By the time I shoved the front door open, my nerves felt like they'd been sandpapered. I dropped my bag harder than I meant to. It thumped against the wall and slid down like it was tired too.
You're wound tight, my wolf said, calm as a hand on a shoulder. Breathe. Then tell her.
"Working on it," I muttered, and headed for the kitchen.
Mom stood at the counter with a cutting board and a half-dismantled bell pepper. She looked up once, took my measure in a single sweep, and set the knife aside. "You've got that I-stepped-into-a-storm face."
"I made a decision," I said, throat suddenly dry.
Her chin lifted a fraction. "About the pack."
I nodded, fingers twisting in the hem of my hoodie. "I'm going to join Ezra's."
Silence. The fridge hummed. A clock ticked toward nothing important. Mom exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding that breath since Friday night.
"All right," she said, voice steady. "Tell me how we got here."
"He cornered me after class." I leaned against the doorway because my legs didn't feel trustworthy yet. "Not in a bad way," I added when her eyes sharpened. "Just... direct. He said I can't stay unaffiliated. That rogues don't last. He was very sure, and I hate that he's not wrong."
He isn't, my wolf said, firm but kind. We need a roof. A structure. Allies.
Mom wiped her hands on a towel and came around the counter. "He's not wrong," she echoed. "Rogues don't have protection. Packs do. Wolves without packs get blamed when things go wrong. Sometimes they're hunted for sport by worse creatures than wolves."
My stomach twisted. "That sounds reassuring."
"It's honest," she said. "Let me be very clear about what you're walking into." She guided me to a chair at the table and sat across from me, hands folded. "Packs aren't clubs. They're families with a chain of command. Alpha at the top. Then Beta. Third-in-command—sometimes called Enforcer. Then ranked wolves who handle training, patrol, mediation. Everyone else slots in around that."
"Ezra's the Alpha heir," I said. "So he's next in line."
"Yes. Which means he's been raised to make decisions, and people defer to him without thinking about it." Her mouth tugged sideways. "You will need to think about it."
"That was the plan," I said. "I'm not going to roll over."
My wolf approved. Good. We can respect without surrendering ourselves.
Mom nodded. "Good. Now—initiation. Before you're officially part of a pack, the Alpha and Luna meet you. They'll want to scent you, make sure you're not bringing danger into their house. It isn't personal. It's about safety. You'll be expected to bare your throat—figuratively. You don't have to kneel to anyone, but you do need to show you understand their authority in their space."
"Bare my throat," I repeated, grimacing. "Great."
"It's a gesture. If you refuse, you're basically telling the Alpha you're a problem," she said. "Don't make first contact a fight."
"I won't." I scraped my nail along a knot in the table. "What about... day to day?"
"Expect structure. Curfews on patrol nights. Training. They'll test your control. Who you can be around when you're keyed up. You'll be paired with someone for your first runs so you don't get lost or hurt." She paused, choosing words. "And be ready for the social part. Some will welcome you. Some will be suspicious. An unmated female with an unusual scent is... news."
Heat crept up my neck. "I hate being news."
"I know," she said, and her eyes softened. "But you won't be alone. I'll be there when we go. If anyone says something out of line, they can deal with me."
I smiled despite myself. "I don't think they're ready for you."
Her smile flashed. "Few are."
I chewed on my lip. "What about... Ezra? He's been... watching." Understatement of the century. "Is there some law about Alpha heirs and new wolves?"
"There's no law," she said, watching me closely. "There are instincts. He'll feel responsible for you as long as you're under his roof. That can look like overbearing attention. It can also look like assigning someone to watch your back until you settle."
"You think he'll—what—assign me a babysitter?"
"An escort," she corrected. "To keep you safe. Usually the Beta or someone the Beta trusts. It's protection, not a leash."
Unless he turns it into one, my wolf said quietly. Watch how he does it. That will tell us who he is.
My stomach did that uneven drop again. "Okay. So if he 'assigns' someone, I smile and say thanks?"
"You ask questions," Mom said. "Who. For how long. What exactly they're responsible for. You make it clear you understand pack norms, not that you're handing over your autonomy." She slid her hand across the table, palm up. "Evelyn. Your father's people were wolves, but you've also got me in you. Fae don't bow easily. Use that spine."
I squeezed her fingers. "I can do that."
"Good." She squeezed back. "Now let's talk pitfalls. One: dominance games. Some wolves will try to push you—bump you in halls, cut you off in runs, crowd your space—to see if you snap. Don't give them the bite they want. If you snap, make it count, and only if someone crosses a line."
"Got it. Don't take bait." I filed that under try not to punch anyone for bumping your shoulder.
