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Psyche’s alarm chirped at precisely 6:00 a.m. She reached over to the nightstand, her hand closing around her phone, and a quick swipe silenced the sound. She exhaled deeply, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. The faint, earthy smell of pine wafted through the window she’d left cracked open last night. Anchorage was colder than she was used to, but the air had a crisp clarity she couldn’t deny.

The subtle tug of anxiety reminded her of the enormity of this change. New place. New people. New sounds. Even the pack house carried its own rhythm—a shifting current of footsteps, voices, and occasional wolfish growls in the background. It hummed with life, yet she felt like a puzzle piece pressed into the wrong spot. It didn’t fit yet.

But her routine did. Her routine was home.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her feet found the familiar softness of the rug she’d packed from home. She’d had to make compromises when moving here—leaving behind her weighted blanket, most of her books, and the little kitchen gadgets that made food prep predictable. But this rug had made the cut, and she allowed herself a moment to focus on the texture, grounding herself in its familiarity.

Step one: make the bed.

Her hands moved with the precision of habit, tugging the sheets into neat lines, tucking the corners tightly, smoothing out every wrinkle. A properly made bed wasn’t just about order; it was about starting the day with control. If her bed was in order, she could face the rest of the world without spiraling into the chaos that always lurked at the edges. The top blanket was folded back precisely seven inches, and the pillow was placed in the exact center.

Perfect.

She inhaled deeply, exhaled through her nose, and moved to the bathroom. Every part of her morning routine was choreographed, from the electric toothbrush she’d brought from home—used for two minutes, evenly divided—to the small pump bottles of cleanser, toner, moisturizer, and sunscreen arranged in exact order.

This is how I stay balanced. The thought was a quiet mantra, a reminder of why these small rituals mattered.

She paused, her reflection staring back at her in the mirror. Her eyes traced the small details of her face—the faint smattering of freckles across her nose, the way her brown hair curled slightly at the ends. She tilted her head, letting herself focus only on what was there. I’m still me, no matter where I am.

The clothes she laid out the night before were chosen for comfort and practicality: a soft, forest-green sweater, black tights, and her favorite fleece socks. The weight of the sweater was soothing, grounding her further. Clothes like this helped shield her from sensory overload—soft textures, nothing scratchy, nothing too tight. The socks were like a hug for her feet. She pulled them on and felt her breathing even out.

Finally, she opened her daily tracking notebook, flipping to the page for today. Crisp handwriting filled the page, and every letter was carefully formed. It helped to see her day laid out in black and white, solid and unchanging.

A small note in the margin read: First day, take deep breaths. You’ll do fine. She checked off “wake-up routine” and wrote down her planned breakfast: oatmeal with blueberries, a touch of honey, and green tea.

The tightness in her chest loosened just a little as she closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest. Each part of her routine was a brick in the wall she built against the unknown. If she followed each step, nothing could knock it down.

Anchorage was new, the Alaska pack was new, but her routine wasn’t. It was the one piece of her life she carried with her, unshakable and steady.

The scent of coffee and woodsmoke greeted her as she descended the stairs, the faint murmur of voices drifting from the mess hall. She paused at the bottom, her fingers brushing the cool wood of the banister. The pack house was waking up. It was alive in a way her quiet apartment back home never was, but she wasn’t sure yet if she could match its rhythm.

One step at a time. Stick to the plan, and you’ll be okay.

The crisp Alaskan morning air greeted her as she stepped out of the community house, so she zipped up her fleece vest. The pack’s sprawling territory was buzzing with activity—people coming and going, voices mingling in easy conversation. She reminded herself to smile as she passed a group of pack members chatting near the entrance.

Say it. Don’t forget.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice even but a little quieter than intended. The group smiled and waved back. Their warmth seemed genuine.

It was beautiful here, serene in a way that made her chest ache. But the beauty didn’t cancel out the energy it took to navigate these social moments. She tucked her hands into her pockets as she continued toward the Alpha’s house.

