Chapter 7: Home is where the pack is

Cass posted the photo early morning, thumb hovering over “Post” for a full thirty seconds before he hit it.

The picture was simple: him in gray sweatpants and one of Roan’s old black hoodies that hung loose on his shoulders, sitting sideways on Roan’s lap on the couch. Roan’s thick arms wrapped around Cass’s waist, black muzzle resting against Cass’s neck like he was breathing him in. Cass looked straight at the camera, hair messy, eyes tired but calm, a small, defiant smile on his face. Caption:

Fucking deal with it. We will be...

Defiant and owning the situation, a real fuck it vibe, perfect. Cass didn’t want to drag this out.

Then he turned off notifications, tossed his phone on the nightstand, and crawled back into bed where Roan was already half-asleep, tail draped over the edge like a black scarf. Cass pressed himself against warm fur and let the exhaustion take him.

The next day they drove out of town in silence.

The pack house was bought and paid for by the resistance.

Roan had explained it quietly during the drive: the three-story cedar cabin on twenty secluded acres wasn’t some random vacation home. It belonged to the network. Hard-working agents like him, Zariel, and Kiran needed safe ground, somewhere off the grid, away from prying eyes and enemy claws. The resistance had purchased it years ago, stocked it, and kept it ready for moments exactly like this.

There were no close neighbors. No road signs. Just wind moving through the trees and the occasional hoot of an owl at dusk. The driveway was long and gravel, crunching under the tires like brittle bones.

High ceilings, exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace that hadn’t been lit in years. It was a very nice place, and had a 2nd and 3rd floor balcony back and front, looking up the hill and down in the south, a massive decline through the woods.

Cass stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, stirring pasta sauce. The kitchen light was warm, the only sound the soft bubble of tomatoes and garlic.

Roan leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, tail swaying slow behind him.

Cass tasted the sauce with a wooden spoon, frowned, added another pinch of basil. Then, without turning around:

“I had a dream last night that I was back in my old apartment. Alone. The computer was on, looping the unmasking clip. I kept trying to close the laptop but the lid wouldn’t shut.”

Roan crossed the room in three silent steps and wrapped his arms around Cass from behind, chin settling on his shoulder.