Together, Thom and I cross the street.

Dougal pulls at his lead, eager to reach the trees and begin an inventory of every possible scent he can find. Thom walks at my side, keeping a measured distance between us, as if we've both agreed not to get too close.

We reach the paved trail and I set a slow pace, letting Dougal enjoy his olfactory explorations.

Thom remains quiet, and I get the sense he's waiting for me to make the first move. I just can't tell if he's doing so in the role of a repentant ex-lover, or that of a chess opponent, waiting to base his strategy on my initial mistake.

"How'd you find me?" I ask, keeping my gaze on the path ahead.

It had rained earlier in the day, and the black pavement, green lawns, and fiery fall foliage all have a crisp, clean, almost hyper-real depth of color. It makes my eyes hurt.

"It wasn't hard, actually," Thom says.

He walks with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slightly slumped, his posture passive and non-threatening.

"Your family was the only thing you ever really talked about, you know, beside your studies. It's clear they mean a lot to you. The one you talked of most, though, was the 'detective,' out here on the West Coast. There aren't that many private investigators named 'Hunter,' after all."

He laughs under his breath and shrugs.

"I looked up his business address, then tailed him until he led me to you. It took a bit longer than I'd anticipated, but... Well, things worth doing are worth taking the time to do right."

Silence lapses again, and I pause as Dougal marks a tree and then begins a catalog of all the scents left by every dog who'd been there first.

"Why the note?" I ask, keeping my attention on Dougal, though I can feel Thom's eyes on me.

"Because I knew you wouldn't answer anything else. An email can be deleted unread; a phone call, ignored. Texts are immediate and hard not to see, but ephemeral. A letter though... Well, words in ink, on paper—that endures. Sure, you could throw it out, burn it—whatever you like. But first you'd have held it in your hand, felt it, read it, understood it—gave it its own moment in time. You could destroy it if you chose, sure; but it would already have become a memory, and that is harder to erase."

I swallow past the thick, sour lump in my throat. Thom sounds like he used to, when he was a lecturer and I was his student. When I thought he was so brilliant and talented, and I was honored that he'd spare the time to talk to me.

"The note said you weren't well."

Thom doesn't answer right away this time, and when I finally look at him, I find him staring up at the flame-tinted foliage above our heads. When he does answer, he does so indirectly.

"You know, I've thought about the things I did and said, near every minute since I saw you last," he begins. "And every time I do, I regret it a little more. And yet, when I did those things, there was another part of me didn't care at all. It was like there were two people inside me—one a decent, honest man, the other a monster."

He sighs.

"Of course it was always at the back of my mind—a fear I've carried my whole life—and when I finally went and had the tests, I had those fears confirmed."

He stops, removes his glasses, and wipes them with the hem of his sweater. His eyes look suspiciously damp.

"The same thing happened to my father, you see," he continues. "It's a...a rare sort of degenerative brain disease. Comes on slow, causes odd behaviour, changes in personality, loss of inhibition, loss of a clear sense of right and wrong...delusions of grandeur. I don't know how I missed the signs for so long."

I'm not sure what to say, and as Dougal completes his inspection of the tree, we resume walking.

"Anyway," Thom says, clearing his throat, "bottom line is, one-to-three years to live, and the last two are likely not to be of the best quality."

"I'm sorry."

I am, too. It doesn't change the fact he destroyed my life.

"Not as sorry as I am," he says with a humourless laugh. "Noah, I... I know I can't undo the harm I've done. I know 'sorry' doesn't fix anything. But... I think there's a way for both of us to come out of this okay. Well, not 'okay,' in my case, but at least... not ruined."

I swallow. "What do you mean?"

Again, he doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he steers us towards a bench and sits down. After an awkward hesitation, I join him.

He takes a deep breath, and gingerly reaches over to touch my arm. I barely manage not to flinch.

"Noah, look, I—I miss you. I miss what we had together. I want you to come back. I don't want to face this alone."

I shake my head and lean away from him, incredulous. "What we had together? Thom, what we had was a lie. What we had was—"

"No, listen—" He tightens his grip, and this time I do flinch. "What we had was real. What I said and did—that was the lie. Won't you at least let me prove that to you?"

