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She barks out a laugh that contains zero humor. “Intense? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What would you prefer? Domineering? Megalomaniacal? Pigheaded? I’ve been workshopping ‘pathologically competitive’ but it doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

That earns me a ghost of a smile, quickly suppressed.

Progress.

“And Percy’s not much better,” she continues, now pacing again. “With his perfect hair and his perfect models and his goddamn perfect smile, acting like he’s doing me a favor by designing beautiful buildings on land that isn’t his to develop!”

I nod, tracking her movement without appearing to stare. “Percy does spend an alarming amount on hair products. Our bathroom looks like a Sephora exploded.”

She stops pacing and looks at me directly for the first time. “Why are you here, Prescott? Did Hamilton send you to spy on me? Or are you recording this for some kind of sick Porkwell home movie collection?”

I wince. “Ouch. My surveillance systems are strictly for security purposes and market analysis.” I pause. “Though now I’m questioning some of Hamilton’s requests regarding the Pred Tracker—I mean, the Urban Wildlife Movement Analysis System.”

“The what?” Her eyes narrow dangerously.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I adjust my glasses nervously. “I’m here because you seemed upset. Contrary to popular belief, not all Porkwell’s are sadistic land-grabbers who enjoy the suffering of others.”

Ruby takes another drink of water, studying me over the bottle. I try not to fidget under her gaze. Those amber eyes miss nothing.

“You know what happened,” she says. It’s not a question.

I nod. “The surveillance system is thorough. And soundproof stairwells aren’t actually soundproof when you have the right microphones.” I realize how creepy that sounds and quickly add, “Which I installed for security purposes only, but Hamilton has been… abusing the access.”

“Great.” She throws her hands up. “So the whole company knows I just—”

“No,” I interrupt. “Just me. Hamilton isn’t stupid enough to broadcast his indiscretions, and I don’t share the feeds.”

Ruby sinks onto a bench, suddenly looking exhausted. “Why does he want Wolfstone so badly? It’s not even prime real estate for your kind of development. The conservation restrictions alone make it a nightmare project.”

This is where I should lie. Where I should protect company interests and family loyalty. But looking at Ruby—genuinely confused and hurting—I can’t bring myself to do it.

“It’s not our top priority,” I admit. “The tech campus on the north side is where our real focus should be. Better ROI, fewer regulations, and our target demographic is already concentrated in the area.”

She looks up sharply. “What?”

“Wolfstone is Hamilton’s pet project.” I sit on the opposite end of the bench, keeping a respectful distance. “If it were up to me or even Percy, we’d focus elsewhere.”

“Then why—”

“History,” I say simply. “Your great-grandfather led the pack that drove our great-grandfather from his first settlement. The infamous Mud Creek Massacre of 1803.”

“That’s ancient history! And your ancestor was building on protected wolf territory!”

“According to wolf records, maybe. Our family chronicles tell a different story—that great-grandfather Porkwell purchased that land legally from human settlers, unaware of wolf territorial claims. When he refused to abandon his straw-built homes, the local wolf pack attacked during the spring flood, when the creek was at its highest. Seventeen pigs drowned, including our great-grandmother.”

Ruby’s expression shifts. “I’ve never heard that version. Our histories say the wolves only destroyed empty structures after multiple warnings were ignored.”

“History is written by whoever has the best record-keeping system.” I shrug,“what matters is that Hamilton was raised on bedtime stories of wolf treachery and pig perseverance.

“So this is… what? Revenge development?”

“That, and…” I hesitate, not sure how much to reveal.

“And what?”

I sigh. “And you.”

Ruby blinks. “Me?”

“You rejected him. At the very first zoning board meeting. He asked you to dinner, and you told him—let me make sure I get this right—that you’d ‘rather eat roadkill than break bread with a ham-handed developer who couldn’t find environmental consideration with two snouts and a GPS.’”

She winces. “I stand by the sentiment, if not the phrasing.”

“Hamilton doesn’t get rejected. Ever. It broke something in his brain.” I tap my temple. “Now he’s fixated on conquering both you and your territory. Two birds, one stone.”

“I’m not territory to be conquered,” she growls, a hint of wolf in her voice.

“I know that. Percy knows that too, in his way. Hamilton is… working through some issues.”

