He nodded once, then crouched by the gate and unlatched it. "Just make sure the red one doesn’t get too close," he said, stepping inside. "She nips when she’s nervous."
Natalie followed, the bucket in hand. Inside the enclosure, two foxes emerged from the underbrush, their coats sleek, eyes bright and wary. Natalie crouched low, placing a few pieces of apple and carrot onto a flat stone. The smaller of the two, a dusty orange with a white blaze down her chest, crept forward and sniffed at the offering.
Mason didn’t speak for a while. He moved around the enclosure with quiet confidence, refilling water bowls, replacing a worn scratching log. His movements were precise, confident.She noticed how the foxes responded to him, not with fear, but caution. As if they trusted his presence more than his touch. It reminded her of how she used to move around Giles in the final months. Measured. Careful. Like anything she said might set off a hidden trigger.
"How long have you been here?" she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.
"Fifteen years give or take."
"That long?"
He straightened. "Long enough to stop noticing the quiet."
Natalie gave a soft, thoughtful hum. "I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing it."
Mason looked at her then. His eyes were a deep gray-blue, the color of thunderclouds. He didn’t smile, but something in his expression shifted.
"Give it time," he said.
She watched him a moment longer. He looked like someone used to solitude, for whom silence wasn’t just comfortable, but necessary. And yet, there was no coldness in him. Just distance. As if his quiet was something earned, rather than built as a wall. And then, without another word, he picked up the crate of water bowls and headed back toward the gate.
Natalie watched him go. She felt the text message burning in her pocket. Her phone still sat on the stump, screen dark. But her gaze lingered on the path where Mason had disappeared. The air around her was shifting. Not a storm but maybe a change in the weather. And somehow, she wasn’t afraid of it.
The emergency call came in just after noon.
Olivia met Natalie outside the medical cabin, her face tense beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Her posture was taut, her hands tucked beneath her arms as though holding herself together.
"There’s a report of an injured wolf near Highway 39," Olivia said. "Solo male. Young. Looks like a trap injury. We need to go."
Natalie tightened her grip on the clipboard she’d been using to inventory supplies. Her pulse quickened, not with fear but with urgency. These were the kinds of moments she understood, action, assessment, response.
"Mason's already loading the equipment," Olivia added. "You’ll ride with him."
She nodded, though her stomach fluttered. She wasn’t nervous about the animal, that she could handle. It was the man. The quiet, watchful presence she’d only just met and wasn’t sure she understood.
The truck waited near the barn, an old but well-maintained Toyota with heavy tires and streaks of mud splashed across the sides. The back was already filled with a steel crate, first-aid kits, a tranquilizer rifle in a padded case, and bundles of rolled gauze and splinting material. Mason stood beside it, securing the tailgate with methodical efficiency. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms crisscrossed with faint scars and old scratches. His hands moved with unthinking precision, like he was assembling something he had done a thousand times.
He didn’t look up when she approached.
"Olivia said I’m riding with you," Natalie said.
Mason glanced over, his expression unreadable. "You good with field sedation?"
"More than good."
He nodded and gestured toward the passenger side. "Then get in."
She climbed into the truck. The interior smelled faintly of cedar, damp canvas, and something more personal, the clean musk of the woods that clung to Mason like a second skin. The dashboard was clutter-free, utilitarian. No music played. Just the rattle of gravel and the rhythmic chug of the engine as Masonturned the truck onto the main road, the sanctuary falling away behind them.
They didn’t speak for the first ten minutes. Trees whipped past the windows in towering blurs of green and brown, and occasional shafts of light broke through the canopy, striking the windshield in sudden bursts.
Natalie stared out the window, trying to steady her breath. The woods here were vast and ancient, pine needles carpeting the ground, fallen logs and hollowed-out stumps. She noticed how Mason gripped the steering wheel with one hand, relaxed but aware. A man used to emergencies.
"How far?" she asked finally.
"Couple miles off the highway. Hiker spotted the wolf near a gulley. We’ll need to move fast."
They parked in a turnout near the tree line, the tires crunching against gravel and dead leaves. Birds scattered overhead with startled cries. The forest stretched in all directions, its silence deep and dense. Mason grabbed the tranquilizer rifle and handed her a med kit.
