A diamond on the verge of shattering.
The metaphor is melodramatic, probably says more about my emotional state than her actual resilience. Because Wendolyn Murphy is anything except fragile—she's titanium wrapped in vintage dresses, steel core disguised by freckles and smiles, a survivor who's endured things that would break lesser people.
But right now, in this moment, she feels breakable.
And I'm the one holding the hammer.
I hate this.
Genuinely, viscerally hate everything about this situation.
Because the timing is catastrophically, suspiciously, and impossibly convenient in ways that make my paranoid instincts scream warning signals.
Six months.
Six entire monthsI've been in Sweetwater Falls, following Wendolyn from Los Angeles like a lovesick puppy who couldn't bear the thought of existence without her proximity. Six months of maintaining careful distance while being perpetually available, of building life in small-town Montana that I'd never wanted but accepted as a necessary cost for staying in her orbit.
No regrets.
Not a single one.
Every sacrifice worth it to wake up in the same zip code, to grab coffee at the same diner, to exist in the same small universe.
And now—right now, when she's finally integrating into pack structure, when she's accepting protection and support from Alphas who can provide what I can't as a lone wolf, when circumstances are aligning to give her everything she needs?—
LA Fire Department calls.
Offers a promotion I've been chasing for years.
Captain position with my own station, my own crew, my own authority.
The opportunity I've fantasized about since becoming a firefighter, the career advancement that validates every choice I've made, every risk I've taken, every year spent proving myself despite being perpetually labeled "rookie" by people half as competent.
My dream.
Delivered with timing that feels orchestrated rather than coincidental.
I try not to be suspicious—try to accept this as legitimate recognition of my skills, as earned advancement rather than manipulation. But the timing is too perfect, too precisely calculated to cause maximum disruption.
Right when Wendolyn needs stability.
Right when she's joining Aidric's pack.
Right when staying in Sweetwater Falls would mean watching her bond with Alphas who aren't me.
The paranoia tastes bitter, feels unworthy, but I can't shake the sensation that invisible hands are moving chess pieces around a board I can't fully see.
Who benefits from my absence?
Who wants me gone from Sweetwater Falls?
Who orchestrated this perfectly-timed opportunity that forces an impossible choice?
Gregory Mason and his pack flash through my mind—the ex-Alpha who tried to murder Wendolyn, who's demonstrated extensive resources and a complete lack of conscience.
Would they orchestrate a job offer to remove me from her protective radius? Create an opportunity that looks too good to refuse, then yank it away once I've abandoned her?
Paranoid.
