Clara’s pov
The shifter came into the diner ten minutes before close, all easy smiles and road dust, and the second he crossed the threshold my wolf went rigid.
I was wiping down the last table. Marnie was in the back counting the till. The man took a seat at the counter like he belonged there and tapped the surface once.
“Coffee. Black. And whatever’s left of the pie if it’s not garbage.”
I poured the coffee without answering. The heat in my chest already exists since the note rolled once, low and warning.
He smelled like a pack, but not Moonridge. Rogue-adjacent. The kind of scent that had made the travelers from the mill road sit wrong in my memory.
He watched me set the cup down. “You’re not from around here either.”
“I work here.”
“Not what I asked.” His smile didn’t reach hi
