Page 16 of Left Cold, Wolf Owned
Declan straightens, and the grin is gone, replaced by something more direct. "Yeah. I heard you."
"I mean it, Deck. Nothing about shifting, the territory, any of it. As far as she's concerned, we're only people who live in the mountains."
"Understood." He says it simply, no performance. "You have my word." Then the grin edges back, quieter than usual. "For what it's worth, she landed on her feet. Whatever she ran from, she ran in the right direction." He zips up his jacket. "It’s worth noting."
He heads for the door, and I let him go.
I find Nora in the kitchen, rinsing mugs, and she reads my facial features before I open my mouth.
"I know," she says preemptively.
"Nora."
"Logan." She turns and faces me with her arms crossed, amber eyes direct. "I'm not going to say anything I shouldn't. I like her too much to blow it." She pauses. "Whatever she is to you—and I'm not asking—she's good people, and she's been through something, and I'm not going to make it worse."
I look at her for a moment. "Nothing about what we are. Nothing about the territory, the patrols, any of it. Keep it as—people. Friends. That's all she gets right now."
"Friends," Nora repeats, like she's filing it away. "Got it." She turns back to the mugs. "Now go talk to her before she starts thinking you're avoiding her."
The lodge has gone quiet by the time I come back through its main seating section. Lila has settled at the far end with her notebook, and Nora has moved outside. Harper is still at thetable, both hands around her mug, looking out the window at the treeline with the quiet, focused appearance of someone doing math they haven't solved yet.
I pull out the chair across from her and sit down.
She looks over, and there's that beat again—the small shift before her features settle. I've started cataloguing those without meaning to.
"Garrett thinks the part will be here tomorrow," I say. "Day after at the latest."
"Okay." She turns the mug in her hands. "And then how long will it take to fix it?"
"Few hours. Depends on whether anything else took heat damage." I keep my voice easy. "Once it's done, I'll drive you to town myself. You don't have to sort out the logistics on your own."
She looks at me. "You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"Logan." The particular weight she puts on my name when she's about to push back. "You've already done more than—the car, the room, all of it. You don't owe me anything."
"I know that too," I say. "I'm still driving you."
She holds her position, stubborn and considering, and then something in her jaw releases by a fraction. "Okay," she says quietly. "Thank you."
I nod. Around us, the lodge has gone to the soft, quiet of a morning settling into itself—the distant sounds of Garrett's garage, wind moving through the pines outside the window.
Harper looks back out at the treeline. "I'm not planning on staying," she says. Matter-of-fact, no apology, no performance—a clear statement so there's no room for confusion. "I want to be upfront about that. I have to rebuild. My job, my apartment, all of it. There's a whole life I have to put back together."
"I understand," I say.
She looks at me like she expected more resistance. "Okay."
"You don't owe me a plan. You don't owe me anything." I mean every word, even the ones that cost me something to say out loud. "Town, and then wherever you need to go. That's all."
She's quiet for a moment. Something moves across her face—unguarded, unexamined, and gone before I can give it a title. She looks back at her coffee.
After a beat, almost to herself: "I didn't expect it to feel like this here."
I wait.
She shakes her head slightly, like she's decided against saying more, and wraps both hands tighter around the mug. "Never mind. I'm tired." Almost a smile. "Or maybe it's the good moisturizer. Hard to say."