"Two: partners. You'll end up training with someone regularly. If he pairs you with Knox—"
"He probably will," I said before I could stop myself. "He... trusts him."
Mom's eyebrow arched. "You've been paying attention."
My face warmed. "Hard not to. Knox is everywhere."
He watches people the way we do, my wolf said. I don't mind him.
"Then good," Mom said simply. "If it is Knox, listen. He's Beta for a reason. If it's someone else, same rules apply: you're green but not helpless."
"And three?" I asked, bracing for the worst.
"Politics." Her face went serious. "Erica."
I groaned. "Of course you know that name."
"She made sure everyone did," Mom said dryly. "She's ambitious and territorial. If she's attached herself to Ezra—even unofficially—she won't like you breathing near him, let alone talking to him. Don't rise to it. Don't throw the first insult. But don't let her cut you out of training or information. If she interferes, go to Knox. If Knox is the problem, go to Ezra. And document who says what. Be boringly careful."
"Boringly careful," I echoed. "I can do boring."
We can also do sharp if needed, my wolf added, not threatening—promising we had teeth if pushed.
Mom's mouth tilted. "Try boring first."
I let out a long breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "Okay. When do we go?"
"Text him now," she said. "Ask for a proper invitation. Tonight if possible. The longer we wait, the more stories people invent."
I pulled out my phone. He gave me his number earlier after I told him I'll join the pack. I didn't expect to use it so soon, or at all.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard like the letters might bite me. Then I typed:
Evelyn: My mom wants to meet your Alpha and Luna. Is tonight too soon?
The reply came faster than was human.
Ezra: 7 pm. I'll send the address. Bring her. Dress for a formal call, not a party.
I scowled at the phone. "He's bossy by text too."
"Alpha training," Mom said, amused. "What's 'formal' in his language?"
I read the message out loud. "So... not jeans and a hoodie."
"No," she said. "You want to show respect without looking like a pushover. Simple dress. Flats—you may be standing a while. Hair neat. Nothing you can trip over."
I nodded and typed back: Evelyn: We'll be there.
Three dots flashed, then:
Ezra: I'll meet you outside.
I locked the screen and exhaled. "Well. That's that."
"That's the start," Mom corrected. She stood, reached for the knife again, then seemed to think better of it and left it on the board. "Eat something before you get dressed. Do not go into a pack house on an empty stomach."
"I can't eat," I said, staring at the counter like food might appear if I wished hard enough.
"You can and you will," she said, opening the fridge. "Toast now. Something light later. You'll need your blood sugar stable if anyone asks you to shift for them."
"They're going to ask me to shift?" Panic pricked again.
"They may," she said, turning to lay slices in the toaster. "It's not to embarrass you; it's to know what you carry. You have control. If you feel it sliding, you say. If they press, I step in."
We can do it, my wolf murmured. If you want. I'll keep it clean.
"Okay," I said, mostly to her. "Okay."
Mom slid a plate of toast in front of me and set a jar of jam beside it like we weren't rearranging my life in a handful of hours. I took a bite out of sheer obedience and because she was right: I'd be useless if I fainted in the foyer.
"Last thing," Mom said, leaning against the counter. "When we step onto their land, you follow my lead until Ezra takes over. You speak when spoken to; you don't spill more than they ask for. You don't mention me being fae. If anyone senses it, that's their problem."
"Got it." I swallowed. "Thanks for... all of this."
Her gaze softened. "It's my job. And my privilege." She squeezed my shoulder. "You were never going to be ordinary, Evelyn. That's not a punishment."
It's a promise, my wolf agreed, warm in my chest.
I finished the toast because Mom gave me that look that says don't argue. Then I stood. "I should get ready."
"Black dress," she said without looking. "The simple one. Hair back. No jangly jewelry."
I blinked. "Have you been secretly styling me for pack life since kindergarten?"
"Since Friday," she said, not remotely sorry.
I laughed—a quick, shaky sound—and headed for the stairs. Halfway up, my phone buzzed again.
Ezra: Address pinned. If anyone gives you trouble at the gate, text me.
Bossy. Prepared. Dangerous. My pulse picked up; my wolf hummed.
We'll be fine, she said. We're not walking into this small.
"Right," I said under my breath. "We're not."
I changed. I tied my hair back. I checked my reflection and didn't look away. When I came downstairs, Mom was already ready—cool, composed, a storm I'd seen break on other people and never on me.
"Ready?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Yes."
She took her keys and opened the door. Evening light reached for us. The air smelled like cut grass and something electric I could no longer pretend wasn't mine.
We stepped out together.