Remember to smile. Look people in the eye—not too long, but enough to seem friendly. Don’t sound flat when you talk.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be friendly; it was just that her brain didn’t always translate what she felt into the expressions and tones others expected. Her old doctor used to call it Asperger’s Syndrome, though she knew now it was part of autism spectrum disorder. Whatever the label, it meant she had to think through things others seemed to do naturally.

By the time she reached the Alpha’s house, her shoulders were tight with effort, but the sight of Artemis standing at the door eased some of the tension. The Alpha’s mate looked as effortlessly poised as ever, her blonde hair pulled into a loose braid and a warm smile on her face. Behind her, two baby rockers gently swayed, occupied by a pair of wide-eyed infants who were watching their mother with laser focus.

“Psyche! Good morning,” Artemis greeted warmly, stepping aside to let her in.

The smell of cedar and something faintly floral lingered in the air, and Psyche found it a comforting combination.

“Good morning.” She tried to match Artemis’s smile, but a little voice in her head wondered if it came off wrong. Sometimes her tone and expression felt like a coat that didn’t quite fit.

Artemis didn’t seem fazed, which was a relief. She knew about Psyche’s autism, and that knowledge seemed to create a bubble of safety. Psyche didn’t have to worry quite as much about offending her or seeming rude.

“Come on in. The babies decided to join us this morning,” Artemis said, gesturing to the rockers as she led the way to the kitchen. Liam gurgled happily while Phoebe’s big blue eyes stayed fixed on her mother. Their little hands moved in unison as though powered by the same hidden engine.

“They’re adorable,” Psyche said softly, hoping the comment landed the way she intended. Compliments were still a work in progress for her—how to say them without sounding forced or abrupt.

Artemis beamed over her shoulder. “Thank you. They’re good most days, though I think Phoebe’s starting to teethe, so that’s been…an adventure.”

“These are magical baby carriers?” Psyche asked as the contraptions followed them.

“Ah, yes. My friend Hephaestus made them, you remember from the wedding yesterday?”

“Oh, right.” Hephaestus, God of Forges and Fire.

In the kitchen, Artemis gestured to some stools by the counter, and Psyche took it as an invitation to sit. “I know you have specific dietary needs, so I wanted to wait for you before making anything,” said Artemis. “We can figure out what works best for you and get that settled.”

Psyche hesitated, shifting her weight. “Thank you. I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense. We want you to feel welcome here, and part of that is making sure you have what you need. Besides,” she added with a wry smile. “I’d rather hear what you like than guess wrong and end up with a whole meal nobody wants.”

Psyche felt a flicker of gratitude warm her chest. “Okay. Thank you,” she said again, this time with a small, genuine smile. It felt easier, lighter, knowing that Artemis truly meant what she said.

They talked as Artemis moved around the room, pulling out ingredients for their breakfast. The kitchen smelled of coffee, and the soft babble of the babies filled the air.

“I mostly eat unprocessed food,” Psyche explained, watching Artemis rinse a handful of fresh blueberries. “Vegetables, fruit, meat, fish, whole grains. Things that aren’t full of…additives.”

“Got it,” Artemis said with a nod, setting the fruit on a cutting board. “That’s actually what we eat most of the time, too. Luckily, the pack’s chef, Hank, is a genius with fresh ingredients. We’ll make sure you’re all set.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to make extra work for anyone.”

“You’re not,” Artemis replied firmly, pouring oats into a small pot of simmering water. “This is your home for now, and that means making sure you’re comfortable. It’s no trouble at all.”

Psyche nodded, her anxiety softening a little. She let her gaze wander to the carriers, to Liam and Phoebe. Their curiosity about the world seemed endless, and it reminded her of the pups back home.

She repeated something she’d said when they first met. “I’d like to help with the babies, though. If you don’t mind.”

Artemis glanced over her shoulder, a smile quirking her lips. “I don’t mind at all. Trust me, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

When the oatmeal was ready, Artemis divided it into bowls and placed one bowl in front of her. Psyche added blueberries and a drizzle of honey and picked up her spoon but noticed Liam staring at her bowl with wide, curious eyes. She set her spoon down and moved to sit beside him instead. “I think he’s hungry.”

