Page 59 of Fat Arranged Mate
She reads it, brow furrowing. "Miller's Ridge. That's near—"
"The summer hunting grounds. Yeah."
Her eyes lift to mine, understanding dawning. "You're going."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I have to."
"No." She sets the can down with careful control. "No, that’s—that’s stupid. It’s too risky, too dangerous. Hunting with them? Seriously? We've gathered enough intelligence, Dylan. If it’s all going to implode soon, then it’s time to go home."
"And leave a potential attack uninvestigated?" I counter. "I can get details—"
"Details?" Frustration edges her voice. "We know their plans. They hate shifters. They want to kill us. What more do you want? Are you waiting for them to make you kill someone, too?”
"Specifics. Numbers. Routes. Weapons." I step closer, intensity rising. "Information that could save lives. We’re not done—you can’t seriously think we’re done.”
"Do you think we’re really going to stop them from the inside?" She crosses her arms, stance widening subtly. "You know they don’t trust us, Dylan—you know as well as I do that they’ll start icing us out soon. It’s time to pull out.”
The accusation in the words lands like a physical blow. "You think I can’t keep my cover?”
"I don’t want you to die,” she insists, furious. “He already comes to our house, watches us—what next? What happens when they stop believing your story? If you think you could beat all of them, you’re fucking delusional, Dylan.”
"That's my job," I growl, anger flaring hot and quick. "Beating them.”
"That’s not what we were sent here for!" Sera doesn't back down, eyes flashing. “We’re spies, not fighters!”
“And we’ve been damn good spies!”
"And how far are you willing to go to maintain that cover now? Would you hurt someone if they asked? Kill a wolf they capture? When are you willing to concede you can’t kill them on your own? That killing them won’t fix anything anyway?”
I grind my teeth hard. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Sera’s voice softens, somehow more devastating than her anger. "Because I see the way you look when you come back from their meetings. Like something's being poisoned inside you. You’re breaking down. You think I can’t see it. But this is killing you.”
She's too close to a truth I've been avoiding—the seductive simplicity of their black-and-white worldview, the release of channeling grief into sanctioned hatred. Each Guardian meeting leaves me walking a narrower edge between infiltration and absorption.
"You don't understand," I say, retreating to defensiveness.
"I understand perfectly." Her eyes hold mine, unflinching. "I grew up watching good wolves become monsters, one small compromise at a time."
"I'm nothing like them."
"No? Then walk away. Come back to Silvercreek with me. Let the pack handle this together instead of you playing lone hero."
"It's not that simple."
"It is," she insists. "You just don't want it to be, because then you'd have to admit this isn't just about the mission anymore. It's about vengeance. About finding whoever killed your brother and—"
My control slips, wolf rising dangerously close to the surface. "Don’t fuckingtalk about my brother—"
I’m yelling before I know what I’m doing. But Sera doesn’t back off.
"I'm trying to stay in your life," she shouts right back. "To keep you from destroying yourself chasing revenge that won't bring him back!"
"Don't you fucking talk about Ethan," I warn, voice dropping to a dangerous register. "You didn't know him."
"And you didn't know my parents, or my grandmother, or the kids I watched die at Cheslem,” Sera snaps. “But I knew them. And I won’t watch you die, too, Dylan, I won’t!”
We stand facing each other across the kitchen, both breathing hard, neither willing to yield ground. The fundamental divide between us yawns wider with each passing second—her belief in healing, my certainty in justice through action.
