Outside, the sanctuary pulsed with quiet life. Birds called from the trees. Somewhere, a fox barked at the fading light.
And inside, two women bound by more than just shared history prepared to weather a different kind of storm.
9
The night air carried the soft rustle of wind through pine branches, and the distant call of a night bird echoed across the sanctuary. Stars blinked against a velvet sky, scattered like diamonds over a dark quilt, while the moon, thin and neat as a sliver of bone, cast a silvery light across the ground. The chill had returned with the night, crisp and clean, wrapping the forest in a cold embrace that only made the warmth inside the rehabilitation facility more sacred.
Inside, the click of heaters and the rustle of straw under restless paws created a soothing, rhythmic backdrop. Lanterns glowed in the corners of the room, casting a golden hue on wooden beams and wire-mesh enclosures. The soft smells of cedar bedding, fresh hay, antiseptic gave the space a living warmth. Even the animals seemed to settle into the atmosphere, silent, still alert, but comforted.
Natalie moved between pens with practiced ease, her steps soundless despite the creak of old floorboards. She checked temperature readings, adjusted feeding bowls, and whispered quiet reassurances to the animals. Her body was tired, but her mind was sharp, attuned to the familiar rhythm of care. It washer sanctuary as much as theirs. She paused at Argus's pen. The young wolf they’d rescued during the storm. He blinked at her sleepily, his golden eyes following her every movement.
"You're a fighter," she murmured, crouching to slide a fresh blanket beneath his crate. His injured leg was still stiff, wrapped with gauze, but he was eating again, and that gave her hope. "You remind me of someone."
Behind her, she heard the door creak open. The cold air swept in briefly as Mason stepped through, his silhouette familiar and solid in the dim light. He carried a tin thermos and two enamel mugs, his presence grounding, dependable, and increasingly welcome.
"Thought you might still be here," he said, setting the mugs on the counter near the heater. "Figured you hadn’t eaten."
Natalie turned, offering a tired but genuine smile. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid, wisps escaping to curl around her cheeks. "I lost track of time."
"So did I. That seems to happen a lot around here."
He poured the drinks, strong black tea steeped with a hint of honey and handed her one. The warmth seeped through her chilled palms, grounding her. She breathed it in, the steam settling on her face, a comfort all its own. They sat together on the old leather sofa tucked into the corner of the facility, the one Olivia insisted they keep despite its fraying edges and creaking springs. The cushions were worn, the blanket tossed over the back smelled of cedar and campfire. It was an imperfect, mismatched scene but it felt like home.
Through the wide windows, they could see the outline of the sanctuary beyond. Rows of raptor cages nestled beneath protective tarps, the fox dens hidden in the shadow of firs, and the owl enclosure bathed in moonlight. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled a long, mournful sound that was both eerie and utterly beautiful.
For a long time, they said nothing. The silence lingered comfortably between them, filled with the breathing of animals and the hush of the night.
Then Mason spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "I used to think quiet was just a lack of noise. Now I know better. It’s a kind of peace. Or maybe it’s the space to finally hear yourself think."
Natalie looked over at him, her features soft in the lantern light. "What do you hear, Mason? When it's quiet like this?"
He hesitated, a muscle ticking along his jaw. Then: "Regret. Mostly. But lately... not just that."
"What else?"
He turned the mug slowly in his hands. "Hope, I guess."
She let the silence settle between them again, comfortable now. She sipped her tea, the warmth mingling with the flicker of something unfamiliar—something like anticipation.
"I’m married but it’s over now," she said finally. Her voice was steady, but there was a tremble in her hands. "You probably figured that out."
He nodded. "You don’t have to talk about it."
"I want to. I need to."
She stared into her mug, watching the steam spiral away. "We were good at first. And then we weren’t. He started disappearing in small ways, missing dinners, forgetting conversations, pulling away. I blamed myself. Thought I wasn’t enough. But it wasn’t about me. It was about what he wanted that I couldn’t give. Or wouldn’t give up."
Mason’s brow furrowed. "What did he want you to give up?"
"My work. My passion. He said it was childish. That I’d never make a real difference with animals. That real life required letting go of dreams."
Mason’s jaw tensed. "That’s on him. Not you."
"I know that now," she said softly. "But it took losing everything to see it. To come here and start over."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I lost someone too. Not to death. But it felt that way. She left when things got hard, when I started to pull away. I didn’t even realize how far I’d drifted until she was gone."
Their eyes met in the low light.
