Didn’t really matter, anyway. Anyone who looked at them knew the twins were his. It had never bothered me; as far as I was concerned, they were my siblings as much as Zoey was, but the courts saw things differently—like with like. The twins were shuffled off to an elementist’s home, and Zoey and I were sent to live with a shifter family. In a blink, I went from living in a giant pack to just a pack of two.

Everything had been torn away so quickly.

But Zoey and I had held on tight. We’d stumbled through on our own. Then a few years ago, we’d added in Sid, and my heart had felt full. I’d loved Sidney, but I was starting to realize I hadn’t been in love with her—a fine, but important, difference.

And once again, in a blink, it had all been torn away.

I realized I was standing in the middle of the room, my hands fisted on my empty duffle bag. There was nothing left to do, and there was no way I could sit in here the rest of the evening. I needed to run. I changed into some sweats, grabbed my wallet and phone, and used my sensitive hearing to sneak out the back door without running into anyone.

I knew from experience that the only way to get that painful voice in my head to shut up was to wear out my body. I’d had practice. So much practice.

I jogged down the sidewalk, heading to a park I’d found on my phone. Since I didn’t feel like stripping down in a public park and didn’t have a good place to stash my wallet, I stayed in human form. No matter how much I ran, I kept seeing Lou and Van’s faces. The fucking hurt and anger there. Hurt and anger that I’d caused.

Hot bigot. I didn’t consider myself a bigot. I guess no one ever does, right? But in this case, it wasn’t so much bigotry as it was, in the words of a former therapist, an “ingrained trauma response.” It wasn’t that I hated animal mages, it was that I didn’t trust them, and that distrust went deep. Zoey didn’t trust them, either. We had good reason not to. That didn’t make it fair or right, but fear doesn’t really listen to reason.

And I could feel that fear congealing in my gut.

The question was, how much effort did I want to put out here? Did I go back, pack my things, apologize for my meltdown, and move on? Or did I want to take the time to at least somewhat explain what had happened and put forth the energy it would take to live with Lou? I didn’t know them, but I knew the kind of people Trick kept in his sphere. I wouldn’t have to roll over and show them my throat. A bare-bones explanation would probably get us past it.

I’d have to work every day to regain ground, to get to the point where I didn’t feel like bolting every time I saw Lou. With everything else going on, did I want to do that? Did I want to add on to the already overloaded emotional to-do list under “becoming a lone wolf” and “giving my sister much-needed space while I get my head on straight?”