Somehow, I know I'm dreaming even as the memory begins to play out exactly as it did in life. I wish I could take control of it somehow, change course, arrive at a different ending, but I can't. I'm strapped in for the ride.

"Plagiarism?" Thom says, incredulity making the word rise and fall on a wave of inflection. "How can that be?"

I'm sitting on the sofa, my glasses set carefully on the side table and my face buried in my hands. I've been crying, and my voice is rough and whispery when I answer.

"I don't know. I don't know. They said... They said couldn't tell me who accused me, but that they had... proof."

It was late—nearly midnight—and Thom had just got in. Earlier that day, I'd gone before the University Board, answering their summons, only to learn that I was officially disgraced. Someone, they'd told me, had come to them with a concern about my work. Plagiarism—that capital offense of the academic world—was rife through my work, they said. Even my doctoral dissertation, they'd told me, was a sham and had been ruled invalid.

"Do they?" Thom asks. "Have proof, I mean."

I look up at him, knowing my hurt is plain on my face. "How could they?" I say. "It isn't true."

"Well, you'll have a chance to appeal, right? Whoever this asshole is, whatever supposed 'proof,' they have, their claim won't stand up to scrutiny."

I shake my head, covering my eyes with my hands again as new tears begin to sting. "The Board said the evidence is incontrovertible, but they wouldn't let me see it because they said my accuser is afraid of retaliation. Whoever it is, they told the Board that they're... that they're afraid of me."

I'd never told anyone outside my family that I'm a Wolf. Not even Thom. And being what I am—small, quiet, shy—I don't exactly inspire fear. I didn't understand.

"Sounds like someone with a serious grudge," Thom comments, coming to sit beside me and attempting to rub the tension from my shoulders. "Any idea who it could be? An old rival? An enemy from college?"

"No." I sniff. "I'm not exactly a social animal, you know."

"Hmm. Well, there's a process for these things. You can submit a counterclaim, even without knowing your accuser, I imagine."

"Thom..." I turn towards him, hearing the devastation in my own voice. "I'm not tenured like you are. I'm just an associate—was just an associate. They fired me, Thom. I'm persona non grata. I'll never work in this field again. I'm... done."

"Hey, now," Thom scolds gently, "don't go talking like that. It might seem bad now, but we'll get things set right—just wait and see. This isn't over yet."

He was right about one thing.

It wasn't over yet.

~ ☾ ~

Laughter and the slam of the front door pull me from my unquiet sleep. I'd lain down on the couch for a moment to rest my eyes, having wrangled the rest of the receipts into order, and drifted off into that unfortunate dream.

Sitting up, I hastily dry the dampness from my face, mortified by the thought of Chloe and Grace catching me crying in my sleep. They're still by the door, kicking off their shoes with their arms full. Chloe holds a large basket full of fresh produce, and Grace carries a loaded cloth bag in each hand. It looks like they've just been to some kind of farmers market.

Rising, I greet them and offer to carry something, but they wave me off, heading to the kitchen with their burdens and beginning to unload the spoils. I try to help with that, too, but not knowing where anything goes, I'm more hindrance than help, and quickly abandon the effort.

When they finish, Grace takes a look at the semblance of order I've made of their accounts, and showers me with thanks and praise, like I'd worked some kind of miracle.

"The calculator did most of the work," I say, laughing self-consciously. "It was nothing, really."

Taking a closer look at me for the first time, Grace's bright smile fades. "Are you feeling okay?" she asks, studying my face. "You look a little peaky."

"It's just allergies," I assure her, removing my glasses to rub at my eyes.

"It looked like you were resting when we got in. I hope we didn't interrupt your nap," Chloe says. "There's not much to do until dinner, if you want to get back to it."

"Oh, no. Actually, I need to talk to Dane about... something. I'll be out a while, I think," I add, not wanting to be the houseguest who's always there.

Grace frowns, reading my thoughts. "Alright. But be back for dinner by six. It's my turn to cook, and I'm making my mama's jambalaya. You don't want to miss it."

Chloe nods, blue eyes wide and earnest. "You really don't," she says.

Charmed by her guileless devotion, I agree with a laugh. "Okay, I'm convinced. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

~ ☾ ~

I walk the short distance to the cottage, enjoying the warm breeze and the scent of horses, meadow grasses, and sweet, clear water on the air. The last comes from a little stream nearby, running cold and fast with meltwater from the peaks surrounding the valley basin in which the town lies. Maybe later I'd visit it in my wolf-form and see where it goes.

I used to do that as a kid, I remember—follow the little creeks and seasonal streams on my parent's property, discovering all their secrets as I went. It had been a long time since I'd done anything like that—explored something merely out of curiosity, just to find out where it led. Maybe now that I had nothing to lose, I'd have the courage to do stuff like that again.

