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“I may not remember what I had for dinner two nights ago,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “I may sometimes forget what year it is or call you by your aunt’s name. But I haven’t forgotten how to read people. That man cares for you. Deeply.”

I swallow hard, unable to look away from her clear gaze.

A sharp knock at the front door interrupts our conversation. Three rapid taps, then two slower ones. A pattern I would recognize anywhere.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Are you expecting someone?” Mom asks, looking toward the living room.

“No, but I know who it is,” I say, already pushing back from the table. “I’ll get it.”

I move quickly through our small cottage, my pulse racing with anticipation. It can’t be—but it has to be. No one else knocks that way. When I reach the front door, I hesitate for just a fraction of a second, hand hovering over the knob. Then, I swing it open.

Leanna stands on our porch, her long, dark hair tied back and gleaming in the morning sun. Her brown eyes widen at the sight of me. For a suspended moment, we simply stare at each other.

“Maya,” she whispers, and her voice breaks on my name.

She launches herself forward, colliding with me so hard that I stumble back a step. Her arms wrap around me like steel bands, crushing me against her. I can feel her pregnant belly pressed between us, the firm roundness a testament to how much time has passed.

“You’re alive,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “You’re really alive.”

And then she’s crying, her entire body shaking, and I’m stunned into stillness. Leanna is here!

“I never stopped looking,” she gasps between sobs. “They all said you were dead. But I knew—I knew you were out there somewhere.”

Something inside me splinters at her words. The careful wall I’ve built around my emotions, the barrier that has allowed me to function since my escape, begins to crumble. My throat closes painfully.

“Leanna,” I manage, my own voice strangled.

“Seven months,” she continues, pulling back just enough to look at my face, her hands gripping my shoulders as if afraid I might vanish. “Almost seven months of searching. Cedric thought I was obsessed, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t give up on you.”

The first tear spills down my cheek, hot and sudden.

Then another, and another, until I’m crying as hard as she is.

All the emotion I’ve been suppressing—the terror of my captivity, the desperation of my escape, the disorienting unreality of finally being free—comes rushing out in a torrent I can no longer control.

I collapse against her, and we hold each other up. The tears are flowing for real now, all the tears I forced back during my captivity as I clung to the desperate need to be positive, to hold on to some dwindling hope.

“Thank you,” I choke out. “Thank you for not giving up on me. I knew you wouldn’t. I knew that if you were safe, you would keep looking for me.”

Her hand strokes my hair, a soothing, maternal gesture. “Of course. I would never give up on you.”

We stand like that in the cottage’s entryway, crying and clinging to each other, until my sobs begin to subside into hiccupping breaths.

Leanna pulls back, wiping at her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.

Despite the redness around her eyes, she looks radiant.

Pregnancy suits her, lending her skin a luminous quality.

“Look at us,” she says with a watery laugh. “Two grown women blubbering like children.”

“Speak for yourself,” I retort, attempting a smile even as I wipe my own tears away. “I’m blubbering with dignity.”

It’s a weak joke, but it makes her laugh again, and the sound is so familiar, so beloved, that fresh tears spring to my eyes.

“Maya!”

The excited shout comes from behind Leanna, and a small figure darts around her, launching himself at me with the boundless energy only a child can possess. I catch him just in time, lifting him into a hug that makes my ribs protest.

“Finn!” I exclaim, burying my face in his unruly dark hair. He smells of pine sap and boy sweat and the wild outdoors—probably the scent of the Northern Wolf Kingdom.

“You were gone for so, so long,” he says, his small arms wrapped tightly around my neck. “Mom said not to worry, that you were just lost, but I was scared you would never come back.”

His innocent admission pierces me. I never considered how my disappearance might have affected him. Finn has known me his entire life. I was there when he was born, and I’ve watched him grow from a squalling infant into this vibrant boy.

“I’m sorry I was away for so long,” I tell him, setting him down but keeping one hand on his shoulder. “But I’m back now.”

He looks up at me with solemn eyes, so much like his father’s. “Promise you won’t go away again?”

