Everything still looks the same as I pull into the covered carport at the front of the house.
Two cars are parked.
Someone is home.
Outside the boundary, autumn is settling in — leaves gathering along the roads, the air turning sharp — but here, it still looks like the height of summer.
That is what happens when one of the people who lives here tends every living thing daily.
Do you think she’s even here? Calix asks.
Sometimes she’s too focused to respond, I mutter, having called out for Mum the moment I crossed the pack boundary.
Sundays here are different from other packs.
No training.
No combat.
Just borders patrolled by senior ranks on rotation.
Sundays are for family.
Not that I expect mine to be here.
We are a little scattered now.
I press my thumb to the security loc
