I have to go to an important pack gathering with Landon.
Again, it is not presented as a choice. It is phrased like an obligation carved into stone long before I ever had a say in anything. He picks me up after school without asking if I am ready, drives us straight to the packhouse without turning on the radio, and reminds me twice on the way there to be respectful. To be aware of optics. To remember what I represent.
Not who I am.
What I represent.
I don’t argue.
I don’t need to.
By the time we arrive, I already know exactly how I am going to behave.
The pack hall is full when we walk in. Not overflowing, but busy enough that the air hums with conversation, layered scents, and restrained energy. Elders are seated closer to the front, clustered together in familiar patterns that ha