The question catches me off guard. I can’t make that promise—not with everything that’s happening, not with the Silver Ring Organization still out there, not with Griffin’s kingdom in turmoil and my own place in it so uncertain.

But looking down at Finn’s earnest face, I can’t bring myself to explain the complications of adult life.

“I promise I will always find my way back to you,” I say instead, which feels like a truth I can uphold.

This seems to satisfy him. His serious expression dissolves into a grin, revealing a missing front tooth that wasn’t gone when I last saw him.

“So, you are alive,” comes a deep voice from the doorway.

I look up to see Cedric, King of the Northern Wolf Kingdom, filling the entrance to the cottage.

He’s as intimidating as ever: tall and broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a face that seems permanently set in stern lines.

But his eyes, when they meet mine, hold genuine warmth despite his gruff demeanor.

“Don’t sound too excited,” I manage to say dryly. “I might think you actually care.”

“Maya,” he says with a nod that manages to convey more respect than many men’s bows. “Good to see you breathing.”

Coming from Cedric, this is practically an emotional declaration. I straighten up, strangely aware of how small and human I must look to him in my pajamas and cardigan.

“Thanks for not holding that memorial service,” I say, aiming for lightness but hearing the genuine gratitude in my voice.

A corner of his mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. “My mate was convinced of your continued existence. And she can be very persuasive.”

Leanna rolls her eyes, but there’s fondness in the gesture. “What my eloquent husband means is that he’s glad you’re okay.”

“That’s what I said,” Cedric responds, sounding genuinely confused.

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. Their dynamic has always amused me—Leanna, open and expressive, translating her stoic mate’s minimal communications for the rest of us.

“Come in, all of you,” I say, suddenly remembering we’re still standing in the entryway. “Mom made breakfast.”

“Is that Leanna I hear?” My mother appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes light up at the sight of our visitors. “Oh! And Cedric and little Finn, too! What a wonderful surprise!”

I knew Leanna visited my mother, but I wasn’t aware that Cedric and Finn accompanied her.

“Helen,” Leanna says warmly, stepping forward to embrace my mother. “I bet you’re happy to see Maya, too.”

“Of course I am,” Mom agrees, returning the hug before bending slightly to Finn’s level. “And look how you’ve grown! You must be, what, twenty years old by now?”

Finn giggles. “I’m eight, Grandma Helen!”

“Eight?” Mom puts a hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. “Impossible! You were just a baby last week!”

Cedric steps forward. “Thank you for your hospitality, Helen.”

“Well,” Mom says, recovering herself, “I hope you’re all hungry. I’ve made plenty of pancakes.”

“Starving,” Leanna confirms, placing a hand on her swollen belly. “This little one has me eating constantly.”

“I will leave you all to talk.” Cedric looks at Leanna. “I have to discuss something with Erik.”

Leanna nods, and he leaves.

As we move toward the kitchen, I catch Leanna scrutinizing me. “You’re too thin,” she says, her tone shifting to one of concern. “And there are shadows under your eyes.”

My mother flits about, refilling coffee cups and adding to the already massive stack of pancakes. Meanwhile, Leanna watches me with knowing eyes, not missing how I flinch at unexpected noises or how my gaze constantly checks the exits.

“Later,” she murmurs to me when my mother is distracted by Finn’s animated retelling of a hunt he participated in. “We’ll talk later.”

I nod, grateful for her understanding. There’s so much to say, so much to explain. About my captivity, my escape, the lasting trauma that makes me sleep outside rather than in a room with four walls.

But for now, this is enough—the warmth of my kitchen, the familiar voices of people I love, the sweet taste of blueberry pancakes, and the knowledge that I wasn’t forgotten. That even when hope seemed foolish, Leanna kept faith.

I wasn’t just a missing person. I was missed. Searched for. Awaited.

And somehow, against all odds, I found my way home.

Finn’s laugh rings out at something my mother says, and Leanna catches my eye across the table. She smiles, a smile that says I knew you’d come back and I’m here now and You’re not alone anymore, all at once.

For the first time since my escape, I feel the cold knot of fear in my chest begin to loosen, just a little. Maybe, with these people beside me, I can find my way back to myself, too.

