Morning came clean and cold. Winter sunlight poured through the tall windows of Kidd's house, stretching long bands of light across the wooden floor. The scent of coffee mixed with resin and the faint smoke of the fireplace, still smoldering from the night before.
Thiago woke on the couch, disoriented for a moment before the memories of the previous evening returned in full clarity. He had expected pain, trembling, maybe even shame. Instead, he felt… good. Surprisingly steady. His muscles were sore, but it was a familiar, physical ache. Nothing more.
Kidd sat at the table, reviewing something on his laptop. He looked up when the boy stirred.
"How do you feel?"
Thiago ran a hand through his hair.
"Better. Like I… finally caught my breath."
Kidd nodded, watching him carefully.
"Good. That means your body has started to synchronize."
Synchronize. The word lodged in Thiago's mind.
Carter walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge without asking.
"If you're alive and not trying to rip anyone's throat out, I suggest a repeat tonight," he said casually. "Controlled. Calm."
Zane leaned against the doorframe.
"It's not a bad idea. Better to test it now than wait for the next full moon."
Thiago felt his heart quicken with excitement. He was still a little disoriented, as if something inside him had shifted a millimeter out of place, but looking at them—at Carter with his easy confidence, at Zane with his steady assurance—he felt proud to stand beside them.
Then his gaze settled on Kidd.
The alpha didn't need to raise his voice or gesture. It was enough that he was in the room. His posture, the way he sat upright as if ready for action even at rest, commanded natural respect. There was no theatrical dominance in him. There was stability.
Thiago trusted him instinctively.
Kidd seemed like someone who always knew what to do. Someone who controlled the situation even when the situation threatened to spiral. Even yesterday, when everything had turned into chaos, Thiago hadn't seen fear in his eyes. Only decision.
Thiago's inner wolf—whom he had begun to call Riven in his thoughts—shifted quietly beneath his skin. He did not growl. He did not challenge. When the thought of Adrahill surfaced in his mind, Riven did not tense, but calmed. As if recognizing an older, stronger predator and accepting his leadership without resistance.
It was strangely comforting.
"All right," Kidd said at last. "We'll go into the woods tonight. No pressure. No audience. If you feel anything wrong, you say it immediately."
Thiago nodded, feeling a mixture of nerves and pride.
Late afternoon in northern Eugene was calm in a way that could easily lull anyone into carelessness. Thiago tried to function normally, as if last night had been nothing more than a difficult but natural step into adulthood. He helped his father in the garage, answered a few messages from friends, even laughed at something his mother said during dinner. He felt better—at least on the surface. Beneath his skin, however, something remained tight, like a string pulled too taut.
When he stepped into the backyard, the air was cold and heavy with moisture. The Webbers' garden lay in semi-darkness, streetlights casting pale reflections along the fence. That was when he felt it more clearly—the scent that should not have been there, and yet was. Jasmine. Faint, elusive, like a memory suddenly sharpening into focus.
Riven shifted violently.
It wasn't curiosity or simple attraction. It was a summons. Sudden, uncompromising, intolerant of refusal.
Thiago tried to draw breath, but his body had already decided. The pain came without warning. He dropped to his knees in the damp soil, hands digging into the grass as bones realigned with brutal force. This time the transformation was not chaotic like before—it was violent, driven, propelled by something external. A growl tore from his throat before he ceased to be human.
Several streets away, Colton went rigid mid-sentence. Christian lifted his head at nearly the same instant.
The scent hit them like a wave.
Aggressive. Unstable. Charged.
There was none of the confusion of a young wolf in it. There was escalation.
They didn't need to confer. They bolted outside, shifting as they ran, instinctively keeping to shadows to avoid human eyes. Fur spilled across skin beneath the cover of trees, paws striking softly against earth as they disappeared between houses, moving parallel to streets, using hedges, gardens, and strips of greenery to remain unseen.
They found him already in wolf form in the Webbers' yard. His fur was bristling, his eyes too dark, too focused. He did not react to their presence as he should have. He did not acknowledge them. He did not issue a warning snarl. He ignored them completely.
Then he ran.
Christian's howl split the air, sharp and urgent, carrying toward the forest.
Kidd felt it before he heard it.
Adrahill lifted his head inside him, tense as before a fight. When the twins' howl reached him clearly, his chair scraped violently backward and documents slid to the floor.
He did not analyze the situation calmly, as he usually would. In the first second, there was only reaction. Adrenaline surged through him, and the thought of a young wolf losing control within his territory was enough to send him moving immediately.
Responsibility, he told himself as he rushed outside. Responsibility for the residents, for families, for all the people who didn't even know wolves ran through their forests at night.
The shift was fast and brutal, driven by pure alpha instinct. Adrahill took control smoothly, the massive black wolf landing on the forest floor with a heavy breath.
The scent reached him a second later.
Thiago.
Aggression.
And jasmine.
Kidd hesitated for a fraction of a second, trying to arrange the trail logically. Jasmine could mean only one source. He told himself it was coincidence, that the young wolf was simply reacting to the strongest stimulus within range.
It's not about her. It's about safety. About control.
Zane joined him from the eastern side, his wolf moving low and fast. Without words they veered toward the forest, choosing a path through denser brush and away from main walking trails. Even in panic, they remembered the humans. One accidental sighting could undo years of caution.
They ran fast but not recklessly. They avoided lit stretches of road, crossed yards only when certain no one was watching. When forced near asphalt, they waited in shadow until a car passed, then vanished back between trees.
The trail was unmistakable. Thiago wasn't masking his scent. He was charging forward.
When Kidd finally understood that the direction was unmistakable—that the path led straight toward Marco's house—something inside him cracked.
This was not cool calculation.
This was not simply an alpha's concern for order.
It was sudden, unnatural fury exploding beneath his ribs like fire.
Adrahill howled inside him—not in warning, but in claim.
For a fraction of a second Kidd stopped thinking about residents, about pacts, about civic responsibility. The thought was raw and simple: no one runs toward her with that kind of aggression.
He clenched the instinct tight like a fist.
It's not about her, he ordered himself. It's a young wolf. Unstable. A problem to be handled.
He forced his breathing into the rhythm he knew from fights and patrols. Adrahill did not stop growling, but he yielded.
Ahead, Marco's property came into view.
Lights glowed in the windows.
Ordinary life went on, unaware that three wolves were converging on the same space—one driven by unstable instinct, two driven by tension that was no longer purely logical.
Kidd accelerated.
Not because he feared for his territory.
But because he felt the line between responsibility and something far more personal beginning to blur.