"Motion passed. Full county disclosure about preserved boundaries. Unanimous vote."
She stops, turns to face me, grinning widely. "Caleb Hart, advocate for transparency. Who would have thought?"
"Apparently everyone but me."
We resume walking, shoulders occasionally brushing. Casual contact now, unremarkable. Not electric urgency, but something sustainable. Desire without desperation.
At her steps, she settles onto the porch swing, making space. I accept without hesitation.
"You know what I realized today? That mother at the council meeting was uncomfortable because I refused to disappear, not because I was doing anything wrong."
I nod. "Took me thirty-eight years to learn other people's discomfort isn't automatically my responsibility."
"Look at us, figuring out basic emotional health." She leans against my shoulder naturally. "Only took supernatural crisis and light mortal peril."
"Efficient learning curve."
Her laugh vibrates where we're connected. This is what I hadn't expected—how desire could evolve beyond frantic need. The mate bond still hums, but it enhances rather than overwhelms.
"Dinner?" I ask.
"Your place. I'll cook if you don't hover while I use sharp objects."
"Deal," I promise, knowing already I’m lying through my teeth.
The radio cracklesbefore we even make it to my porch. Dispatch, urgent but controlled.
"Sheriff, we need you at the town hall. Council's calling an emergency session."
I glance at Ellie, who's more intrigued than disappointed.
"Copy that. En route."
Instead, I stand and offer her my hand.
"Want to join me?"
Her eyebrows lift. "Sure. But you guys literally met less than two hours ago. What could have arisen that quickly?"
I shrug.
"Whatever they want to discuss, it concerns both of us now."
We change course and enter the meeting room together. Not me leading with her following, not her trailing behind at a careful distance. Side by side, matched pace, equal footing.
"Caleb." Old Mrs. Peterson's voice greets us with a chill as we arrive. "You certain this is wise?"
The question hovers, loaded with decades of precedent. How things have always been done. How leaders are supposed to protect outsiders by keeping them separate, uninformed, safely distant from pack business.
"I'm certain that hiding hasn't served us well, Mrs. Peterson."
Her lips purse. "Some traditions exist for good reason."
"And some traditions need to evolve." I don't soften the statement or dress it in diplomatic language. "Ellie stays informed. She stays involved. That's not up for debate anymore."
The declaration ripples through the remaining patrons. I catch fragments of whispered conversations, speculation about what this means for pack hierarchy, for town dynamics, for the careful balance we've maintained for generations.
Ellie's hand finds my arm, steadying rather than seeking support.