Ruby stands again, walking to the edge of the terrace. The city sprawls beneath us, a concrete jungle punctuated by the green oasis of Wolfstone Park in the distance.

“It’s perfect as it is,” she says softly, gesturing toward the park. “The natural springs, the meadow system, the old-growth forest. It doesn’t need improvement. It doesn’t need buildings or golf courses or whatever monstrosities your brother has planned.”

I join her at the railing, gazing out at the distant green patch. “I’ve never actually been in a forest before.”

“What? How is that possible?”

I shrug. “Porkwell’s don’t typically venture into wild territory unless we’re building on it. Plus, I burn after approximately twelve seconds in direct sunlight.”

That gets an actual laugh. It’s a nice sound—warm and genuine, without the practiced tones most people use around a Porkwell.

“You should see Wolfstone,” she says. “The main grove has trees that were saplings when this city was just a trading post. There’s a rock formation that looks like a howling wolf when the sun hits it just right.

And the Echo Valley—” She stops, seeming to catch herself.

“Sorry. You probably don’t care about wolf folklore. ”

“No, go on. It sounds fascinating.” And I mean it. The way her eyes light up when she talks about her homeland makes something twist in my chest.

My relationship with nature has always been complicated. I understand ecosystems as data points—biodiversity indices, carbon sequestration rates, habitat connectivity metrics—but I’ve rarely experienced them firsthand. My world is climate-controlled rooms and digital landscapes.

But I’m not blind to what we’re losing. My algorithms modeling Shiftown’s environmental decline are frightening even to me.

Every development shrinks the green spaces, fragments wildlife corridors, increases the heat island effect.

The data doesn’t lie—we’re approaching tipping points that may be irreversible.

Hamilton sees this as acceptable collateral damage. Percy tries to design around it. But I’ve seen the projections, run the simulations.;there’s a reason I’ve been pushing for greener tech, for systems that work with nature instead of against it.

“Echo Valley is where our ancestors would gather to share news between packs. The acoustics are perfect—you can whisper on one side and hear it clearly on the other. Natural amphitheater.” She smiles, lost in the memory. “My dad used to take me there for the summer solstice howl.”

“That sounds infinitely better than Porkwell family traditions, which mostly involve hostile takeovers and passive-aggressive holiday cards.”

Ruby laughs again, more freely this time. “You’re not what I expected, Prescott Porkwell.”

“I get that a lot. Usually followed by disappointment when people realize I lack Hamilton’s ruthless charisma or Percy’s artistic vision.”

“No,” she says thoughtfully. “It’s refreshing. You’re… real.”

I nearly drop my glasses, adjusting them. “Real” isn’t a word typically associated with Porkwells.

“Maybe that’s what Hamilton needs,” I say, the idea forming as I speak it. “To see Wolfstone through your eyes. Not as a development opportunity, but as a living, breathing ecosystem with cultural significance.”

Ruby looks skeptical. “Hamilton wouldn’t last five minutes in the wilderness without complaining about the lack of valet parking.”

“Probably true. But he might listen to you if you showed him what would be lost. He’s stubborn, not stupid.”

“You think a tour would change his mind? After generations of pig-wolf animosity?”

I turn to face her fully. “I think nothing else has worked. You’ve tried legal channels, protests, even seducing Percy—”

“I did not seduce him! That was… my heat.”

“And the stairwell with Hamilton?”

Her cheeks flush. “That was… complicated.”

“I bet.” I try to keep the judgment out of my voice. It’s not my place. “Look, I’m not criticizing. I’m saying you’ve tried everything else. What’s the harm in showing him what he’s about to destroy?”

Ruby considers this, chewing her lower lip. “He’d need to agree first. And I find it hard to believe Hamilton Porkwell would follow me into the woods without an ulterior motive.”

“Leave that to me,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “I can convince him it’s a market research opportunity. ‘Know your enemy’s territory’ and all that corporate warfare nonsense he loves.”

“You’d do that? Help me stop your family’s development?” She looks genuinely puzzled.

I push my glasses up. “I’d help find a solution that doesn’t involve destroying something irreplaceable. Contrary to popular belief, not all tech nerds want to pave paradise and put up a parking lot.”