After breakfast, Leanna suggests we get some fresh air.

I’m grateful for the excuse to escape the cottage, which suddenly feels too small with so many people inside.

Mom is happily entertaining Finn with stories about magical creatures she claims live in her garden, and the boy is utterly captivated.

“Finn, Maya and I are going for a walk,” Leanna announces. “Do you want to come with us?”

He jumps up immediately. “Can I shift?”

Leanna ruffles his hair affectionately. “Sure, but stay within earshot.”

“I will!” he promises, already bounding toward the door.

“I’ll wash the dishes when I come back, Mom,” I tell my mother, who has already picked up her embroidery.

We follow Finn at a more sedate pace than his wolf’s, Leanna’s hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.

The autumn morning is crisp and clear, the maple trees ablaze with red and gold.

Finn races ahead, darting between the trunks and occasionally stopping to examine something fascinating on the ground before sprinting off again.

“He’s grown so much,” I say, watching him leap over a fallen branch with the natural grace of a wolf child.

“Too fast,” Leanna agrees with a sigh. “He loves it in the North, despite the cold. The castle staff worship him. I try to get him to sit down for his lessons, but with everybody willing to help him escape, it’s next to impossible.”

“What about your private investigator business? Are you still working?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I have employed a few shifters here. Gave them some training. They’re learning, but I can’t do the field work anymore. And I’m so busy in the North. We’re bringing in some modern changes, and that has me completely occupied.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort.”

She laughs in agreement.

After a few minutes of silence, she glances at me. “So,” she says casually. Too casually. “I met Griffin. I’d seen a portrait of him, but meeting him in person...” She lets out a low whistle. “He’s quite something, isn’t he? Handsome. Regal, even. Not as good-looking as my Cedric, but still...”

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I suppose.”

“Although, he does seem a bit aloof. Reserved.”

The description surprises me. “Aloof? Griffin?” The words escape before I can stop them.

Leanna’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t think so?”

“No, he’s not—” I catch myself, but it’s too late. “I mean, he can seem that way at first, but he’s actually quite...warm. Once you get to know him.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across Leanna’s face. “And you’ve gotten to know him, have you?”

“Not particularly,” I lie, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Just well enough to know he’s not as cold as he may appear to others.”

“Uh-huh.” Leanna’s tone is heavy with skepticism. “And that’s why you’re blushing right now?”

“I’m not blushing,” I protest, even as I feel my face grow warmer. “It’s just chilly out here.”

Leanna stops walking and turns to face me, her expression suddenly serious. She leans in, and I realize too late what she’s doing.

“You smell like him,” she says quietly, her nostrils flaring slightly as she takes another deliberate inhale. “Like pine and earth and...Griffin.”

There’s no point denying it to a wolf’s nose. “He stayed with me last night,” I admit.

Her eyes widen. “You and Griffin—”

“Not like that,” I interrupt hastily. “I couldn’t sleep indoors. The walls...” I gesture vaguely, uncomfortable with explaining the full extent of my trauma. “Anyway, I went outside with some blankets, and he saw me. He slept there with me under the stars. Nothing happened.”

Leanna’s expression shifts from shock to something more contemplative. “Griffin, the true king of the Human Wolf Kingdom, slept outside, on the ground, just to keep you company?”

Put that way, it does sound strange. “Yes.”

“That’s...interesting.” She studies my face carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Griffin is known for being proper, Maya. Disciplined. Formal to a fault. Erik used to joke that he probably slept in a perfectly pressed suit. You know, whenever he would mention Griffin.” Her lips quirk upward. “And yet here he is, sleeping on the cold ground, just to be near you.”

“He was just being kind,” I insist, though even to my own ears, the explanation sounds flimsy.

“Kind,” Leanna repeats, unconvinced. “Yeah, sure.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Ahead of us, Finn—in his human form now—has discovered a particularly interesting rock and is turning it over in his small hands, completely absorbed.

“What are you saying, exactly?” I ask my friend.

Leanna’s smile is gentle. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

I watch Finn place his rock carefully on top of a fence post before darting off again, uninhibited and free. I wish I could feel that way.

Free. From everything.