Chapter 53: Smallprint
Immortality really is real, I’ve stumbled into it with this cursed meeting. It’s been going on so long my eyes are burning.
We’re gathered around the wooden table in Vaela’s office surrounded by maps, books, screens, territory markers and enough paperwork to collapse a lesser government. Somewhere in the last two hours we moved from discussing my training schedule into debating my entire future.
The problem is that everyone in the room is convinced they’re being reasonable. Vaela wants me staying here in the mountains where I can train, learn, shift and apparently discover whatever terrifying thing everyone keeps implying I am. The guys want me home where they can keep an eye on me, keep me safe and continue running the daycare without having to drive a good hour or two every five minutes.
Vaela is granite, absolutely no give. Raulf keeps making practical suggestions nobody listens to. River keeps quietly offering compromises. Jax keeps getting distracted by snacks. Leo keeps looking personally offended by the concept of me living anywhere he isn’t. Corrian has entered that terrifyingly polite stage where he’s one inconvenience away from becoming deeply impolite. Ezra has his arms folded and hasn’t spoken the entire time.
Meanwhile I’m slowly dying. My soul leaves my body somewhere around the fourth discussion about travel logistics and doesn’t return until I slap both palms onto the table hard enough to make everyone stop talking.
"Okay. Stop."
I point at Vaela. "You’re right." Then I point at the guys. "And unfortunately so are you lot."
Jax beams. "Knew it."
"You don’t know what I’m going to say." I grit the words out.
"I support it anyway." Jax winks at me and shoves another handful of peanuts into his mouth.
I ignore him. "Look, staying here makes sense. I’m with family, away from people. If I accidentally explode or or whatever we’re expecting me to do, there are fewer innocent bystanders involved."
"You’re not going to explode," Vaela says.
"The point is, we don’t even know what’s going to happen, right?"
Raulf coughs into his fist. I continue before anybody can interrupt.
"I can train here. Learn stuff. Screw up without fifty toddlers watching. But I can also go home. We can switch between the two. I’ll stay here first, one or two of you stay with me so I don’t spend the next however long vomiting into decorative baskets, and then we’ll figure it out as we go."
For a second nobody says anything.
Corrian leans forward, the look he gives me is so earnest it physically hurts. "Frankie."
My stomach tightens. Because Corrian only uses that voice when he’s about to emotionally devastate me.
"We want you to be happy." He smiles. "But we’re a pack."
There it is.
"And we need you home with us."
Sincerity pours off him and punches straight through every defence I have. Not because they’re possessive. Not because they’re controlling. If anything, that would be easier to fight. What makes them dangerous is that he means them completely. There’s no demand hidden beneath the statement. No expectation or attempt to manipulate me. It’s simply the truth as he sees it. Home.
My gaze drifts around the table. Five men looking exhausted, worried and determined all at once.
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. "I know."
His fingers close around mine.
"We’ll make it work." I sigh out.
The moment the words leave my mouth, Ezra smirks.
"No." The smirk widens.
"What?" Vaela snaps at him.
Ezra calmly reaches into a leather folder beside him. "I thought you’d say that."
Dread crawls up my throat. Ever since the city, Ezra has been more and more protective. He’s determined that I’m in sight at all times.
"Which is why I’d like to draw your attention to," He removes a document. "The contract you signed when you accepted employment at the daycare."
I stare right at him, there’s no anger in his face, triumph maybe.
I point to the piece of paper. "What contract?"
"Your employment contract." He pushes it towards me.
"I didn’t read that."
"Obviously," His smile becomes positively feline. "The small print is particularly interesting."
"Ezra." I say a whole paragraph in that one word.
Beside me Jax whispers, delighted, "Oh, this is going to be good."
He slides the contract across the table toward me and I experience the exact same feeling people must get when they realise they’ve accidentally stepped on a landmine.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Ezra, it’s that no good thing has ever begun with the phrase the small print is particularly interesting.
I snatch it off the table before anyone can stop me and begin flipping pages. The document looks innocent enough at first glance. Employment terms. Salary. Benefits. Holiday entitlement. Procedures. Policies. The sort of paperwork nobody actually reads because life is too short and bureaucracy is the enemy of joy. I find a highlighted section.
My eyes skim the paragraph once. Then twice. Then a third time because surely I have misunderstood. According to the very carefully worded clause buried in the small print, by accepting employment within the daycare I have agreed that in situations concerning my health, safety, welfare, security, supernatural development, or any circumstances deemed extraordinary, decision-making authority may temporarily transfer to the directors of the organisation. Directors. Plural.
My gaze slowly lifts toward the five men sitting around the table.
The room is silent. Everyone’s frowning, a mix of confusion and concern. Ezra’s entirely too calm. Beside me, Vaela lets out a low growl that rattles the glasses on the table. Raulf makes an even deeper sound that seems to come from somewhere near the centre of the earth.
"What," I say very carefully, "is this?"
Corrian turns toward Ezra. "What have you done?"
"I’ve done nothing." He says, examining his perfectly neat nails.
"You’ve definitely done something." River repeats.
Ezra looks up and keeps his eyes on me. "I legally protected our interests."
Leo looks horrified. "You put legal traps in her employment contract?"
"Not a trap." He confirms.
"It’s objectively a trap." Vaela says.
Ezra sighs as though everyone else is being unreasonable.
Before the argument can escalate any further, I close the contract and place it very gently on the table. The gentleness is important because if I move too quickly I may actually throw it and everyone in this room through a window.
"I need to speak to Ezra." Every head turns toward me. "Alone."
"No," Vaela says immediately.
"No," Corrian agrees.
"Absolutely not," Leo adds.
Jax looks between us excitedly. "Are you gonna fight?"
I point at him. "Not helping."
"I appreciate the concern," I look at Vaela. "But unless one of you intends to physically restrain me, I’m having a conversation with him."
"Frankie—"
"No." The word cracks through the room harder than I intended.
I take a slow breath. "I’ve spent the last few weeks finding out that apparently every person in my life enjoys keeping secrets from me. I’m talking to him. Alone. Nobody follows us. Nobody listens. Nobody intervenes."
Vaela’s eyes narrow.
Mine narrow right back. For several long seconds neither of us moves. Until she leans back, conceding.
I stand before anyone changes their mind, the contract comes with me, so does my rapidly escalating irritation. I don’t check whether Ezra follows because I already know he will. I can feel him behind me as I stalk from the office, down long timber hallways and out through the front doors.
The cool mountain air hits my face. Pine trees sway overhead. Somewhere in the distance birds are singing. Nature is beautiful. Nature is peaceful. Nature is unfortunately not helping my mood.
I keep walking. Past cabins, training grounds, curious pack members pretending not to stare. The contract is crumpled in my fist by the time we reach the treeline.
Still I keep going.
The forest swallows us gradually. Voices disappear first, then the sounds of the compound. Eventually all that’s left is birdsong, wind through branches and the crunch of boots over pine needles. The deeper we go, the tighter my grip becomes on the paper. Anger simmers beneath my ribs, tangled together with affection, frustration, confusion and the deeply inconvenient awareness that I adore every single one of these idiots.
When the compound is finally far enough away that nobody can overhear us, I stop so abruptly that Ezra nearly walks into me.
I spin. The contract leaves my hand and smacks him directly in the face. The sound’s deeply satisfying. For one glorious second the paper sticks there before sliding slowly down his chest and fluttering onto the forest floor.
I point at it.
Then at him.
Then back at it again.
"What."
I take a breath.
"The."
Another breath.
"Actual."
My finger jabs toward the contract.
"Fuck, Ezra?"
