Текст книги "Alphas burden"

Автор книги: Luna lark

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3CADEN

Avery’s scent follows me long after I let her go. I do my best to finish checking the borders with it tickling my nose. It’s distracting. Far sweeter than I remember when I last caught it on the wind.

I shouldn’t be able to pick up her scent still. Not at this distance, diluted by the smells of nature and other packmates as I venture closer to more populated areas.

Even as an alpha shifter, my heightened senses have a limit. So how the hell am I aware of exactly which direction she’s in on this mountain right now?

Scrubbing my face, I dismiss it as my damn imagination conspiring with my lack of sleep to toy with me.

I know this land like the back of my hand. I’ve committed every mossy patch, every trickling stream, every tree hollow to memory since I was a pup knowing it would become mine to guard and protect when it was my time to take over the responsibility for my father as his successor.

Of course I know where Avery Morgan is. It’s the alpha’s duty to always be aware of his enemies.

Tonight is the full moon. As shifters, our connection to it and the moon goddess is strongest on these nights. We run as a pack to honor the gift she bestowed on the first wolf to walk amongst man and nature. It’s a time of celebration every month, to guide the younger members of the pack coming of age for their first shift, but I’m not in the mood.

Coming off yet another territory squabble between elders doesn’t help. They’re debating over a stretch of land connecting their homes. I’ve been mediating it for them since I became Alpha. I swear, those crabby old bastards have been arguing over who the patch of sparse bushes and rocks belongs to for decades.

It’s not just the trivialities I often have to deal with on top of my day to day agenda. Something’s different today. It’s in the brisk autumn mountain air that’s made me off kilter, acting on odd impulses that I can’t justify—like that inexplicable incident with Avery. It’s growing more noticeable as the afternoon goes on.

Worse, since the moment I sent Avery away, my wolf has been acting strangely restless. He’s more interested in turning around and tracking her over the gnarled roots of the trail she took rather than finish the task at hand. I pointedly ignore the yank on my instincts, continuing my descent along the edge of my territory.

I squeeze my nape to alleviate the tight bunch of muscles, finding no relief. Hopefully when I go to fur later tonight, this agitation will cure itself.

Another waft of fresh honey and summer rain teases my nostrils. I cast a glare over my shoulder.

“You’ve got me nearly believing the pack’s whispers about you becoming a witch up here with this trickery,” I mutter.

The only response is the sway of the branches overhead and the screech of a hawk soaring through the clouds. It’s my memory that supplies the way Avery used to laugh when I told her something outlandish and how brightly her amber eyes would light up with amusement.

Gritting my teeth, I don’t hesitate before swinging my fist against a thick trunk with a growl. The bark splinters, fragments exploding everywhere. A deep crack travels up the wood in staggered breaks. It ends at the base of a large branch that creaks ominously before snapping free, crashing to the ground.

Those memories are off-fucking-limits.

Any happy memories of Avery were locked away the day her family betrayed us, going from our most trusted allies as my father’s beta to a threat when he challenged his alpha for the right to claim the pack.

I stare at the damage I’ve done to the tree and my knuckles. Black fur has sprouted on the back of my cut up hand and my nails have extended into claws. I heave a sigh as the angry gashes in my skin begin to mend thanks to the accelerated healing shifters are blessed with. They’re gone by the time I’ve made short work of breaking the fallen limb into smaller pieces to use for firewood at tonight’s bonfire.

A soft giggle alerts me to an audience peeking at me from behind a holly bush. Two children, a boy and a girl around age ten, step out when I wave them over. The girl bravely comes right up to me while the boy hovers behind her, glancing at me for permission.

I grimace. Kids were never wary of me when I was younger.

“Are you out here playing?” I ask.

The girl nods. They peer up at the abused tree with curious gazes.

Damn it. I hate anyone seeing me lose control. It’s bad enough I have to work daily to make this pack respect my leadership, even four years after I became Alpha at twenty. It was necessary to be firm to ensure they’d follow me when others thought there were other choices better suited to lead the pack than one as young as me.

The girl turns to me. “Are you sad?”

I frown. “No.”

“Mad?” She tilts her head. “Our Da goes into the trees behind our cabin to do that. Our Ma says he’s working on his frustrations.”

“No.” The furrow in my brow deepens with a new worry to add to my endless list. I’m not sure their family name—possibly Merryweather’s pups, but they could pass for the Farrows line with their eyes. “It’ll be dinnertime soon. About time you ran back to your dam, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Alpha,” they answer in unison.

“Go on now.”

