The Wolf Within

Supper

An hour slipped away to the steady scratch of Lily’s pencil and the rhythmic ticking of the desk clock. By quarter past five, the margins of her American Government study guide were filled with neat, compact summaries of landmark Supreme Court rulings, and the text on the page had begun to blur into a gray haze of dates and precedents.

Lily stretched her arms over her head until her shoulders clicked, then shut the heavy binder. Hank raised his head from the braided rug and gave a soft, inquiring chuff, but when she stepped out into the hall, he rested his chin back on his paws with a contented sigh

Downstairs, the quiet of late afternoon was giving way to the comfortable, familiar clatter of the kitchen.

Lily found her mother leaning over the butcher-block island, unpacking brown paper grocery bags with the practiced efficiency of someone who had fed a family of five for eighteen years. Ivy had pinned her strawberry-blonde hair up with a tortoiseshell claw clip, a few loose, coppery strands framing her neck.

"Need a sous chef?" Lily asked, rolling up her sleeves as she padded across the warm terracotta tiles

Ivy looked up with a bright, relieved smile. "Always. Your timing is immaculate. I found some lovely pencil asparagus at the market—tender and fresh. If you’re up for making that lemon hollandaise your father loves, the whisk is all yours."

"Deal," Lily said, pulling a glass mixing bowl and a small saucepan from the cabinet. "What's the main course?"

Ivy gestured toward two wrapped parcels on the butcher counter. "I stood at the case for ten minutes, paralyzed by indecision. The butcher had gorgeous thick-cut pork chops, but the prime rump roast looked even better. I bought both. Which one sounds right to you?"

"Beef," Lily answered without hesitation. "Definitely the roast. Sear it hard with rosemary and garlic, and keep it rare."

"Of course you'd say rare," Ivy laughed, shaking her head. "Just remember, if we do the roast, we’ll need something separate for Rose."

Lily smiled faintly as she set a stick of unsalted butter over low heat to melt. Rose had renounced meat nearly eight months ago, declaring it barbaric after reading a book on environmental ethics. Lily had never understood the appeal of giving up meat—to her, the craving for hearty, savory food was practically primal—but she respected her sister’s convictions.

"I can roast two red bell peppers," Lily offered, already pulling produce from the crisper. "Dice up the asparagus ends, sauté them with sweet Vidalia onions and garlic, and stuff them inside with a little goat cheese. It’ll take fifteen minutes."

Ivy let out a soft breath of gratitude. "You're a lifesaver, Lily. If I had to navigate three different dietary preferences alone every night, we’d be eating cold cereal from the box."

Working side by side was second nature. Lily set the peppers to char over the open burner flame, the skin blistering with a sharp, smoky pop, while Ivy seasoned the beef with coarse kosher salt and cracked black peppercorns. The sizzle of the meat hitting cast iron filled the room with rich, savory warmth.

"How were classes today?" Ivy asked, tossing a handful of fresh thyme into the roasting pan. "Have you given any more thought to your schedule for the fall? Registration opens in July.

Lily separated two egg yolks into her glass bowl, her whisk already moving in rhythmic, practiced loops. "Mr. Vance thinks I should consider pre-law, but honestly, sitting in an office reading contracts sounds suffocating." She hesitated, watching the yolks turn pale yellow. "I was thinking earlier... what would you say to veterinary medicine?"

Ivy’s hands went still for a brief second over the roasting pan. She didn't turn around immediately, but when she did, her expression was warm, if slightly measured. "Veterinary school is a huge commitment, sweetie. Eight years of intense science, internships, long hours on call. It’s emotionally demanding, too."

"I know," Lily murmured, slowly drizzling melted butter into the yolks until the sauce thickened into a velvety, golden ribbon. "It’s just... when I try to picture myself doing something every day, it always involves animals. Being outside, working with living things instead of spreadsheets. I don't know. Maybe it's just wishful thinking."

"It's not wishful thinking," Ivy said gently, resting a warm hand on Lily’s forearm. "You have an extraordinary touch with animals, Lily. You always have. Just don't feel like you have to map out the next ten years before June. You have time to explore."

Before Lily could answer, the door to the adjoining study swung open. Silas strolled into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness of a long afternoon at his desk.

