Morning came softly—too softly for what had happened.
Aaron woke to warmth.
Not heat, not panic. Just… warmth. A blanket tucked around his shoulders. A steady weight against his side. For one confused, fragile moment, he thought he was back in his old room, before everything went wrong.
Then memory slammed into him.
The storm.
The wolves.
Kyle—shifting.
Aaron bolted upright with a gasp.
He was on the couch in the Thunderstorm house, sunlight filtering through the tall windows. His clothes had been changed—clean shirt, dry sweatpants. His injuries cleaned and bandaged. The faint smell of antiseptic lingered.
And sitting across the room, calm as ever, was Kyle.
Human. Normal. Barefoot. Coffee mug in hand.
“You’re awake,” Kyle said evenly. “Good morning, Aaron.”
Aaron stared at hi