I watch them scamper away, chasing each other in a zigzag along the trail until they reach the fork that leads towards the central part of the packlands. Once I no longer hear them, I work my jaw, scanning the wooded path along the borders the Blackburns have been guardians of for generations with a narrowed gaze.

My wolf chuffs in my head, tongue lolling from the side of his grinning maw. The bastard’s amusement is another unwanted irritation. His eagerness for tonight’s run has been impossible to ignore all day. While I’ve been taking care of preparations, he’s frequently pressed close against the thin veil that separates a shifter’s skin and beast forms. He’s ready to be in control as usual.

It’s not as though I don’t shift every chance I get outside of the full moon. Some packs only let their wolf out once or twice a month. I get too restless to go more than a few days. It’s a waste of a shifter’s power to stay in one form all the time.

I take his taunting as his desire for me to hurry up so we can run and hunt with our pack, gathering the broken up pieces of branch and tucking the bundle beneath my arm.

No, his voice echoes through my psyche, thunderous and commanding. Go back. Find the female.

Some days he deigns to communicate with me with words rather than simply influence my instincts. Usually when he’s being stubborn and wants something I’m not concerned with. Not all shifters can hear their wolf’s internal manifestation when they’re not in their fur, let alone converse with them.

The she-wolf smells good. We should hunt with her. She will be fast.

My brow furrows and I shake my head. He’s wrong. She doesn’t shift. There’s no wolf for us to run with. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.

He’s barking up the wrong tree. Or maybe he’s gone insane with moon sickness if he thinks I’d want that with Avery. When I take a step, he stops me in my tracks, pulling hard with the need to turn around. I ball my free hand into a fist with the effort to remain planted in place.

This needs to stop. It’s pissing me off now.

He has nothing else to say, growling as he turns around and flops down, tail thumping in agitation. Great, now he’s fucking pouting.

Being at odds with my wolf is a first for me. Typically we’re in harmony, agreeing on when to eat, when to assert our dominance, and when to mark what’s ours. As long as I give him enough time in fur, he lets me do what I need to when it comes to everything else. He doesn’t even have interest in chasing tail the way other males young and old always do, which works fine for me because I have enough on my hands managing pack matters to add juggling the attention of females who only want to fuck the alpha to lord the status over the others for a better cut of meat at dinner. It’s better if I don’t show anyone my favor to keep the rank-chasers from thinking I’ll choose them as a mate.

I don’t have time for any of this. Not with the impending summit.

This year it’s being hosted by Timber Hollow Pack’s alpha, Alistair Ryan. Packs from all over the region gather once a year as part of the accords between the groups of shifters that broke free from the Original Pack hundreds of years ago.

The pack was made up of direct descendants of the first shifters, and it died out thanks to the tyrannical rule of the successive line of power-hungry alphas driving its people away. Those that made their new settlements in the surrounding areas banded together in a treaty for alliance and prosperity while other groups went out into the world until the shifter population grew, rivaling today’s human population globally.

Beyond the harsh terrain of Wanderer’s Canyon to the far south, where feral and rogue shifters roam in their wolf forms, the wasteland known as the Deadlands serves as a warning to all shifters in the region of our history before we worked together peacefully.

If all goes well, I’ll be able to improve trade between Silver Falls, Timber Hollow, and our other nearest neighbor, Crescent Valley Pack. It’ll be my first time pushing for anything in this year’s accords. The last few winters have been harsh. Alistair’s pack and Crescent Valley both have better resources than we do on the mountain to sustain them throughout the year, which has only grown more challenging since I made the decision to cut back on unsanctioned travel off packlands.

I spent the most time in Timber Hollow’s territory when other packs hosted me as heir apparent to Silver Falls as part of the peace agreement. It’s a way for those who are next in line can build relationships between nearby packs for trade and learn different methods to lead. It’s Silver Falls’ turn to host Alistair’s heir. I’m hoping that will make Alistair want to support my bid for an updated trade agreement between our packs.

I peer through the trees as the path curves around the south face of the mountain. The forest where Timber Hollow Pack lives is just visible in the distance past the foothills and woods surrounding Ashbury between our territories.

Visiting other packs opened my eyes to many things that make an alpha worthy of leading their pack, but those weeks down in that forest only made me want to come back here. They interact the most with humans and their technology out of all of us, and it was exhausting to regulate control over my more wild behaviors for their sake. Besides, the lake in Timber Hollow doesn’t compare to the natural springs dotting the mountain. I missed hiking to the highest point for the best view in the region and the falls…and⁠—

I cut myself off from reminiscing about what it is that makes this mountain home, tearing my gaze from a fallen leaf that’s the right shade of amber to match⁠—

Fuck. No. I blow out a terse breath and roll my neck, stretching a tense knot from my shoulders.

