Cooper sat on the long stone bench between Australia and South America, looking up at a deeply irritated Cola while various Trust agents—some of whom he recognized, some he didn’t—bustled back and forth behind her documenting the crime scene, transporting Arthur Crane’s body as surreptitiously as possible, making sure no other humans wandered in.

Agents Dionne and Roy had arrived first and already hustled a hysterical Genevieve away. Cooper wasn’t sure what exactly she was being told. In all likelihood they’d first determine just how good a look she’d gotten at Arthur’s face. Could she be convinced it was a mask? If not, she’d have to be told about werewolves. If she really hadn’t known what her husband was, he couldn’t imagine finding out like this. Losing him to death while at the same time discovering you might not have ever known the real him at all. A double loss.

Cooper’s hand tightened in Park’s ruff and smoothed over it apologetically. Park was still in fur, his head resting in Cooper’s lap, even though some agent had already nervously placed a pile of non-ripped, non-bloodstained clothes in a neat pile by his feet. Cooper didn’t know why he hadn’t shifted yet, but didn’t try to rush him. Just carefully picked through his fur for stray bits of glass, assembling a small collection of jagged shards beside him on the bench.

For reasons he wasn’t even sure he understood himself, Cooper found something about Park in fur very comforting right now. It could simply be how competent a protector an enormous wolf was, but Cooper very much doubted that was the only reason. If the two of them were alone, he’d probably bury his face in Park’s fur and try to figure it out, but they weren’t. Besides Cola glaring down at them, Sophie, Dean and Ed watched from a distance where they’d been firmly instructed to wait for their own debriefings. Cooper had already told Cola his family knew about werewolves, worried that they’d be hustled out into some dismal interrogation room like Genevieve. But Cola had just nodded, her utter lack of surprise or interest making it obvious she was well aware of precisely how informed his family was. He couldn’t help but wonder just how close an eye the Trust kept on him. Or on any human who might spill their secrets.

“This is your definition of keeping out of it, I suppose,” Cola said tightly. “I hope you realize what a mess you’ve made.”

“Yes, I’ve said to Oliver many times we should stop fighting for our lives around breakables,” Cooper said sarcastically.

Cola gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m not talking about the museum. I’m talking about the fact that twice in one day you’ve managed to let critical information slip through your fingers.”