I'm relieved to find the idea isn't remotely appealing.

"Even if I wanted to come back—which I don't—there's nothing for me to come back to," I remind him. "Not unless you admit that you stole my work, that you lied to the Board, and that you're a fraud. Is that what you intend to do?"

He releases me and sighs, his shoulders slumping once more. He looks older, suddenly, and sad, and it's hard not to feel bad for him, despite everything. If my guard had been slipping, though, his next words put it back up.

"Noah... I dont' have any children, you know," he says, twisting his hands in his lap. "My work—my reputation—is my only legacy. I'd like to keep it and... I'd like your help."

I stare at him, not sure I believe or understand what I'm hearing. "My help?"

He nods, looking over and meeting my eyes. "I want you to come back. Write for me. Help me keep publishing, until I have to admit I can't anymore. In the meantime, we can rebuild your reputation. I have friends on the Board who can get things done. All this talk of 'plagiarism' will go away—a mistake, a false rumor. You'll be reinstated, and then your name will start to appear next to mine on a few papers, here and there. Then, once... well, once I'm gone, you'll be ready to spread your wings and soar."

He says all this with the enthusiasm of someone offering me a wonderful opportunity. It's so ludicrous I almost laugh.

"Thom... I'm sorry you're sick. I really am. But I can't help you. Not like that."

I grimace and look out across the park, down the slope of the narrow strip of lawn towards the thickets of willow and aspen bordering the stream. Sunlight sparkles on the shallow, swiftly moving stretch of water, and I watch it as I try to imagine what it would be like to know—for a certainty—the limit of one's time.

"I can't, and won't help you like that, Thom," I say again. "I've started something new here, and there's no going back to what we had—whatever it was. But... if you've got no-one else, and if you help me prove the plagiarism claims were false, and at least give me credit for the ideas in your book and all the papers you wrote—even if the words are your own—then... Well, I'll be a friend, when you need one. I'll come with you to doctor's visits, help you keep track of meds and stuff. Which hospital are you going to, anyway? St. Joseph's, or somewhere else?"

Thom's expression clouds, and he looks away. "Oh, er... Somewhere else," he says easily, and smiles. "I've got the info somewhere," he adds.

It's then I know he's lying.

I never noticed it before, back when I trusted him, but in the time since I've had plenty of chances to review my memories of all the moments when he'd lied to me. In each of them, he'd had that same distracted look, the same vaguely reassuring tone, the same demeanor that said 'don't worry about it, just trust me.'

I don't know what he's lying about, or why, or whether his whole story is false, or only part. I just know that I need to get away from him, and that I've come very close to falling into some sort of trap.

Pulling out my phone, I check the time. "I need to get going," I say, standing and tugging on Dougal's leash. "I'm sorry you're not well, Thom. I'm sorry I can't help you the way you want. If you want to come clean, then we can talk. Otherwise, please don't contact me again. Goodbye."

I walk back the way we'd come. We hadn't gotten very far, and with a quick pace I reach my car in under three minutes. I get Dougal in and then pause with my hand on the driver's side door-handle, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with the sense that someone has eyes on me. Steeling myself, I look back, but there's no sign of Thom.

With a sigh of relief, I get in and drive home, but by the time I get there, I still haven't shaken off my feeling of unease.

~ ☾ ~

My mood takes a further turn for the worse when I see what's waiting for me in front of the gate.

Dane leans against the low brick wall with his arms crossed, mirrored shades hiding his eyes, and a characteristic frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looks less like a cop at the moment and more like a bouncer, or a hired thug. I find myself returning his scowl as I park, let Dougal out, and walk towards him. I brush by and open the gate, and Dougal runs through. Dane doesn't move, instead waiting for me to acknowledge him. I consider ignoring him altogether, just to see what he does, but unfortunately my nature doesn't allow it.

He's an alpha, whether he considers me part of his Pack or not.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"To talk, for a start."

He still hasn't moved, and instead I'm compelled to close the gate and come back to where he stands.

"I have a phone."

"Would you have answered it?"

Great. All the people I don't want to see are tracking me down in person today, because they know me too well to even bother with anything less direct.

"I guess you'll never know."

His frown deepens.

"I also want to apologize."

