I toss the book onto the coffee table. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure out how you manage to look so… disheveled all the time.”

He glances up, smirking. “Disheveled? That’s your word of the day?”

“It’s accurate. You’re one step away from a leaf in your hair.”

He sets the phone down, turning to face me fully. “You saying I’m not a fashion icon?”

“I’m saying you look like you wrestled a bear and lost.”

He leans in, close enough that I can see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw. “Maybe I did.”

“Doubt it,” I say, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

He hums, his eyes dropping to my lips. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his hand brushing my cheek, and then his lips are on mine. It’s slow, easy, the kind of kiss that feels like coming home. His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I forget to breathe.

When we break apart, he doesn’t go far, his forehead resting against mine. “So,” he murmurs, his voice low, “you finally figured out how to shut me up.”

“Temporary fix,” I say, my heart still racing.

He grins, lazy and warm. “Good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

And then he kisses me again, and the world narrows to just this—the warmth of his hands, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the feeling that, for once, everything’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.

He moves slow, deliberate, his hands sliding down my sides like he’s memorizing the curve of me. The couch cushions sink under my weight as he lays me back, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s that smirk, the one that makes my stomach flip, but it’s softer now, almost tender.

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