“No,” my Alpha said as I reached for the doorknob. He held up my arm by the wrist of my cast. “If you don’t give yourself a chance to heal, you won’t do us any good when we go after Malone.”

“Good point,” I said, and he looked surprised as I reluctantly stepped aside so Vic could open the door. Marc brushed one finger down my cheek and shot me a sympathetic smile before following his Alpha and his former field partner outside.

I watched through the tall, narrow sidelight window while they rushed down the front steps just as Carver swung open his car door. Two birds circled ominously overhead, low enough that their size and wing-claws were obvious. As Carver twisted to grab his bag from the passenger seat, both birds swooped to a sudden, staggeringly graceful landing in the middle of the front yard, Shifting even as their newly formed feet touched the ground. For several long moments, they faced off against Marc and Vic, with nothing but Carver’s car and fifty feet of earth between them.

My father stood firm on the bottom step, and the doc sat frozen in his seat, staring in awe at our unwelcome visitors. Suddenly feathers sprouted across the arms of one bird and he stepped up onto his bare toes, as if to launch himself at the car. Marc slapped his empty palm with the gigantic wrench he carried, growling menacingly. The bird stood down, apparently content to remain a silent threat while they were outnumbered, and a soft sigh of relief slipped from me.

My father waved his men forward and Carver stepped from the car and was ushered inside by both toms. Our Alpha remained on the porch, alone and undefended as a show of strength. In truth, any one of us could have been at his side in less than a second. But sometimes appearance is as important as reality.

“Kai is alive but in a lot of pain,” he called in a strong, steady voice. “If you want him back, put me in touch with your Flight.” With that, he turned his back on the birds—a show of confidence as well as an insult—and walked into the house.

He pulled the door closed, and I turned to find the hall packed with toms. “There’s nothing to see,” my father declared, and as the toms slowly dispersed, he turned to Carver. “Good to see you again, Danny. What’s it been? A week?”

“Sounds about right.” Carver hefted his overnight bag higher on one shoulder. “I have less than a week of vacation left. At this rate, I’ll be looking for a new job soon, Greg.”

My father sighed. “That makes two of us,” he said, referring to his spot on the council, not his career as an architect.

Carver flinched and nodded. “Hey, Faythe,” he said as Marc locked the front door and Vic took our latest guest’s overnight bag. “How’s the arm?”

“Ready to come out of the cast.” I fell into step beside the doc and my dad, and Marc and Vic followed us.