Chapter 20 – Choosing the First Step
1207 Words
By evening, my brain was fried on Council strategy and my wolf was done with humans.
So, naturally, they sent me to talk to children.
“Come on,” Tessa said, nudging my arm with a dish towel. “Fresh air. Less politics. Noah and Ivy are at the west field. They’ve been vibrating since breakfast.”
“Is that safe?” I asked. “Putting me near impressionable youth?”
“Worse comes to worst, you teach them new swear words,” she said. “They already know most.”
The west field was a stretch of rough grass and packed dirt beyond the last ring of houses, edged by trees. A couple of wooden targets were set up at one side; on the other, a lopsided goal made of branches leaned like it had given up.
Noah and a younger girl—small, wiry, serious face, hair in two messy braids—Ivy, I guessed—were racing each other around a set of cones someone had set out. They skidded to a stop when they saw me.
“Maia!” Noah hollered. “Did you really throw a flashlight at a Council guy’s face?”
“His wrist,” I corrected. “I was aiming for the hand. Less jail time. Probably.”
Ivy studied me silently, big dark eyes flicking from my face to my hands and back. “Grandma says you’re helping with the visit,” she said. “And that we’re supposed to listen to you. Once.”
“Once?” I echoed.
“Per day,” she clarified. “After that we can ignore you.”
“Fair system,” I said. “What are you two training for, the ‘annoy your elders’ Olympics?”
“Pup race,” Noah said proudly. “It’s not official yet, but it should be. We’re practicing turns. Rowan says good footwork saves lives.”
“Rowan also says mornings are an affront to nature,” Ivy added. “So we grade his advice.”
Nyra huffed with amusement. I found myself smiling, which felt weird and dangerous.
“Since you’re here,” Noah said, “can you… show us? The claws?” He dropped his voice like it was a conspiracy. “Just a little.”
I went cold. “No.”
His face fell. “Oh. Okay.”
Ivy elbowed him. “You can’t just ask that.”
“But—”
“No,” I repeated, softer this time. “Not today.”
Nyra stirred, not offended—tired. Not a show, she said. Ours.
“Why are you so interested in claws anyway?” I asked, to change the subject. “You planning to scratch someone to death?”
“It’s not the claws,” Noah said. “It’s… you did it when you wanted to. Not when someone else said. That’s… cool.”
The word landed awkwardly.
I crouched so we were closer to eye level. “You know the difference between when you decide to jump in a river and when someone pushes you?” I asked.
They both nodded.
“It’s like that,” I said. “Doesn’t make the water less cold. But it’s different cold.”
Noah chewed on that. Ivy asked, “What if the river scares you either way?”
“Then you find someone who will hold your hand at the edge and not shove,” I said. “And maybe stand close the first time you jump.”
Ivy’s gaze flicked toward the houses. “Grandma says that’s what the inspection is. A river.”
“She’s not wrong,” I said.
They exchanged a look that said they’d been listening to more adult conversations than anyone realized.
“What about us?” Noah asked. “What do we do? During the inspection.”
“Mostly?” I said. “Stay out of the way. Do your usual kid stuff. Don’t talk to strangers in nice coats. If someone with a badge starts asking you weird questions, you say ‘I don’t know, please ask my Alpha,’ and then you go find literally any adult.”
“That’s it?” he asked, disappointed.
“That, and don’t set anything on fire,” I added. “Apparently that’s frowned upon.”
“Apparently,” Ivy echoed, deadpan. “You sound like Grandma.”
God help me.
We walked the perimeter of the field while they chattered—about training, schoolwork, which warrior had fallen in the mud most impressively last week. Normal kid drama overlaying the crackle of bigger trouble in the distance.
“You scared?” Ivy asked suddenly, when Noah ran ahead to race a crow.
I hesitated. “Yes.”
She nodded, as if that matched her calculations. “Grandma says grown‑ups who aren’t scared are either lying or dangerous.”
“Your grandma is very wise,” I said.
“Are you going to stay?” she asked. No preamble.
There it was.
“Through the inspection?” I stalled.
“After,” she said. “For… ever.” She said the last word carefully, like it tasted strange.
Nyra lifted her head, listening hard.
I stared at the tree line for a long second. The shadows were deepening; lights were starting to glow back in the clearing. Somewhere, dishes clinked, someone called for seconds, a door slammed. My garage above the human street felt a lifetime away.
“I told your Alpha I’m here on a trial basis,” I said. “One night. Then a few more. Then—” I shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“That’s silly,” Noah said, reappearing at my elbow, breathless. “Packs are better than no packs. Why wouldn’t you stay?”
“Because staying,” I said, “means you can’t pretend you don’t care when things go bad.”
They both went quiet at that.
Nyra pressed against my ribs, a low, thoughtful sound. We already care, she said.
Caleb’s voice carried across the field before I had to untangle that.
“Maia!”
He stood at the edge of the grass with Mira and Aiden, expression serious.
“Briefing’s in ten,” he called. “You up for it?”
No, my nerves said. Yes, my mouth answered. “Yeah.”
I turned back to the kids. “Remember what I said. No talking to badge people. No rivers without hand‑holders.”
Noah saluted, overly dramatic. Ivy just said, “You should stay. We’re interesting.”
Then they tore off toward the houses, already shouting about racing to the steps.
Nyra watched them go, tail thumping lazily inside my chest.
We’re interesting too, she said.
I started toward Caleb, grass whispering under my shoes, the weight of my choice—or lack of it—pressing a little less heavily than it had that morning.
I wasn’t ready to say I’m staying.
But when I pictured leaving now—walking back to my empty apartment, the Council circling, kids like Noah and Ivy still looking over their shoulders—
it felt less like freedom and more like running away from a fight I was finally, reluctantly, willing to join.
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