As I near the cottage, I see that the door is open, probably to let in the summer air, and the sound of Dane's voice reaches me from within. He sounds angry, and I hesitate on the steps, unsure of my welcome.

"I said no, Julian. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Just listen, would you? I—"

"No, you listen," Dane cuts in, and I hear the alpha in his voice. "No. End of story."

There's a pause before Julian answers, and when he does his voice sounds strained.

"Dane, don't do that to me. I'm your mate—your partner. Not your subordinate. Your equal. I expect to be treated as such. That means doing my share of the work and taking my share of the risks. I need you to trust me that I can do this. Please."

A loud bang makes me jump, and then Dane stomps through the open doorway, a conflict of anger on his face. Seeing me, he stops, but his expression doesn't change.

"Make sure he's okay," he says, jerking his head towards the door. "I'm going for a walk."

He brushes past me, striding off towards the edge of the woods, already stripping out of his jacket and shirt, preparing to shift.

Turning back to the house, I see Julian in the doorway, looking after him. His own expression is clouded—not angry, but troubled. After a moment, his gaze shifts to me and he gives me a rueful smile. "Hey, Noah. Come on in."

"I'm sorry. I've come at a bad time," I say, not moving. "Are you... Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah." He shrugs, beckoning me to follow him. "Dane's just mad because his 'alpha-wolf' powers don't work on me, and I won't shut up and be a good little mate. He takes it out on the furniture."

He sees my expression and laughs.

"It's a work thing," he says. "Seriously, come in and I'll tell you. You want some coffee?"

I accept, and he leads me to the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from a rack and filling them from the pot.

"It's our latest case," Julian says, pouring an obscene amount of cream into his own cup and handing me the sugar bowl. "It's driving Dane nuts. There've been a string of burglaries over the last several months. At first, they seemed unrelated—a trinket here, a knick-knack there—nothing high-profile. That in itself is weird, because the victims are all wealthy. Eventually, though, a pattern emerged. Everything that's been taken has been, if not actually valuable, extremely important to the person who owned it. Their 'most prized possession,' you might say."

"Sounds personal," I comment, sipping my coffee.

Julian nods. "Some of these objects are basically worthless, but several of the victims have offered substantial rewards for their return. If ransom was the motive, the thief would be a rich man. Or woman. Person. Anyway, none of the items have turned up, and none of the owners have been contacted by anyone claiming to be the thief. Which leaves the motive a mystery. It's like the thief is just showing off."

He pauses to sip his own drink, makes a face, and adds more cream.

"Anyway, last week we were contacted by this rich dude who thinks he's next. He got, I don't know, some ugly portrait he's attached to, and he wants Dane to guard it for him—try to catch the thief in the act. Trouble is, this thief is good. They've slipped past the best security money can buy and left no trace. We've got a seriously talented cat-burglar on our hands. I'm thinking...maybe too good, if you know what I mean."

"Shifter?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Maybe. Regardless, that's where the argument comes in. I think I'm better suited to this job —I'm the one who can go Unseen, after all—but Dane's not having it. He keeps trying to 'alpha' me into submission, and it's pissing us both off. Me, because I don't like him doing that, and him because it doesn't work anyway. I'm not some spineless omega he can kick around." He huffs.

I wince.

Our pack doesn't abide by the traditional structure. My mom and dad are the alpha pair, of course, but the rest of us are supposed to be equals. Just like in any family, though, a natural hierarchy exists; age, personality, inter-familial bonds—all determine where someone falls within a group. I've always felt that, if we did behave like other packs, with strict levels of power and privilege, the omega role would fall to me. I'm the quietest, the smallest (even my youngest sister, Ingrid, has managed to reach 5'7"), the most reserved, and the least attached to anyone else. Despite being third in a set of fraternal triplets, Dane and Freya are the only ones I feel really close to—even more than my parents. That's why, when my world came crashing down, I came here instead of retreating to the family home.

I don't feel like I have a place there, but I'd like to make one for myself here.

Suddenly, I'm struck by an idea. "I could talk to him, if you want. Maybe I could even help. With the c-case, I mean," I add, wincing again.

Julian looks at me, a spark of interest lighting his violet eyes. "You know, I've been thinking we need to expand. You're massively over-qualified, of course, but we'd love to have your help. At least until you find something better. You don't have something already, do you?" he asks, biting his lip.

The question should hurt—should remind me that I'm no longer 'qualified' for much of anything—but instead, I'm oddly happy I can give the answer that I do. "No. Nothing yet."

"Good." Julian smiles. "I mean, not 'good,' but, well, maybe together we can convince Dane he's not a one-man SWAT team."

"Good luck with that," I scoff. "I mean, he kind of is."

He laughs. "Well, we could certainly use your clever mind on this one, either way."

I return his smile and sip my coffee, but this time his words do strike a nerve. I haven't felt very clever in a while now.

If I'm so smart, after all, then why hadn't I seen what was right in front of me until it was too late?