“He’s always hungry,” Artemis said with a laugh, settling down with Phoebe on her lap.

Psyche scooped a small spoonful from the extra bowl Artemis had set out for the babies and held it up for Liam. He opened his mouth eagerly, gobbling down the oatmeal and kicking his legs excitedly.

Artemis chuckled. “Liam likes you. He’s usually a little pickier than Phoebe.”

Psyche felt a quiet glow of pride. “I spend a lot of time with the pups back home,” she said, offering Liam another spoonful. “Kids are easier to understand. They don’t have all the…layers adults do.”

“I get that,” Artemis said, feeding Phoebe, who was just as enthusiastic as her brother. “Kids are honest. If they like you, they like you. No games, no guessing.”

After the babies were fed and burped, Psyche moved to help clear the table. As she wiped down the counter, Artemis leaned against the island, her expression thoughtful.

“There’s a pack run later,” Artemis said casually. “Would you like to join us?”

Psyche shook her head. “No, thank you. My pack doesn’t do many runs. We’re sea wolves, so we do swims.”

Artemis blinked. “Sea wolves? I didn’t know that was a thing. But then again,” she added with a smile, “I’m not a shifter, so there’s a lot I don’t know.”

“We’re from Vancouver Island. Most of the time, we’re in the water—it’s where we hunt, play, and train. That’s why I eat a lot of fish.”

“Right,” Artemis said, her brow furrowing as though filing the information away. “Well, there’s plenty of fresh seafood here. I’ll make sure to ask Chef Hank to order some extra for you.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

“It’s nothing,” Artemis waved her hand dismissively. “We’re glad to have you here.”

Psyche offered her a small smile, the kind that felt real, even if it took effort. For the first time that morning, she thought maybe—just maybe—this new place could start to feel a little like home.

She watched Artemis, who was tidying up the last of the breakfast dishes. Psyche couldn’t help but think about the stories she’d heard before coming here.

Artemis, the former goddess of the hunt, had once been immortal—a force of nature worshipped in myth and legend. She had given it all up to be with Cade, the Alaska pack’s Alpha. Psyche didn’t know all the details, but she knew enough to understand the weight of that decision.

Artemis had traded eternity for love. And not just love—family. The sight of Phoebe and Liam chattering away made that choice tangible in a way Psyche hadn’t expected. It was one thing to hear a story; it was another to see it in person.

“I didn’t know much about the Alaska pack before coming here,” Psyche said, her voice careful, testing. “Just bits and pieces. But I did hear about you.”

“Oh? What did you hear?”

“That you were a goddess. And that you gave it up for Cade.”

Artemis smiled. “I did. And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Psyche nodded, her mind circling the idea like a hawk over prey. The bond between true mates was something she understood in theory, but it had always felt distant, abstract. Even back home, surrounded by the connections of her packmates, she’d never let herself linger too long on the thought.

What would it even be like? She imagined it for a moment—finding someone whose presence fit into her life as naturally as her routines, someone who understood the space she needed and the walls she sometimes had to build. Someone who wouldn’t mind her quirks but would cherish them.

Her chest tightened. It was a nice thought, but not a practical one. Not now. Not yet.

“I hope I can find that someday,” Psyche admitted. “A mate, I mean.”

“You will. The bond has a way of finding you when you’re ready. But you don’t have to rush. It’ll come when the time is right.”

Psyche nodded again, tucking the thought away. “School comes first,” she said, more to herself than to Artemis. “The dig, my research. That’s what matters right now.”

“And that’s exactly as it should be,” Artemis agreed. “Have you heard back when you’ll be able to go to the site?”

“No, not yet. But they said it should be in the next couple of days. I am constantly checking my email for it.”

“Well, hopefully, you’ll find out soon! But just so you know, we’re rooting for you. All of us.”

Psyche’s lips curved into a small smile, her chest warming at the unexpected encouragement. “Thanks,” she said softly.

The sound of Phoebe’s babbling broke the moment, and a question slipped into her mind. “How do you take part in the pack runs if you’re not a shifter?”

