I ran until my mind got as quiet as the woods. When I felt settled enough and the past was reburied in a deep, unmarked mental grave, I pulled up the menu for a Thai place a few blocks from the house. My thumb hovered over the call button.

The scene in the kitchen had been a total catastrophe from every angle. On one hand, Trick should have warned me. Then again, Trick had never seen me react like that, either. I wasn’t sure it was anyone’s fault, just a convergence of many shitty things at once.

When I was younger, there’d been some state mandated counseling sessions. Our therapist was terrible and spent most of the time hopped up on prescription meds, but occasionally he’d pulled his head out of his ass long enough to say something useful. One of those times, we’d been talking about my stepmom, and the therapist had scratched his head and told me that I could no more paint every witch with the brush of my stepmother than I could compare every pack alpha to my father.

Not all witches were bad. Logically, I knew that. But emotionally? I’d thought that had been clear as well, but apparently it wasn’t. I’d worked on my issues—not because the therapist had been right on one point, but because that was what I needed to do for me. I didn’t want to break into a fear sweat every time I came in contact with an animal mage.

I also couldn’t let today get in the way of my own recovery. I’d worked hard to get past my fear of animal mages. Setbacks happened, but I didn’t want that setback to be permanent. And I refused to let my baggage hurt Lou. Or Van. Partially for them, but mostly for me. I wanted to be better. I didn’t want what my father and his wife had done to forever dictate my path.

They’d had enough of my life. They didn’t get any more.

So what did I want to do here? Lou and Van were Trick’s friends. Trick surrounded himself with good people. Ergo, Van and Lou were good people. If I couldn’t trust my judgment, I could trust his. Despite how things had gone, I knew Trick had my best interests at heart. And yes, it would be easier, at least emotionally, to find another place to live. But I realized I didn’t want that. I could handle this—I wanted to move past this setback.

I hit the call button on my phone. When someone answered, I ordered enough for the whole house, getting a little bit of everything. Food always helped a tough situation, right? That was why people brought casseroles to funerals.

My muscles were loose, and my brain quiet, so I walked to the restaurant, trying to cool down. A bell above the door jingled when I opened it and I was instantly greeted by the smell of peppers, coconut, lime—my stomach grumbled. I waved at the guy behind the podium.