"Terrifying concept," Rowan mutters, but he's not arguing.
The truth is, this kind of leadership requires something I spent years avoiding: patience. Trust. The willingness to letconversations happen without controlling their direction or outcome. To let people disagree without immediately moving to contain the disagreement.
"Sheriff Hart?" Mayor Harrison waves me over to where a heated discussion has erupted near the front of the room. "We could use some perspective on the legal implications here."
I look back at Ellie, who nods toward the crowd. "Go. I'll be right here when you need backup."
Walking into that circle of voices, I feel the familiar urge to take charge, to direct and decide and manage. Instead, I listen. Ask questions. Let the answers shape what comes next rather than trying to shape the answers themselves.
It's harder than the old way. But it's also more honest. And I’m finally not standing apart from Moonhaven, guarding it from the shadows.
I'm standing within it.
WatchingEllie claim her ground with such quiet certainty does something to the knot of old grief I've carried for eleven years. The weight I've worn like armor—every loss I couldn't prevent as both Alpha and sheriff, every choice I made from fear instead of wisdom—loosens its grip around my chest.
"You know what I realized?" I say, still holding her hand as we stand outside the town hall. "All those years I spent convinced that caring too much would make me weak, that love was a liability I couldn't afford as Alpha—I had it backwards."
"How so?"
"My predecessor. He died because I hesitated. Because I thought protecting the pack meant keeping everyone at arm's length, making decisions in isolation." I trace my thumb across her knuckles. "I told myself his death was the price of myinexperience. Spent years treating it like a debt I could never repay."
Ellie's expression softens. "Caleb…"
"But that's not what killed him. What killed him was my belief that I had to carry everything alone." The admission settles something that's been restless in my chest since the day I took over leadership. "I made choices based on fear—fear of losing control, fear of being wrong, fear of letting anyone close enough to see me fail."
"And now?"
I look at her—really look at her. The woman who walked into my carefully controlled world and refused to be managed or contained or protected into silence. Who demanded honesty when I offered deflection, who stood her ground when I tried to keep her at a distance.
"Now I know the difference between strength and stubbornness." I lift our joined hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Loving you hasn't made me reckless. It's made me accountable. To you, to the pack, to myself."
"That's a hell of a thing to figure out."
"Took me long enough." The grief is still there—it always will be—but it's shifted from punishment to memory. "I used to think leadership meant bearing everything alone. Turns out it means knowing when to trust others with the weight."
Ellie steps closer, her free hand coming to rest against my chest. "And you trust me with it?"
"With all of it." The answer comes without hesitation. "Your investigation, the pack politics, this chaos—I want your perspective. Your questions. Your stubborn refusal to accept easy answers."
"My stubborn refusal to disappear when things get complicated?"
"Especially that." I lean down, forehead touching hers. "You make me better, Ellie. Clearer. More honest with myself about what actually matters."
She smiles, and there's something different in it—not the careful, testing expression I've grown used to, but something open and unguarded.
"Good," she says. "Because I plan on being very inconveniently present for a long time."
The town hallmeeting dissolves into smaller conversations, clusters of residents and pack members working through what transparency means for everyone. I watch Ellie navigate the discussions with quiet confidence, no longer shrinking when attention turns her way. She's found her footing here, and it shows.
"You look like a man who's made a decision," Rowan says, appearing beside me with that uncanny timing he's perfected over the decades.
"Several, actually." I keep my eyes on Ellie as she explains something to Mrs. Henderson, gesturing with the kind of animated energy I've learned means she's genuinely engaged. "The biggest one being that I'm done treating commitment like a crisis to manage."
"About time." His tone carries approval mixed with exasperation. "Mara was starting to place bets on how long you'd keep circling the obvious."
"The obvious?"
"That you're happier when you stop trying to protect everyone from your choices." Rowan crosses his arms, studying the room. "Including Ellie. Including yourself."