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I froze, heart hammering against my ribs. For a second, I could have sworn I saw silver eyes reflecting the sunlight. Then nothing—just empty darkness between buildings.

“Great job, Finn. Now you’re hallucinating.” I picked up my pace anyway, practically jogging the last three blocks to my apartment building.

The security door never felt secure enough. I punched in my code with shaking fingers, slipping inside and taking the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. My tiny studio apartment welcomed me with familiar chaos—canvases everywhere, drop cloths protecting the worn hardwood, the lingering scent of oils and turpentine. Home, such as it was. Nothing like the sprawling Sinclair mansion with its ocean views and endless rooms, but it was mine. My space. My creation.

I threw the deadbolt and chain, then stood in the center of my apartment, breathing hard. The silence pressed in, broken only by the distant sounds of city traffic and the hum of the ancient refrigerator.

“Wolves don’t do well in concrete jungles,” I reminded myself aloud. “They need their forests and mountains and oceans.”

The Sinclair territory stretched along miles of pristine Washington coastline—wild, beautiful, dangerous. I could still picture it perfectly: the way the fog rolled in from the sea each morning, how the sunlight filtered through ancient trees, the private beach where we’d swim as teenagers.

Unbidden, my mind conjured images of my brothers—not as the suited businessmen they presented to the world, but asthey truly were. Cade emerging from the ocean at sunset, water sluicing down his powerful body, hair darkened by salt water. Logan running shirtless through the woods, muscles rippling with each powerful stride. Keir stretched out on the deck, golden skin soaking up sunshine, those bright-blue eyes tracking my every movement.

“Stop it,” I growled, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “They’re your brothers.”

Adopted brothers, a treacherous voice whispered in my mind.Not blood. Never blood.

I shoved the thought away and headed for the shower, stripping off my coffee-scented clothes and stepping under the spray. The cool water couldn’t wash away the feeling of being watched, but it helped ease the summer heat clinging to my skin.

Clean and dressed in loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt, I surveyed my refrigerator’s sad contents—half a carton of eggs, condiments, and a questionable container of leftover Thai food. The instant ramen in my cupboard mocked Drew’s earlier prediction.

“Shut up,” I told the noodles, grabbing a packet anyway. “You’re delicious and cost-effective.”

While waiting for the water to boil, I checked my email—two commission requests for digital illustrations, a rejection from a gallery I’d applied to, and a reminder that my student loan payment was due in five days. My bank account balance laughed at the last one.

“Looks like it’s double shifts next week,” I muttered, stirring the noodles. “Sorry, liver. The starving artist thing isn’t just a cute aesthetic.”

I was halfway through my ramen when my phone lit up with Drew’s incoming video call. His familiar face appeared on screen, hazel eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Called it. Ramen and anime,” he said, looking annoyingly smug.

“It’s an artistic stereotype for a reason,” I shot back, angling the camera so he couldn’t see the canvases behind me. The last thing I needed was Drew asking about my shadow-filled nightmares. “Some of us are honoring traditions. Like the great masters before me, I too am slowly poisoning myself with chemicals and cheap food in pursuit of beauty.”

Drew snorted. “The great masters had patrons. You have student loans.”

“Details.” I waved dismissively. “How’s life in wolf paradise?”

A flicker of something crossed his face. “Same old. Cade’s running everyone ragged with the new marina project. Logan’s being Logan—scaring the junior security team for fun. Keir’s latest conservation initiative is getting national attention.”

“And you?” I asked, ignoring the pang in my chest at the mention of my other brothers.

Drew shrugged. “Keeping the peace. Running interference. The usual beta stuff.” He hesitated. “They ask about you, you know.”

I set my ramen aside, appetite gone. “I’m sure they do. ‘Has our wayward artist brother starved to death yet?’ ‘Is he finally ready to admit art isn’t a real career?’ ‘Should we send Logan to drag him home by his hair?’”

“It’s not like that,” Drew protested, but his eyes slid away from the camera. “They worry.”

“They want to control,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it.” Drew sighed. “Pack is?—”

“I’m not pack,” I said sharply. “I’m adopted, remember? Human. No furry alter ego.”

The lie tasted bitter. I wasn’t human—not entirely. But the Sinclairs, they had their perfect wolf pack. I was… something else. Something that didn’t belong.

“You’ll always be pack,” Drew said quietly. “Family isn’t just blood.”

“Tell that to Cade when he’s making pack decisions,” I muttered. “Or Logan when he’s talking about ‘pure bloodlines.’ Or Keir when he’s explaining pack traditions I’ll never be part of.”