Rebel
Timothy came back on a Tuesday, almost a week after he had left in his old pick up.
I found him in the rose garden at the far end of the property, where the hedges grew high enough to swallow a conversation. He was leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed, still in his travel clothes, and the set of his shoulders told me he had something before he opened his mouth.
“You found something,” I said.
“I found a pattern.” He pushed off the wall. “You were right not to go to Gryphon. This is bigger than one pack.”
I kept my face still. “Tell me.”
“Ashford wasn’t the first.” He counted it off on his fingers, low and even. “Two pups from Ashford. Before that, a single pup from a pack two territories east, back in the autumn. Before that, three in one night from a border pack
