Page 12 of Nico

The next morning found Logan making conversation with half the packhouse before eight in the morning. I wasn't surprised. A little annoyed, maybe.

Was I concerned for the continued survival of my sanity? Definitely, but surprised? Not even a little.

The dining hall sat near the center of the compound, large enough to accommodate most of the pack during communal meals.

The scent of coffee, eggs, bacon, and fresh biscuits lingered heavily in the air, mingling with dozens of overlapping conversations.

Pack members drifted in and out around us with the easy rhythm of routine. Nobody paid us much attention at first. That lasted all of thirty seconds.

Recognition spread through the room in stages. A double take from one table, followed by a whisper from another, then someone pulling out their phone.

To their credit, Cooper's wolves handled celebrity far better than most people outside pack territory would have.

A few approached Logan to welcome him to Pecan Pines. One teenager asked if the sword fighting scenes in Shadowfall would use practical effects or CGI.

Another wanted to know whether Logan really did his own stunts. An older wolf asked whether the cast had met the original game's voice actors yet. Meanwhile, I collected breakfast.

If left unsupervised, Logan would absolutely survive on coffee and enthusiasm alone. By the time I returned balancing two plates, he was deep in conversation with three different wolves.

Logan was also somehow explaining the differences between practical armor and costume armor. I set his plate down beside him. His face lit up immediately.

"You're the best brother,” Logan said.

"I know,” I answered.

"You remembered extra bacon."

"I also remembered fruit,” I pointed out.

His expression darkened. "Every act of kindness from you comes with hidden conditions."

"You need vitamins,” I told him.

I then turned my attention toward the rest of the room. For a moment, I simply watched.

Pack members moved through the dining hall carrying trays and coffee mugs, greeting each other as they passed. Conversations flowed around us, and laughter erupted from one corner near the coffee station.

Near the windows, a young mother was unsuccessfully trying to explain to her son that syrup did not belong on scrambled eggs.

Life moved around me in its ordinary rhythms. Breakfast before work, friends sharing stories, and parents wrangling children. Nothing remarkable, this was just a room of people living their normal lives.

An unexpected pang settled somewhere behind my ribs. What would that feel like again, to belong somewhere, wake up and recognize every face around you?

To know exactly where you fit. Logan and I had once had that at Winter Valley. Pack runs through snow-covered forests, bonfires during winter festivals, and knowing every wolf in the territory by scent alone.

My eyes drifted toward my brother. He was laughing at something one of the younger wolves had said, looking relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in weeks.

For a moment, I could almost picture it. The two of us in a pack again, and not merely temporary guests. We would finally have a real home. The thought disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived.

It was pointless, not to mention dangerous. Nostalgia was only useful for distracting you from the problems standing directly in front of you.

I had to focus on the present, and the present had plenty of problems already.

Namely one overly enthusiastic IT specialist with questionable professional boundaries and an alarming amount of branded merchandise.

When Logan and I entered the conference room ten minutes later, Nico was already there.

"Good morning, everyone!" Nico seemed far too cheerful and awake.