I snort. "Probably should've led with that."

"Don't be a smartass. You know I'm not good at...this kinda thing." He gestures between us with a vague wave of his hand.

"What, communication? I think you got your meaning across pretty clear, last time."

"Noah..." He heaves a sigh and finally uncrosses his arms, takes off his sunglasses, and pushes himself away from the wall, walking towards me with his eyes angled down. "I can't make any excuses for hitting you, or for pushing you away. You know why I did, though, right?"

"Dane, I don't know what kind of 'Pack' you want to have here, but I don't want to be some alpha's mindless subordinate—even if that alpha is you. I want to be part of a family. I want—"

"I want that, too," he interrupts, "and that's not what upset me. Not really. Noah...you know that, besides Julian, you and Freya are the people I love most in this world. Right now, I feel like Julian's slipping away from me—like I'm losing him even though he's still here. When you told me that not only had he been to Faerie, but that you had as well... Jesus. You know what that could have meant, right? He might've never come back, and you might've been killed, and I woulda had no idea what had happened to either of you." He wipes his hand over his mouth and chin and blows out his breath as if he's been holding it. "I just snapped. I'm sorry."

I consider this. "Why'd you say I wasn't Pack, then?"

He shrugs. "Just a dumb reaction," he says. "If I can't protect something, I push it away. I'm a shitty alpha, I guess. I wanna get better, though. Will you give me another chance?"

He's keeping his alpha influence tamped down as much as he can, and I know he's doing it so I'll know that whatever I say is completely my own choice.

"What about Julian? Did he talk to you?"

"He's not talking to me at all, at the moment. Says he won't until I work this out with you. That's not why I'm here though," he adds. "I mean it, Noah—I love you, and you scared me, and a scared wolf will bite. Sorry."

His words remind me of what Shanti said to me earlier, about expecting a dog that bites to bite again. Thom had proved her wisdom true, but while Thom's nature eludes me, Dane's does not.

I nod and sigh. I hate fighting with him anyway. "Okay, I forgive you. And I'm sorry, too, Dane. I didn't mean to go behind your back. I just wanted to help."

"I know," he says, and then he steps forward and pulls me into a close, fierce hug. "I have a feeling I'm gonna need your help a lot more, brother, before this is done."

I'm not sure whether he's talking about the case, or the thing with Julian, but he's probably right either way. He kisses the top of my head and releases me with a deep sniff, putting his glasses back on, but not before I catch a glimpse of the shine in his eyes.

"So, what did you really want to talk to me about?" I ask, maintaining my frown if only because I don't have mirrored lenses to hide my feelings behind.

Dane keeps his hand on my shoulder, and I know that in his mind he's reclaimed me as Pack, the contact strengthening our bond.

"It's about that guy you were seeing. Flynn," he says, an unhappy note in his voice. "Noah, he's bad news. I think you might still be in some kind of danger, and—"

Before he can say more, a familiar voice interrupts us.

"Excuse me, but what do y'all think you're doing? Getting all emotional an' shit without me."

I spin in surprise and feel my jaw drop a little.

Freya stands on the sidewalk a few meters away, dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans and cowboy boots. Her mass of long, gold-tipped curls falls around her face, which is split in a wide, toothy grin, and her hands are on her hips in a posture of mock sternness. There's an air of strength and glamour about her, like she just wandered off the set of an action film, and her dark skin glows with the vibrant shine of good health and high spirits.

"Freya?" Dane sounds as astonished as I feel, and stands dumbstruck as our sister stalks towards us and snatches me into a spine-crushing embrace.

"How did you... How are you here?" I squeak. She's almost as tall as Dane, and nearly as strong, but has only a fraction of his restraint.

"I flew, of course. I got your message last night. Couldn't answer 'cause I was finishing an, uh...an 'arrest,' but as soon as I listened to it I bought a ticket and jumped on a plane."

"Why didn't you just...call me back?" I gasp, as she finally lets me get some air.

She looks at me skeptically, one perfect brow raised in a sharp arch. "Would you have answered?"

I scowl and Dane snorts. 

"Now you'll never know," he says, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, I do," she winks and grins. "So, brother and bigger brother—what'd I miss, and whose ass do you need me to kick?"