Page 46 of Found by the Pack
I blink once. Then twice.
“What the hell are we watching?” I ask, bemused.
“Shepard’s pick,” Gabe says without missing a beat. “Which means this was supposed to be a documentary about Viking funerals, but I hijacked the remote and picked a show with actual joy in it.”
Shepard shrugs, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a throw pillow in his lap. “This is fine.”
Boone laughs under his breath. “You like this. Don’t lie.”
I do too. The color, the rhythm, the easy jokes that ask nothing from me. I blink at the screen, something unfurling slow and reluctant in my chest.
Gus lifts his head from the carpet and pads toward me with a sleepy wag of his tail. I shift to make space, and he hops up with the clumsy weight of a dog who’s never once considered how big he is.
I smile and scratch behind his ear as he curls up with a soft huff, settling his entire body across my lap like I was made for it.
So warm.
So soft.
I lean back against the cushions. My limbs are heavy again, the kind of ache that creeps in after a hard crash—mental, emotional, physical, all of it.
But the pain doesn’t scare me like it used to. Not with laughter still echoing off the walls. Not with Gus breathing slow and steady against my stomach.
I trace one last line of flame on my phoenix and then set the book aside. My eyes blur. Not from fever. Not entirely. Just… tired. Safe enough to let go for once.
They’re still talking. Someone makes a joke about something—probably the show. I can’t follow it. I don’t try to.
For once, I don’t brace for the worst.
I just listen.
And then I sleep.
CHAPTER 10
Boone
It’s Sawyer again. It’s a rare kind of dream that’s both gift and punishment all at once.
He’s laughing—full, loud, that deep-chested sound that always hit before I even knew what the joke was. We’re young again, standing outside the station on a summer evening, gear half-on, waiting for the alarm to sound.
He’s telling me some stupid story about our training days, about how he still can’t believe I managed to fall asleep in the middle of a safety briefing, and I’m rolling my eyes because he’s told it a hundred times before.
I want to keep him here. Keep the light in his eyes, keep the heat of the sun on his shoulders, keep that life. But then something shifts. There’s a shadow—smoke, maybe—and just like that, the dream breaks.
I wake up abruptly.
The TV’s still on. It takes me a second to register where I am—Shepard’s living room, Gus sprawled out, the faint smell of coffee gone cold in the air.
And then I see her.
Sadie. Curled on her side on the couch, one hand tucked under her cheek, breathing soft. Shepard’s sweatshirt swallows her frame, the hem hanging halfway down her thighs.
She looks… peaceful. Which feels like something rare for her, even after knowing her only a day.
I sit there for a moment, letting the quiet sink in, before glancing at my phone. 5:54 a.m. Normally, this is the part of the morning where I’d shower, throw on my uniform, and head to the station.
Instead, I stand, stretching my back, and cross the room to where she’s sleeping. I crouch down, close enough to feel the soft pull of her breath. My hand hovers before I touch her forehead.