“Joni Mitchell. Nice reference.” She smiles, and it transforms her face entirely. The wild panic from earlier is gone, replaced by something warmer. “I appreciate this, Prescott. Genuinely.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Hamilton is still Hamilton. But… I’ll try.”

Ruby steps closer. I catch her scent—wild and earthy, with undertones of something I can’t quite define. My system could analyze it in seconds, break it down to chemical compounds and pheromone signatures. But sometimes technology misses the point entirely.

“Why?” she asks softly. “Why help me against your own brothers?”

It’s a fair question. One I’ve been asking myself since I left my comfortable server room to find her.

“Because Wolfstone matters to you,” I say finally. “And you’re the only person who’s ever remembered my birthday without a calendar notification.”

It was six months ago, at a city planning meeting. She wished me a happy birthday. Everyone else had forgotten, including Percy and Hamilton.

It wasn’t a big moment for her, but it meant something to me. More than I expected.

I’m not used to being seen. Not really.

But she saw me.

Ruby laughs softly. “That’s a pretty low bar.”

“I’m a simple pig with simple needs.”

She studies me for a long moment, head tilted slightly. Then, without warning, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.

The kiss is brief, gentle—nothing like the heated encounters my surveillance system has captured between her and my brothers. But it sends an electric current through me that no amount of technical knowledge can explain.

When she pulls back, she looks as surprised as I feel. Her eyes widen with confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me. First Percy, then Hamilton, and now…” She shakes her head. “I’m not usually this…”

“Unexpected,” I stammer, my brain struggling to process what just happened.

I push my glasses up nervously. “But, um, quite welcome. Very welcome. If we were quantifying welcomeness on a scale of one to ten, that would register as a solid nine-point-seven. The missing point-three is just my surprise factor.”

I’m rambling like an idiot, but I can’t seem to stop. Ruby’s lips were soft and warm, and my brain has short-circuited completely.

“Thank you. For being decent.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly awkward. “And maybe a little more.”

I adjust my glasses again, buying time while my brain reboots. “I should warn you—I’m the defective Porkwell model. Limited social skills, excessive technical knowledge, and a concerning collection of vintage video games. Hamilton and Percy got all the smooth genes.”

I shrug. “That’s always been our dynamic,” I continue, surprised at myself for saying this out loud.

“Hamilton the dominant leader, Percy the charismatic creator, and me, the awkward tech support.”

Growing up, Hamilton protected me from bullies but expected absolute loyalty in return.

Percy taught me to appreciate beauty, but never quite understood my fascination with code over concrete.

They love me in their way, but sometimes I wonder if they see me as a full partner or just the useful little brother who makes their visions possible.

When we were young, Father would evaluate our contributions to the family business at monthly dinners.

Hamilton always presented profit projections, Percy showed his latest designs, and I’d try to explain complex algorithms only to be cut off with a pat on the head and a “that’s nice, Scott.

” Eventually, I stopped trying to make them understand and just built systems that made them money.

I glance down, fingers curling against my thigh. “They love me, I guess. But sometimes I wonder if they see me as a partner or just the useful little brother who keeps the engine running.”

Ruby smiles. “You’re more than useful, Scott. And you’re definitely more than tech support.”

She pauses., “Percy told me the tech division’s the one making all the profit. So yeah, maybe you’re not the face of the company—but you’re the backbone.”

She leans in a little closer. “Besides, I don’t need smooth, I need real. And you, Scott? You’re real.”

Her words hit me harder than they should have. She sees me—not as Hamilton’s shadow or Percy’s quirky brother, but as my own person.

A person worth knowing, not just a Porkwell worth using.

It’s alarmingly unfamiliar territory.

The terrace door slides open behind us. We both jump apart like guilty teenagers.

“There you are,” says Hamilton’s executive assistant, looking harried. “Hamilton is looking for you, Scott. The meeting is about to resume.”

Reality crashes back and Ruby straightens her shoulders, businesswoman once more. “Thank you, Prescott. For the water. And the… pep talk.”

I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Anytime.”

Once she’s gone, I turn back to the railing, looking out at the distant green patch of Wolfstone Preserve. For the first time in years, I find myself wanting to leave my climate-controlled environment.

To see something real.

Something worth protecting.

And if I’m being honest—something worth fighting my brothers for.