I stand at the window,breathing deeply, attempting to regain some semblance of controlled calm. I can feel that her arrival is imminent, but my attempts at wrestling my inner wolf into submission remain unsuccessful. It’s been a full 24 hours, and—thus far—my wolf is as blindly compelling as he was the moment our hands first touched.
The air in my office is heavy with the scent of old paper and wearied wood polish. I’ve sat through dawns more invigorating than today. But, as Ellie Carter steps inside, an unwelcome warmth threads its way through my otherwise pragmatic mind, demanding sophistication I’m determined to maintain.
Somehow, the mask slips easily into place, well-practiced through years of authority, and I greet her with the sort of disciplined nod I've perfected.
“Ms. Carter," I say, my voice a smooth balance of formal and forgettable.
She doesn't flinch. It's like she’s reading the script of a play left deliberately vague.
“Sheriff Hart," she replies, polite but probing, her eyes on me like I’m some cryptic headline waiting to be deciphered.
“How long do you plan to stay in Moonhaven?” The question is procedural, dusted of judgments.
I lean back in my chair—posture deliberately neutral—to stabilize the urgent pulse that insists on making itself known.
“Just as long as it takes,” she says, her words gauging borders. “You know, to research.”
Her gaze flits about like she's gathering unsurveyed terrain, missing little but eliciting even less.
“One wouldn’t call Moonhaven a research hub.”
I maintain eye contact only just long enough to appear collected, then turn my attention to my notepad, scribbling what amounts to nothing more than idle attestations.
Her eyebrow arches slightly, curiosity piqued.
“Is that your unofficial stance, Sheriff?”
There’s a light, almost teasing tone in her voice, the kind a cat might use when ingratiating itself with prey intended to squirm.
Caleb. Get it together.
Through focus only, I guard against the impulse to dismantle the distance between us.
“Just stating facts,” I retort dryly, stacking clipped sentences that advance neither case nor connection. I slip back into formality, eager to maintain clarity over layers of pretense. “Moonhaven’s tranquility does offer advantages,” I add.
She searches my gaze, expecting answers below the surface I refuse to give.
"Judging by its serenity, a little discovery couldn’t hurt,” she muses, tracing outlines of boundaries drawn too finely for distinct reference.
“Careful, or you might just find yourself unable to leave,” I state, reclaiming the conversation's reins.
Her laughter, though mild, lacks softness—sharp-edged comprehension cuts its path. Her assessment of my standoffish demeanor resounds like a verdict without appeal.
“I hear that's why folks like it here—a sanctuary from entanglements?”
“Seems you have your ear to the ground already.”
I glance at the clock: the patina of my departure lubricated by routine obligations.
A silence settles heavy and unbroken until I feign the necessity of protocol. “If anything requires my attention, Ms. Carter, my office remains responsive. Mary can help you with any files that are available for review.”
I shape the words like a formal farewell festooned with obligation’s facade, yet elected with finality.
“I’ve calls to make,” I state perfunctorily, rising with deliberate motion, creating the distance I must.
Her dismissal appears effortless, fashioned so artfully that concern pairs as patience offered without commitment. I escort her to the door and, once outside, watch the structure between us steadily unfold—a necessary choreography I've trained to ill effect.
I pacemy office while the sun comes up, which is never a good sign. Dawn is usually when things make sense again. Today it just makes everything clearer in a way I don’t appreciate.