Page 81 of Knotted By my Pack

Cora stands on the porch, one hand raised, the other wrapped around herself like she’s holding something fragile in place. She’s wearing a faded lilac sweater and jeans.

Her hair is pulled up, messy, a few strands clinging to her temples. Her lips part when she sees me, but the words take a second to catch up.

“Noah said you were leaving.”

I glance back into the room, where boxes are stacked in uneven towers, kitchen chairs are wrapped in plastic, and the framed picture of my father rests against the wall. A suitcase sits by the couch, half-zipped.

Rusty barrels past me and straight to her, tail wagging like it’s never wagged before.

She bends without thinking and scratches the space behind his ear, the same one he always leans into. He whines, presses closer, and she laughs under her breath.

“Rusty, leave her alone,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

She straightens, and her eyes find mine. There’s something in them I’m not ready to hold.

“Can I come in?”

I hesitate. Everything in me is wired tight. Ready to bolt. But when her hand brushes the doorframe and she says, “Please, Elias… don’t go,” I stop moving.

I step aside.

She walks in, gaze sweeping the chaos, taking in every taped box, every sign of goodbye. Rusty follows her like a shadow, then curls up by the window.

She turns to me. “What happened between you and Julian?”

I glance away. “Nothing I want to get into right now.”

“So you’re just leaving?”

“I can’t stay.” The words are flat, but they carry too much.

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

She crosses the room, fingers brushing the edge of the dining table I haven’t used in weeks. “So is everything,” she murmurs.

There’s a pause. Then I say, quieter, “I liked being with you.”

She looks at me like she’s trying to memorize the way I said it.

“Then why leave?”

I move to the sink, twist the knob, splash cold water on the back of my neck. “I had a mate once. Thought it would last. It didn’t. She broke the bond and disappeared. I barely made it out of that mess in one piece.”

Cora walks to me, close enough that I can smell the soap she used this morning. Her hand brushes mine.

I don’t pull away, but I don’t close the space either.

“This thing,” I say, “whatever it is between us... it’s not simple. And you’re with Noah. Aren’t you?”

Her hand stays.

“It’s not that simple either,” she says. “Noah and I... we’re still figuring things out. But why does that mean you and I can’t figure something out, too?”

That quiet lands thick between us. Not heavy. Not light. Just real.

She doesn’t leave. Not right away. Hours slip past, sun dipping low behind the trees while I unpack a few of the kitchen boxes so I can cook.