Page 54 of Nikolay

She blinked once. “What?”

“A game,” I said, quieter now. “Here. In Philadelphia. Would you want to attend one?”

For a brief second, I thought she might deflect. Then her face softened in a way that made me absurdly aware of the candle between us and the sugar on the tablecloth and every inch of old polished wood.

“I’d love that,” she said.

My pulse gave one hard, singular thud.

Then she added, with a small smile, “Even if it’s not my team.”

Before I could say anything reckless, Maddie set down her cup and traced one finger around its handle. Her tone when she spoke again was lighter than the shift in subject merited. Deliberately so.

“I ended up talking with the Ironwood pack last night,” she said.

There it was.

I kept my expression still. Years of diplomacy and predation alike had taught me to make very little visible when I chose. Yet my jaw tightened once before I could stop it, a small betrayal I hoped the dimness concealed.

Maddie, unfortunately, missed very little.

“They invited me to their full moon run,” she went on. “In two days.”

I put down my fork with care. The silver made only the faintest sound against porcelain.

What rose first in me was not noble. It was immediate and ugly and male in all the least flattering ways: image, proximity, another alpha’s attention, pack heat, open ground under moonlight, her among them. Sage’s face came with it, composed and dark-eyed and too steady by half.

I let the first wave pass.

Then I answered the woman across from me, not the wound in myself.

“Being among other wolves,” I said, “would probably be good for your health.”

Silence held for a beat.

Maddie’s brows lifted slightly. She looked at me with that sharp, searching intelligence I had too long mistaken for mere defiance. Something in her expression recalibrated. I could almost see it happening.

“You think so?” she asked.

“I do.” My voice remained level. “You have been far from your pack. And from your species. More than most people perhaps realize.”

Her shoulders dropped a fraction.

It was a small thing. So small another observer might have missed it. But I saw it clearly: the slight release through her upper body, the easing in her grip where her fingers held the coffee cup, the breath she let out without making a production of it. Relief moved through her posture before she said a word.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said.

The sentence was simple. Its effect on me was not.

Because beneath it, I heard what she had expected instead. Resistance. Condescension. Possessive insult dressed as concern. Some fresh proof that I would rather she remained lonely than receive comfort from a place I disliked.

Shame brushed through me again, quieter now than before, but no less exact.

“I would not keep you from something that helps you,” I said.

Her gaze held mine a moment longer than the line required. “That’s... good to know.”

We let that sit.