The interaction with Avery refuses to leave my head, poisoning every thought and bringing my awareness back to her no matter how much I steer myself away. If I don’t address it head on, she’ll own my mind the rest of the night.

A snort jerks my head. This shouldn’t surprise me by now. After all, none of the Morgan clan turned out to be who my family thought they were.

Yet I’m stuck on her. More than I should be, noticing more than I allow myself to.

Like the dark circles smudged beneath her eyes. How lean she’s grown ahead of the winter season.

The way the afternoon light catches on her golden light brown hair. The shape of her expressive mouth. The challenge in her eyes that always makes the blood in my veins pump faster. I bring my thoughts to a halt once more.

Noticing anything about Avery is a dangerous path. One I don’t grant myself permission to venture. Not anymore.

Not since her father challenged mine a mere week after I returned home from Timber Hollow Pack.

I swipe a hand over my mouth, turning the encounter earlier over in my head. There’s something I want to pin down about it that bothers me more than usual—other than the obvious way my wolf reacted to her rebellious attitude with interest—yet it evades me. What was she doing all the way at the edge of that border when she lives by the northernmost part of the territory?

I write the fixation off as part of my dedication to ensuring my pack is safe and cared for. Even traitors like her who live one step above banishment. Every shifter within this territory is my responsibility.

“I don’t need this right now,” I grumble.

Frowning at the picturesque view below the mountainside speckled in an array of oranges, reds, and yellows, I scratch my chest to rid myself of the phantom sensation of a spark attempting to flicker to life.

“What are you doing?”

I still at the voice, shocked I was so lost in thought that I didn’t sense my second in command approaching. “Liam.”

He dips his head in greeting, attention pausing on my shirt with a raised brow. I stop scratching and drop my hand, along with the bundle of wood.

“Itching to go to fur? Me too.” He ruffles his dark brown hair with a lopsided grin. “Wolf’s been acting up even though I went for a long hunt last night. You’d think he’d found his mate.”

My lips quirk. I appreciate that he’s never one to pry. He’s been with me through everything. We’ve grown up together from pups. Once I was officially named heir at fifteen, I knew I’d appoint my best friend as my top lieutenant. There was no other choice I’d trust more than him for the role of my beta.

For the briefest second, I consider the possibility that an impending mate bond is my wolf’s problem, quickly dismissing it. He’s never taken much interest in any female in the pack before. I’ve also never heard of a fated pairing with a Wolfless shifter. An arranged mating, sure. As far as I know, no Wolfless has ever awoken a mating bond with someone.

Avery’s the only Wolfless currently in our pack. Any we had in the past were blotted out when a wolf didn’t emerge at coming of age ceremonies, driven from the territory or put down for tainting bloodlines with weakness. My jaw clenches. It’s not how things are done around here anymore.

“Always is when there's a full moon.”

“I don’t know how some of the other packs out there handle not running whenever they want.” He shudders. “It doesn’t seem right.”

I shrug. “They’re traditionalists. They go by the oldest of ways, respecting the moon goddess’ cycle. I couldn’t live like that permanently, but it wasn’t so bad when I spent time with the nomadic Tullut in the remote northern tundra during my time traveling to different packs. It makes you appreciate the shift more.” My mouth stretches with a taunting smirk. “Teaches you how to maintain a harmonious balance with your wolf so you learn not to give in every time they want you to do stupid shit.”

His expression mirrors mine. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve got us all beat there. Are you done up here? The border line is good. I checked it myself this morning.”

There’s still one stretch left, but I let it go with a nod. “I got some extra wood for the bonfire.”

Liam eyes the pile at my feet skeptically. “Wood? Those are twigs at best.”

I exhale in amusement. “Shut up.”

Gathering wood with him is the most normal I’ve felt all day. But as we follow the trail back to the center of the packlands, the odd sensation of flickering dances through my chest again.

4AVERY

The rest of the walk back to the cottage I share with Beatrix and Lena only takes minutes, except every step feels wrong somehow. Maybe I’m still coming down from the adrenaline of crossing paths with Caden.

When I reach the crooked gate Bea helped me build as a project to distract ourselves the first year we moved up here, I breathe easier. The wood’s seen better days. We did what we could with the pieces we salvaged from the group assigned to manage the carpentry supply for the pack. Even though the scrap wood cost us twice the trade value than it should’ve because we’re Morgans, it makes the place feel slightly homier.