Artemis looked up with a small smile, setting a dish towel aside. “Good question. When I gave up my immortality, I didn’t lose everything. I was able to keep some powers and magic—it’s enough to let me keep up.” She leaned forward. “I may not have a wolf form, but I’m faster than I look.”

Psyche nodded thoughtfully. “That’s impressive. I wasn’t sure how that worked.”

Artemis shrugged, her expression soft. “It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. I didn’t need everything I had before. This is the life I chose, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Psyche considered that, her gaze flicking to Phoebe and Liam, who were making tiny noises in their rockers. Artemis’s contentment was evident, and the bond she had with her family seemed unshakable. It was admirable—and a little intimidating.

“I could watch the babies while you’re out on the run,” Psyche offered. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

Artemis’s smile widened. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Psyche. They’re not too hard to handle, and you seem to have a knack for this already.”

“I’d like to help,” Psyche said simply. She found herself glancing at the twins again. Liam’s bright eyes were locked onto her, and Phoebe had started to chew on her fist.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. How about I show you around the house and familiarize you with everything you’ll need for them? That way, you’ll feel more comfortable while we’re out.”

She agreed, and they spent the rest of the morning going through the house together. Artemis carried Phoebe while Psyche had Liam balanced on her hip, the boy content to gnaw on a teething ring as they moved from room to room.

“This is where we keep the diapers,” Artemis said, opening a tall cabinet in the nursery. “And here’s the backup stash, just in case. Wipes, extra onesies…oh, and burp cloths are your best friend.”

Psyche started taking notes on her phone, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen while she juggled Liam on her hip. “Diapers, wipes, burp cloths…Got it.”

Artemis smiled as they moved to the kitchen. “Bottles are here,” she said, pointing to a drying rack by the sink. “And formula, though they’ve started eating pureed food too. There’s some in the fridge—just warm it up a little.”

Psyche nodded, making another note. “This is a lot to keep track of.”

“You’re telling me,” Artemis said with a laugh. “But you’ll get the hang of it. Honestly, they’re good babies. And they seem to like you, which is half the battle.”

A warmth spread through her chest as she recognized it as a compliment, though she simply nodded. They continued through the house, Artemis showing her everything from the twins’ favorite blankets to where the pacifiers were kept. By the end of the tour, Psyche’s phone was filled with notes, and she felt a cautious sense of confidence building.

They settled back in the living room when Artemis looked over at her. “You’re a natural, you know. If you ever decide to take a break from studying dinosaurs, I think the pack would love having you around as a babysitter.”

Psyche smiled faintly, shifting Liam so he was more comfortable. “Thanks. But I think I’ll stick to fossils for now.”

Artemis laughed. “Fair enough. But it’s nice to know I can count on you.”

Artemis’s phone pinged. “I have to head out soon,” she said apologetically as she tucked her phone back into her pocket. “But let me show you the backyard first—it’s where the babies usually spend their mornings when the weather’s nice.”

Psyche followed Artemis through the sliding glass door onto the back deck, her eyes immediately drawn to the sprawling yard. At the center was a large, enclosed baby pen, shaded by a tall maple tree and surrounded by a soft patch of grass.

“We set this up so the twins can get some fresh air and stretch their little legs,” she explained, opening the gate to the pen and gestured for Psyche to step inside. “It’s perfectly safe—Cade reinforced it himself.”

An animal with striking white fur and a confident strut ambled toward them. Psyche tilted her head. “Is that…a goat?”

Artemis laughed as she unlatched a smaller gate connected to the pen, allowing the animal to step inside. “That’s Goat-zilla. He’s kind of our pet.”

“Goat-zilla? Why do you have a goat?”

“Oh, we have more than one now,” Artemis said, leaning against the pen’s edge. “They help maintain the vegetation around the territory. Keeps the underbrush under control, and they’re surprisingly low-maintenance.”

Psyche watched as Liam toddled toward the goat, his chubby hands outstretched. Goat-zilla didn’t flinch, simply lowering his head to nuzzle the boy gently. Phoebe soon followed, giggling as she grabbed at the goat’s fur.