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Hani is silent as he carries her up the creaking stairs. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have tolerated being held like this, not for this long, but she still has her arms locked tight around his neck, her face buried in his still aching shoulder. He shifts her in his arms, freeing one hand to brush some of her wild curls out of his face. She still smells like maple syrup.
“Why is Alpha mad at Theo?”
Her voice is so quiet, nearly drowned out by the drumming rain and the groaning of the old stairs. He might not have known she’d spoken at all if it weren’t for her warm breath against his neck.
“I don’t think Alpha is angry,” he murmurs, “I think they’re worried.”
“Did…did Theo do something bad?”
They reach their room and Farro carefully sets her down. Hani looks somehow both younger and very grown up in the dim light of the hall. Her rain jacket is too big on her, hanging almost to her knees, the sleeves rolled back three times to keep her hands free. She’s looking up at him, her enormous brown eyes unusually serious. He kneels down so that she doesn’t have to crane her head back. Downstairs, the pack still murmurs to one another, their discontent practically a physical presence in the pub. It’s echoed by the moon’s distant call to action. Call to hunt. The lack of howling is almost deafening.
“I don’t know,” he says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “I don’t think so, but,” he draws his hand down his face, scratches at his beard with a sigh. He’s having a difficult time cataloging the strange series of events that lead him to this moment himself. He can’t imagine what this all must look like to her. Bright, inquisitive Hani, who has a million questions on a perfectly average day.
“I don’t think Theo did anything wrong,” she whispers, “I think she’s nice. I don’t think she would do something mean, or try to trick us.”
Farro’s heart twists, and he tries to smile. He doesn’t feel particularly successful at it.
“I hope you’re right, pumpkin.”
“Do you like Theo?”
“I--” he hesitates, his hands still resting on her tiny shoulders. She’s staring up at him, eyebrows raised and he sighs again, getting to his feet, “it’s late, Hani, very late.”
“Do you?”
He looks back down at her, bracing his hands on his hips.
He’s used to Hani’s impossible questions by now. She’s overflowing with them, and he’s learned by now how to drift on that unending tide. How to admit that he doesn’t know everything, far from it. But, this question isn’t difficult to answer. And that realization alone scares the shit out of him.
“Yes, I do. I like her very much.”
For the first time since they’ve returned to the pub, Hani smiles, dimples flashing in her cheeks. She looks so much like Brianna when she smiles. He reaches out, pinches her cheek gently, smiling when she bats his hand away.
“Will you tell Alpha that Theo is nice,” she says, holding his hand away from her face. Her fingers are completely dwarfed by his own, “so that they won’t worry anymore?”
“I will, pumpkin. Now, it’s time for bed.”
The room Phill had given them is quiet, tucked away at the back of the pub. The view isn’t much, it looks out into the alleyway behind the pub, but it is quiet and surprisingly cozy, with the rain tapping against the window, the light from the street lamp muted by the heavy curtains. Hani had fallen asleep almost the second her head hit the pillow. Farro watches her, curled up beside him as he sits up against the headboard. Her auburn hair a halo around her still face. He flicks off the lamp, lays down, careful not to shift the bed too much. Roe had texted him, informing him that Kiki and Omar were on watch, that a few other wolves were prowling the streets as well. He and Hani can rest now. Nothing will be approaching the pub without the pack’s knowledge. Fatigue drags at him, but he can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, Theo’s pale, stricken face stares back at him.
He should have said something. Should have spoken up. But what was he supposed to say? Tell his alpha she was innocent? That whatever was going on here, if her pack was involved or not, Theo wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him or Hani. What evidence did he have of that? A stirring in his chest that he hadn’t felt in years? Was his alpha supposed to risk their entire pack on the claim that she was a good person, based purely on the fact that Theo was kind to his daughter?
He scrubs at his tired eyes, rolling over on his side. Sleep seems unlikely tonight. He thought Theo would have kept him awake for a very different reason. That he’d be too busy kicking himself for not asking for her number. That the image he couldn’t rid from his head was of her smiling up at him as she shook his hand. Of her unseasonably short sundress. Not her staring up at him, eyes wide and pleading as his packmates claws dug into her arms.
He sits up, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars sparkle behind his lids. He should have fucking said something. Should have told the Alpha that she’d been just as surprised as he’d been, that she’d be the one bearing the scar from a silver blade if he hadn’t pushed her. His head falls back against the headboard with a dull thunk. The rain is picking up, sounding almost like small pebbles striking the window pane. He reaches for his phone. Maybe he could call Roe, or at least text them, give them a better idea of what happened. His phone is on top of Hani's notebook, perfectly framed by the thin strip of light falling in through the window. He picks it up, then looks down at the notepad beneath it. Small, spiral bound, covered with so many stickers he can’t tell what color the original cover is anymore. Many pages are dogeared, and there are colorful tabs sticking out on several of the warped pages. He glances down at Hani's sleeping form. She’s allowed him to read through a few entries before, under her watchful eye, but there’s only one that’s of any interest to him tonight. The notebook somehow feels fuller than when he’d originally bought it for her. So much of Hani is imbued in these pages that she’s added a tangible weight to it. He turns to the last page.
Interview with Theodora (Theo) Jackson. March 2nd 2019 8:38 P.M.
It takes some time to decipher her scrawling script, especially in the dim light and with his tired, itchy eyes, but he pushes through. He reads about how Theo hates artificial cherry flavor, but loves fresh cherries. About how if she could go anywhere in the world, she’d go to the lake where her mother taught her to swim. He reads until a headache begins to build behind his eyes, and he reads some more. He combs through pages of his daughter’s childish handwriting, scouring for every piece of Theo he can find, collecting fragments and scraps until he can assemble something that resembles a person. Resembles the woman who sat next to him in a sticky vinyl booth, hiding her amusement behind her napkin, but catching his eye over Hani's head. Smiling at him like the two of them were already in on some private joke.
It isn’t much. Mostly superficial things, like favorite foods (lemon pound cake), favorite color (yellow to look at, green to wear) but there are a few lines that he lingers on. That she loves the smell of warm grass. That she loves Carly Simon and Joni Mitchell, because her mother loved them. Disjointed sentences about a clearing in a dense, old forest. A place to finally settle. Somewhere to call home. A fire that burned hot and fast, and the long, lonely year that followed.
He hadn’t been able to catch everything she’d said during the interview. The pub had been loud, and Theo was angled away from him, her attention entirely on Hani, but he’d heard the way she had adopted almost a drawl when she talked about her old pack. When she talked about her mother. He’d watched the way her shoulders had grown tense, but she still smiled at Hani, her voice honeyed and soft.
Do you miss your old pack?
All the time
He closes the notebook, sets it back in the exact position he found it. There’s more, a dozen questions more but his head is swimming, the ache in his temples building to a steady throb. He closes his eyes. Remembers the way Theo’s anguish had settled into numbness with practiced ease as her packmate’s tinny voice echoed from her phone,
“He’s dead… our alpha is dead.”
Hani rolls over with a muffled groan, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. He curls an arm around her, drawing her in and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Tomorrow, he’ll talk to Roe. Tomorrow, he’ll try to make it right.