Page 48 of Easy, Tiger

A woman emerges from the cabin's front door—Clover, I assume—cupping a steaming mug. She's maybe seventy, with silver-streaked dark hair and the same intense eyes I've learned to associate with shifters. Her gaze finds mine across the small clearing.

"You're the one who saved him."

It stands as a statement, demanding a response that treats it as fact rather than inquiry. "I'm the one who happened to be there."

Clover takes me in with uncomfortable intensity before dipping her head in a swift acknowledgment. "Thank you."

She disappears back inside, leaving me with the distinct impression I've passed some kind of test I didn't know I was taking.

"She prefers keeping things strictly business," Sadie observes. "And Clover's the closest thing we have to a pack healer. If she approves of you, that carries weight."

We continue deeper into what I'm beginning to understand is an entire hidden community. Three more cabins nestle among the trees, each arranged to be invisible from any angle except the paths that connect them. Gardens tucked between buildings grow herbs I recognize from wilderness survival guides—plants that treat everything from infections to pain.

A man materializes from behind the largest cabin, and I recognize Owen's guarded posture even in the dim light.

"Halsey." His voice possesses the same cautious respect Clover demonstrated. "I owe you an apology."

"For what?"

"For assuming you'd run the moment you learned the truth."

"I still might. My brain hasn't caught up with my mouth yet."

Owen's stern air softens into something that might be a smile. "Fair enough. But for what it's worth, anyone brave enough to dig a bullet out of a tiger deserves the benefit of the doubt."

"I thought I was being stupid, not brave."

"Sometimes they're the same thing."

Sadie leads me toward the largest cabin, where voices float through open windows. "Ready to meet more of them?"

"Define ready."

"Willing to pretend you're not completely terrified."

"Then yes, I'm ready."

The cabin's interior reveals itself like venturing into the heart of Red Pine's hidden soul. A dozen people occupy mismatched chairs and handmade benches, their conversations pausing as Sadie guides me through the doorway. The same mindful attention I've witnessed in town—how Ben always checks if visitors need directions, how Ellie remembers everyone's coffee preferences—extends here with intensified purpose.

"Everyone, this is Halsey," Sadie announces. "The artist who's been documenting our wildlife whether she knew it or not."

A woman with graying temples rises from a rocking chair near the fireplace. "Do you remember me? I'm Karlene. My mate and I run the general store."

"Of course I remember you. You gave me a discount on hiking socks my first week in town and told me not to let anyone here talk my ear off." I manage a small laugh. "You were right, for what it's worth."

Karlene's smile has genuine warmth, softening the wariness I can see underneath it. "I meant that then, and I mean it now. Whatever you're feeling tonight, however much this scares you, you're the same woman who bought sensible socks and asked good questions. That doesn't change just because you know the rest of it."

"Even the tiger part?"

"Especially the tiger part." She pats my arm on her way past, warm and brief. "Though now you know why we're so particular about our meat sourcing at the store."

A younger man with calloused hands extends his palm for shaking. "Iago, I help Owen and Dave with trail maintenance."

"The hidden trails or the public ones?"

"Both; someone has to make sure hikers don't accidentally wander into our territory during migration season."

Each introduction illuminates another layer of the calculated orchestration I've been witnessing for weeks. An older man near the window turns out to be the one who replaced the visitor center's stubborn string lights every single year without complaint, because the lights framed a building that doubled as an early-warning post during migration season. A young man curled up in the corner with a battered paperback is introduced as Broddi. He is tall and rangy, with dark hair cropped close beneath a wool cap. Sadie shares that he is the enclave's fastest sprinter, someone Owen trains personally to run messages between outposts when radios fail. Red Pine operates with a seamless unity that goes far beyond small-town cooperation, functioning as a community actively shielding something precious hidden within itself, every kindness I've witnessed these past weeks now revealed as part of something larger and more deliberate.