The mop head frayed like a beaten broom, but it still pushed the cloudy water across the tiles. Lily's palms stung—too much bleach, too little sleep. She nudged the bucket with her knee, metal sloshing like a warning.
Room 12 smelled of pine and someone else's cologne, sharp and expensive. The mirror still carried streaks from the last guest. She swiped once, twice, caught her own eyes—red at the rims—and looked away.
Outside the window, the hotel pool glittered, empty except for a single yellow raft spinning in slow circles. A breeze lifted the plastic lounge chairs; they scraped the concrete like nails on glass.
She wrung the mop. A strand of black hair clung to the wringer. Not hers. Too long, too straight. Wolf hair. Her fingers froze.
The hallway carpet absorbed sound. That was why she didn't hear the elevator. It dinged anyway, cheerful, wrong.
She straightened. Her heartbeat thumped in her throat.
Footsteps. Even. Measured. Male.
The door stood open an inch. Through the crack, a suitcase wheel clicked over the tile.
She reached for the spray bottle—habit, nothing more. Cleaner wouldn't stop a wolf.
The footsteps stopped outside Room 12.
A knuckle tapped once, polite.
She didn't answer.
The door swung in.
He filled the frame: black hair tousled from wind, suit the color of midnight, tie half-pulled loose. Storm-blue eyes scanned the room like they still owned it.
Kade.
The bottle slipped, plastic smacking tile. Clear liquid pooled around her shoes.
His gaze dropped to the water, then lifted to her face. His pupils widened—shock, maybe fear.
She couldn't breathe.
Behind him, the hallway light flickered, buzzing.
He stepped inside. The door clicked shut.
The room shrank.
Her hand brushed the cart handle—metal, cold, real. She gripped it.
He opened his mouth, closed it. His throat moved.
She saw the suitcase then—sleek, silver corners battered. One latch had popped. Inside, plastic gleamed.
A dart.
Orange-feathered, needle sharp, lying quiet against folded shirts.
Her gaze flicked to his.
He saw her see it.
His fingers tightened on the handle.
She stepped back. Cart wheels squealed.
Outside, a child laughed—distant, poolside, unaware.
Kade lifted his free hand, palm up, like calming a stray.
She shook her head once—small, fast.
The laundry cart behind her rocked. A tiny sneeze came from under the folded sheets.
His eyes snapped to the sound.
She lunged, blocking his view.
Another sneeze—smaller, higher.
His chest rose, fell. He leaned sideways, trying to see.
She shoved the cart hard. It rolled, bumping his shin.
He didn't flinch.
The sheets shifted. A silver eye peeked through a hole in the fabric.
Kade's breath caught—audible.
The eye blinked.
Finn.
Kade's hand moved toward the sheet.
Lily slapped it away.
They stared at each other—her chest heaving, his jaw locked.
Somewhere outside, the yellow raft bumped the pool edge, popped, and hissed.
He stepped sideways; she mirrored.
The dart lay inches from his shoe.
He bent.
She kicked the suitcase lid. It slammed on his fingers.
He hissed, yanked free.
She grabbed the spray bottle, aimed.
He raised both hands.
For three heartbeats, no one moved.
Then the sheets erupted. Daisy sat up, hair wild, cheeks flushed. "Mom, I'm hot."
Kade's gaze softened—hurt, wonder, something deeper.
Finn popped up beside his sister, thumb in mouth, eyes identical to the man's.
Kade's arms lowered, helpless.
Lily's throat burned.
The window latch clattered—wind again.
Kade looked at the twins, at the dart, at her.
His voice came rough. "I—"
She didn't wait. She shoved the cart hard into his gut, twisted the handle, and rammed the emergency bar on the side door.
Aluminum flew open—sunlight blinded.
She pushed the cart onto the concrete walkway.
Twins squealed as wheels bumped.
Behind her, Kade's footsteps pounded.
She ran.
The cart hit a lip in the sidewalk, jolted, tipped.
She caught Daisy mid-air, Finn by his shirt.
Kade burst outside.
She bolted across the empty road.
A shuttle bus blared its horn, screeching brakes.
She leapt onto the median, twins clutched tight.
The bus blocked Kade's path.
Through windows, his eyes locked on hers—silver now, pleading.
She turned, ran into the pine trees.
Needles slapped her arms.
Twins quiet—too quiet.
She didn't stop until the hotel roof vanished behind trunks.
Then she set them down, knelt.
Daisy whispered, "Was that Daddy?"
Lily's chest cracked.
Finn pointed back.
A black wolf stood at the tree line—tall, ears forward, no sound.
Around its neck, orange dart feathers fluttered like a flag.
Behind it, tires squealed—more cars, doors slamming.
Men's voices: "Track the silver pups."
The wolf's ears twitched.
He looked at her one last second, then spun and vanished into the road.
A shout.
A thud.
Silence.
Lily grabbed the twins, heart hammering.
She waited for paws, for footsteps—nothing.
Only the distant echo of a suitcase snapping shut.