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Rolling my eyes, I oblige. A small, lopsided grin that will surely make my dimple pop. The click of the shutter comes and a flash of her sparkling hazel eyes before she looks down at her camera. Silent as she contemplates something.

“You don’t have any family photos in your house.”

The words are quiet, soft, unassuming. A gentle observation from someone who cherishes photos. Almost as though she can’t imagine a world without them and why someone wouldn’t have them too.

I don’t answer right away. I’ve never talked to anyone about this. Breaking off a blade of grass, I fold it into perfect squares, watching as it bends to my will each time.

She doesn’t push me or attempt to fill the silence. Instead, she waits, letting the warm sun caress our skin and the breeze move between us. My tongue dances around my mouth as I consider how to shape the truth in a way that won’t ruin this perfect day.

“I…I didn’t want reminders,” I say finally, eyes looking out across the field. “Of what I didn’t have or I guess what I had and didn’t want, I should say.”

She doesn’t say anything, but even without looking, I can feel her entire attention on me. As if she is looking through her camera, twisting the lens to better focus the shot.

“My parents…” I swallow, trying to wet my mouth as I struggle with the words. “They…tolerated me, I guess that’s how you could describe it. They never knew what to do with me. I was always too much, too quiet, or too different, depending on the day of the week. And my brother…” I huff out a bitter, resentful breath. “He made sure that I always knew I was the weird wolf and that nobody would ever love me, not even my mate.”

I risk it and glance over at her. Her mouth is pinched. Not in sympathy, but in anger. She’s listening with her entire being, tucking every piece away for a later date.

“It’s easier now to not look back,” I admit. “So, I never put anything up to remind me of them or the times I was forced to bear their treatment instead of love. When you finally started taking photos, I knew what I truly wanted on my walls.”

Her hand reaches across, lacing her fingers with mine. It’s as if we’ve done this a thousand times already. She’s already learned to be a presence without overwhelming me.

“You have something to look forward to now,” she says with a voice steadier than mine. “You are creating a new story.”

I want to say thank you. I want to whisper all the words I’ve held inside. Instead, I lean over and press my lips to her knuckles.

The breeze picks up as if sayingI hear you. I see you.

The silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full. Full of her warmth beside me, of the breeze moving through the grass, of all the unspoken things I’ve kept buried inside finding a way out.

I never thought anyone would ask, never thought they would notice.

Never thought I would crave someone seeing me.

But Selene has this way of seeing me. Not just the version I present, not the quiet, calculating one the pack respects, or the one who blends into the background with practiced ease. She sees the pain, the questions, the parts of me I buried deep.

And somehow, she doesn’t shy away.

A part of me wants to show it all to her, every broken piece, all the hollow smiles and hurtful words. But it doesn’t feel like it matters anymore. Not here. Not with her hand wrapped around mine, the scent of wildflowers around us, and the quiet of the valley as our companion.

Maybe I was never meant to belong to them.

Maybe I was meant to always belong to someone else.

To her.

She gently tugs her fingers from mine, reaching for her camera again. That playful glint in her eyes returning. “Okay,” she says with a soft grin. “Your turn.”

I raise a brow. “My turn?”

“Your turn to look at me like I’m the only thing that matters and try to not blink.” She grins. “I dare you.”

A genuine laugh escapes me as I lean back on one arm as I stare right at her, taking her in through the lens of her own joy. She snaps photos, the camera’s shutter rapidly clicking. I know I’ll never get this moment back, but for the first time in my life I’m glad I’ll have photos to look back on.

I know I’ll never forget this day and neither will she.

The sun begins to dip just low enough to cast the field in a honey glow, lighting the edges of her hair like fire. Slowly, she lowers the camera, her eyes losing that playful glint that they had only moments ago. They soften into something more curious, cautious, and worried.

Her gaze drifts down to where my shirt has lifted. Just beneath my ribs, my jagged scar sits right above my right hip bone. The salt that was poured into it prevented my wolf abilities from properly healing it. The rough, uneven skin is a deeper shade of pink than the rest of my skin. I watch as her expression shifts as she reaches out, her fingers gently brushing along the ridged, uneven skin.