“I guess that makes sense,” Cooper said hesitantly. “But still, it must happen sometimes. I mean, I’m hardly the only aware human in the world.”

“You’re talking about a huge spectrum of awareness, though. We don’t even use words like ‘alpha’ around BSI agents because of animal connotations. I didn’t use it around you just last year. Now you’re talking AQ, are unfazed by slipping, and know more secrets about the WIP than possibly any other human. Complaining plenty, but never really struggling to recalibrate your understanding of the world.”

“What understanding of the world?” Cooper murmured, but he had to admit what Park was saying rang true. In the BSI, he’d been constantly frustrated by how little they knew about wolves, but really, very few of his colleagues ever even asked. They were happy to stay...separate. For some reason, that had never felt like an option to Cooper.

“You might not be able to notice how quickly you’ve adjusted,” Park continued, “but every wolf you meet can see it’s unusual.” He paused, then added faux casually, “Even I sometimes catch myself thinking one day I’ll go too far. Slip too much, or shift too slowly, and you’ll finally hit your limit. Look at me differently.”

“Oliver,” Cooper said, placing his hand on Park’s thigh and squeezing. “I already look at you differently. That’s a good thing—”

“I know, I know,” Park interrupted hastily. “It’s just I’m not used to being so seen by someone who isn’t a wolf.” He put his hand over Cooper’s, running his thumb over his fingers.

“Okay,” Cooper said. “So if humans aren’t really a risk, what kind of exposure is Cola worried about?”

“If a slipped body is found by the public, the humans will be easily convinced it’s a trick, but any wolf will know differently. Cola has a big enough problem on her hands keeping agents discreet. If it gets out to the general wolf public, you—” Park shook his head, cutting himself off.

“Not this Moon thing again,” Cooper said. “I know what Cola said, and I’m really trying to keep an open mind, I swear, but I still can’t believe anyone would ever for a second think I’m some kind of—whatever this thing’s supposed to be.”

Park glanced at him so quickly, Cooper nearly missed it.

“You don’t believe it,” Cooper stated, because he couldn’t begin to imagine phrasing it as a question.

“Of course not,” Park said before Cooper had even finished speaking, which for some reason made him more unnerved. “I mean, you’re my moon. And stars.”

“Oliver,” Cooper said flatly.

Park glanced at him again. “I just don’t think it’s unfathomable that some people might wonder,” he said. “Maybe more than some.”