I found Sela in the laundry room, talking to the washing machine.
At least, that’s what it looked like.
She sat cross-legged on the warm stone floor, back against a basket of towels, chin propped on her knees. The old washer thumped and hummed, filling the room with steady white noise. Her lips moved in a murmur too soft for human ears.
My wolf, though, caught threads.
“…not yet… I know… yes, she heard you…”
I leaned against the doorframe. “You do realize the washer can’t answer back, right?”
She jumped, then relaxed when she saw me. “I know.” A quick, shy smile. “It’s loud. It makes it easier to listen to the quiet things.”
That… wasn’t wrong.
I stepped in, nudging the door with my heel. The room smelled of detergent and pack—soap, fur, sun-warmed fabric. Safe. As if that could in
