As Lawrence’s final and most cherished protégé, Alpha Joey was the last to leave the funeral.
The sky had already begun to dim when his black Benz finally pulled up in front of the funeral home. I stepped forward instinctively, reaching for the passenger-side door—until I caught sight of her.
Laura.
She was in the front seat, tear-streaked and trembling, with the window rolled halfway down.
In the back sat Ms Madge, her eyes heavy with apology.
I said nothing and reached again for the door, but Laura’s voice cut through the silence.
“Joey, can you take me to the cemetery?” she whimpered. “Just you, me, and Mom. I want to see Dad one more time.”
“Laura,” Ms Madge warned, frowning.
But Laura’s sobs came harder now.
“Dad’s gone… Can’t I just be with the people who mattered most to him? Just for a little while? Why is that too much to ask?”
Alpha Joey didn’t even look at me.
He turned, pulled the door shut in my face, and said over his shoulder, “I’ll come back to get you later.”
Then he drove off—his brake lights fading into the dusk like a final goodbye.
I should’ve been used to this by now. In Alpha Joey’s world, Laura had always come first.
I waited in silence outside the funeral home. The stone steps beneath me still held the faint scent of wolf incense, the sacred herbs burned earlier for the ceremony. Two hours passed. The sun slipped below the treetops, casting long shadows across the parking lot.
An older security guard eventually wandered over, concern in his eyes.
“Miss, are you still waiting for someone?”
That’s when it hit me—like a gut punch straight to the chest.
Alpha Joey wasn’t coming back.
The funeral home sat on the far edge of the Shadowclaw Pack, nestled in a lonely corner of neutral territory. Summoning a cab out here? Practically impossible.
I stared at my phone, refreshing the ride app again and again. No drivers available.
I exhaled sharply, pocketed my phone, and began the long walk down the hillside. My heels clicked against the damp pavement, the echo sharp in the growing quiet.
It had been a clear day when I arrived.
Halfway down the hill, the skies cracked open.
Rain poured in sheets—cold and relentless. Within seconds, I was soaked through. My coat clung to my skin, and water streamed down my face, soaking my hair and pooling at my collar.
Still, I kept walking. There was nowhere else to go.
Eventually, a cab passed by, and I flagged it down with the last of my strength.
By the time I stumbled into the apartment, I was shivering and half-delirious. My wolf was curled tight inside me, silent and withdrawn, as if she too had no words left.
I stripped off the wet clothes and staggered into a scalding shower.
Afterward, I crouched beside the TV stand, blindly digging for cold medicine with shaking fingers.
Then I collapsed into bed—still damp, still feverish—and pulled the blankets around me like armor.
Sleep came in jagged pieces. I drifted in and out, twisted in a mess of fever dreams—Alpha Joey’s voice, Laura’s tears, the soft drum of rain against glass.
Every time I opened my eyes, I forgot what I’d been dreaming of.
It wasn’t until the middle of the next day, after I forced down a bitter dose of flu medicine, that I heard the front door open.
Alpha Joey walked in like nothing had happened.
He didn’t glance in my direction. Just went straight into the bedroom and reappeared moments later, dragging his suitcase behind him.