He crossed straight to Ivy, wrapping an arm around her waist to plant a tender kiss on the side of her neck, making her chuckle and lean into him. Then he turned his attention to the stove, his blue eyes lighting up as he spotted the emerald-green spears of asparagus and the glass bowl in Lily’s hand.

"Tell me that’s the legendary Hawthorne hollandaise," Silas said, grinning.

"You know it is," Lily said, smiling, whisking in a squeeze of fresh lemon juice.

"And stuffed peppers for Veggie Rose," Silas noted, nodding toward the baking sheet. "Look at you, keeping the peace before the storm even starts." He glanced down at the cast-iron roasting pan resting on the stovetop. "Are we doing beef? Just make sure my portion gets an extra five minutes in the oven, Ivy. I prefer it medium."

Lily wrinkled her nose playfully. "Why ruin good beef? It should still be red and dripping with juice."

She meant it as an offhand quip, but as the words left her mouth, Silas and Ivy caught each other’s eyes across the kitchen island.

The exchange lasted no more than a fraction of a second—a quiet, guarded look that passed between them like a private code—before Silas blinked and offered his usual easygoing grin.

"I like my food cooked, young lady," Silas said lightly, tapping her nose with a knuckle. "Call us when it's on the table.

Twenty minutes later, the dining room table was laden with food. Rowan arrived with his soccer cleats left by the mudroom door, his dark-blond hair still damp from washing his face at the sink. Rose slipped into her chair opposite him, having traded her stormy mood for an aloof, quiet dignity, though her eyes brightened considerably when Lily placed the steaming, cheese-topped roasted peppers in front of her.

"How are finals looking, Rowan?" Silas asked, carving thick, tender slices of roast beef onto everyone's plates. "Are we ready for geometry on Tuesday?"

"It's fine, Dad," Rowan muttered around a mouthful of asparagus. "Coach Miller already told me if my GPA drops below a three-point-two, I’m benched for the summer showcase tournament. I’m studying. I know the stakes."

"Good," Silas replied smoothly. "Because if your GPA drops below a three-point-two, Coach Miller won't have to bench you. I will."

Rowan rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue.

Ivy turned her gaze across the table. "What about you, Rose? Only two weeks until middle school promotion. Are you excited for Madison Central next year?"

Rose took a deliberate bite of her pepper and shrugged with dramatic nonchalance. "Maya, Chloe, and Sam are all on my schedule track. We've had the same classes since fifth grade. The only thing changing is the building."

"Well, the building is bigger," Rowan piped up with a smirk. "And nobody cares about your charcoal sketches in the ninth-grade hall."

"Nobody asked for your input, soccer ball," Rose snapped, glaring across the table.

"Enough, both of you," Ivy said mildly, her tone carrying the quiet authority that instantly clipped the argument short.

Dinner fell into that comfortable, noisy rhythm: Silas asked about track meets, Rowan described a bicycle kick he’d almost landed in the yard, and Rose detailed the exact plot holes in the fantasy novel she was reading. Through it all, Lily ate her slice of beef—rare, tender, and deeply savory—feeling the strange, restless hum beneath her ribs begin to stir again.

As soon as they cleared the last plates, the inevitable bickering began.

"It's your night to load the dishwasher," Rose declared, folding her arms. "I loaded it yesterday."

"You put three bowls in and walked away," Rowan countered, leaning against the counter. "That doesn't count as loading."

"I'll let you two arbitrate that," Lily said, setting her napkin beside her plate and rising from the table. "I’m going for a walk."

Silas looked up from where he was helping Ivy pack the leftovers into glass containers. He glanced toward the dining room window, where the amber glow of late evening was already stretching long, indigo shadows across the yard.

"Stay on the main path, Lily," Silas said, his voice carrying that familiar, protective edge. "And be back before dark. The river trail gets tricky once the sun dips."

"I will," Lily promised.

She slipped out through the back sliding glass door. The evening air was cool and crisp, carrying the sweet scent of freshly mown grass mingled with the damp, earthy fragrance of hemlock and cedar drifting from the tree line.

Behind her, the muffled sound of Rowan and Rose arguing over dish soap faded into the background. Ahead of her, the narrow footpath cut through the tall grass at the yard's edge, disappearing into the dense, darkening woods that bordered the Blackwood River.

Lily took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her chest begin to loosen, and stepped beneath the canopy of trees.