The hall smells as usual. I set chairs in a rough circle and keep the scrape quiet. Sue counts clipboards. Rina tapes a hand-drawn sign to the door: PACK ONLY. The letters lean like they're bracing for wind.
Sam comes in right on six. He isn't loud; the room changes for him anyway. Leah follows, jaw set. Embry and Quil drift together, easy. Jared checks his phone. Paul arrives last, grin already warmed up, shoulders high.
Billy rolls in after them, quiet which is unusual. He sat near Sue, folds his hands, and looks like a man listening.
Sam doesn't sit. "Quick check," he says. "Wedding's on. Soon. Cullens haven't crossed. We haven't either. We keep it that way."
Paul blows air through his nose. "We gonna pretend that's fine?"
"It isn't fine," Leah says, before Sam can reply. "It's what we've got."
Paul tips his chin at her. "Cute." He looks back to Sam. "We should be seen. Just once. Let 'em know we're not pets on a porch."
Jared snorts. "Yeah, and give Charlie a field day when half the town sees wolves pacing in their Sunday best."
Embry lifts a hand like he's in class. "Or we post up at the edges. Low. Quiet. Less drama, same message."
Paul rolls his eyes. "Your messages are bedtime stories."
The hum under my skin isn't words, it's the pack. The push and pull of it. Pride rubbing up against fear. My sense for truth picks up both, quiet and clear, like labels stuck under the noise.
Sam lets the noise bump the walls once. Then: "No posturing. No shows. We're not there to make anyone feel small." His gaze bounces off each of us, flat and even. "We're there to keep our people safe. That's it."
"That's what I said," Embry mutters.
Paul shakes his head. "They're marrying into the problem. We're supposed to clap?"
"No one said clap," Leah says. "We said don't make a mess we have to deal later."
He barks a laugh. "You always this romantic?"
She gives him a look that could scrape rust. "Only on holidays."
Sue slides a mug toward Billy. He doesn't drink. He watches Paul the way a tree watches lightning—patient, unafraid, not impressed.
"Look," Jared says, leaning forward. "If we crowd, they'll crowd. Then we're in it. You wanna be in it? On a lawn? In front of Mrs. Stanley with her camera out?"
Paul opens his mouth. I feel the heat coming before he finds the words. I stand my sentence up in my head first and make it small.
"We can guard without being seen," I say. "We can keep the line without making it into a stage."
All eyes swing my way like a door on a loose hinge. I keep my hands on my knees and my voice steady.
"I'm not saying it's nice," I add. "Just clean. It keeps kids from getting spooked. Keeps Charlie out of our hair. It keeps blood out of the grass, if it comes to that."
Paul's mouth goes sharp. "And you'd know, Branch? You got great instincts from all your " His hand flicks in a circle. "....experience?"
"Paul," Sam says, no weight added. It still lands.
I look at Paul and let the first hit pass. Under his words is fear, bright and messy. Not of them. Of us losing face. Of being told to sit while someone else does what they want in our yard.
"I just want it quiet," I say. "Quiet keeps people alive."
Embry nods, small, like a yes he doesn't want to spend too loudly. Quil mirrors it. Jared's mouth tilts, almost approval. Leah doesn't smile, but the edge of her support her words.
Paul leans back, tosses the grin back. "White wolves and their big ideas."
Sam steps a half pace forward. Not much. Enough. "No one here has big ideas," he says. "We have work."
He turns to the board. The dry-erase squeaks. "Roster for the week. Embry, west. Jared, east access. Leah with me, the ravine turn. Paul, north road. Ana hall post and south perimeter with Rina." His eyes flick to me for a breath. "You don't cross near their drive unless someone bleeds."
"Understood," I say.
Paul makes a noise. "So we just hang out while Princess Swan gets her fairy tale."
"Don't call her that," Leah says, quiet and sharp at once.
"What?" Paul spreads his hands. "She's choosing it."
"Not our business," Sam says. He caps the marker harder than the cap deserves. "We keep order. That's the job."
"That line works until it doesn't," Paul says.
"Then we handle that," Sam says. "Not this."
The room breathes, in and out, not sure whose lungs to use. Billy clears his throat once. It's soft, but it shifts something.
"I've seen a lot of weddings," he says. "Most of 'em end without police." He glances at Sam. "Let's not be the reason this one doesn't."
Quil huffs a half laugh he didn't mean to let out. Even Paul's grin falters at the corners.
Sam looks down the list again like it can change if he stares hard enough. "Radio check top of every hour," he says. "No solo runs. If you feel the pressure rise, you call. I don't care if you think you can handle it. You might. You won't get points for trying alone."
Embry raises a finger. "Food?"
"Bring your own," Rina says from the door. "And no leaving wrappers in my truck."
"Your truck is a wrapper," Embry says.
"Try me," she says, with warmth under it.
The talk starts to scatter the way it does when a meeting is over but no one wants to be the first to stand. Chairs scrape. The room finds its normal noise.
Paul stays put, eyes on me like he wants a last poke. "You keep sayin' quiet like it's a plan."
"It's not a plan," I say. "It's a hope with a job."
Leah's mouth tilts. "Write that on the sign."
"Don't tempt me," Sue says.
Sam ignores us and prints NO DRAMA in the corner of the board like he hates words and uses them anyway.
Outside, the sky's gone that solid gray that means the rain's done playing nice. The air feels tight, like a storm's still thinking it over. I step onto the stoop and breathe it in until the cold settles deep.
Jared and Embry talk by the fence in low voices about brakes like they're talking about anything but brakes. Leah squints at the trees and makes a small map with her eyes. Billy wheels toward the door, nods to me like a neighbor, and is gone.
Paul shoulders past with a muttered, "Whatever," that means I heard the orders and I hated them. He flicks the toothpick into the gravel and doesn't pick it up. Rina makes a face and picks it up for him, tosses it in the can, then points two fingers at his back like a curse. He laughs without turning.
Sam stands at the edge of the lot, looking toward the river. He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. The set of his shoulders says tight lines, tight lines, until the words might as well be on the air.
I think about the lawn we won't step on, the dress we won't see, the faces we won't read. I think about the line between our trees and their house. I think about a boy laughing too big and the way he caught a falling kid like it was nothing.
Inside, Sue flips chairs onto tables and wipes the ring a coffee mug left. She glances up at me.
"You all right?" she asks.
"I'm fine," I say. It's half true. The other half is a knot.
She nods like she knows both halves. "It'll get louder before it gets quiet."
"Yeah," I say. "Feels like it."
By the time I reach the smokehouse, the first hard drops start. The door sticks again. I shoulder it and step in and listen to the rain decide itself on the roof. The heater coughs, catches, holds.
I sit on the cot and let the day run through me one more time, the circle, the board, Sam's voice, Paul's heat, Leah's edge, Embry's grin, Billy's calm. It adds up to something that isn't peace. It adds up to work.
Pressure's rising, I tell myself. Then I lay back and breathe like I can ride it out without pushing back yet.
Tomorrow will ask for steadier hands. I'll bring mine.
[
Hello, readers! This fanfic is complete. If you want to read ahead of the public release, you can access my Patreon. Thank you.
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]