The dilapidated tiny house is one of the original ones built on the mountain, dating back to the shifters that settled here to start Silver Falls Pack once they broke away from the first pack to exist. And it shows its age after being uninhabited for decades. The roof is in disrepair, there are cracks in the pockmarked stone steps, the door is hanging on for dear life to its creaky hinges. One of the narrow arched lattice windows has a chip from a hailstorm that’s splintered outward with a fracture line.

We do everything we can to keep the place standing, though the cobbled stone foundation is deteriorating faster than I know how to patch with mud and whatever stones I’m able to collect. Last year I picked the sloping field behind the cottage clean to repair a corner.

It’s not much, but it’s ours now. Our love for each other fills the small space to make it a home.

I check my garden before heading in. It was hell to get this land to cooperate with me, but I won out as the more stubborn one in the end.

There was some help I received to get my garden to take. She caught me by chance in the woods, desperation driving me to search for food when we didn’t receive enough the first week here.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My head snapped up, searching my surroundings until I spotted the source of the voice. A woman. I should be alone out here, but there she was walking through the woods. I didn’t hear her at all.

The stranger had braided dark hair threaded through with strands of silver. I couldn’t tell her age, she could be near mine, or maybe older. Her face held an ethereal quality to match the clothes she wore—a colorful mix of shawls lined with tassels and trinkets over a layered skirt that resembled the vines of a willow tree.

No one was with her, and she definitely didn’t belong on packlands. I’d never seen the woman before. Yet the woods seemed to welcome her, straining towards the path she walked as if she were their sun.

She surveyed me with a playful smirk. My hackles rose, already at my breaking point after the week I’ve had. After having everything taken from me, and learning none of the people I thought I could rely on were really my friends.

I sat on my haunches, not caring about the mud caked on my shoes and ankles. I would go to my favorite swimming hole later to wash before I dared bathe in my new prison.

She snorted when I lifted my nose to scent the air. My shoulders hunched. There was no way she could tell I didn’t even feel a hint of my wolf yet, right?

“I mean, if you’re doing it because you like the thrill of danger, by all means.” She waved her hand. “I’m not one for the nausea that will cause if you eat it, no matter how pretty and tasty it appears.”

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to drop the mushroom I found. She was tricking me. She wanted my food for herself.

“Who are you? How are you here?” I asked, though I already had an idea of what she could be after she appeared here out of nowhere.

Her laughter sounded like bells, tinkling and bright. “I go where I please, as do my sisters and brothers.” She strolled closer, perching on a nearby slab of rock. “I’m beholden to no borders. No wards, either.”

“So you are a witch?” I choked out, suspicion confirmed.

She spread her arms wide, showing off the crystals dangling from her colorful shawls. “What of it, little wolf girl? What will you do to me?”

A witch shouldn’t be here. Every shifter knew not to trust witches. They were our allies at one time, then they wanted to control us as their attack dogs, to use our power and numbers to boost their own.

“Get out of here!” I bared my teeth. “These are packlands. You can’t be here. The alpha will—he’ll…”

I slumped back, breathing hard to erase the moment of my father’s death that looped in my head nonstop. Tears flowed freely. I didn’t think I had any left to spill.

A gentle touch to my shoulder startled me. She drew me into her arms for a hug, hushing me when I broke down. I clung to her, letting everything out, and she held me through it.

When I calmed down, she took the mushroom and pointed out how poisonous it was, explaining the signs to look for. Nature had all sorts of signals. Patterns of certain leaf numbers, common lookalikes, and colorings to tip off if it’s safe or not.

I stared in awe as she transfigured the mushroom into a small pile of blackberries on the altar she made on the rock out of a velvet bag of shells she had tied to her hip. She explained something about equal value exchange, but I wasn’t listening, too busy eating the berries.

“Plants are my specialty,” she said. “I’m only passing through, but I found a nice field over this ridge, just past your wards. Come see me. I’ll show you how to avoid death by poison.”

“Why would you help me?” I mumbled.

She smiled. “Give and take. All things work on balance. I help you when you need it, and someday you’ll return it.”

Throughout that summer I couldn’t get her to tell me what she meant by that. She did give me her name, Jade. Her coven is nomadic, following the ley lines, pools of natural magic, around the world. She’s since moved on, but the months she spent beyond the border, I snuck out to meet with her.

She taught me about foraging and what other ways to use what I find or grow. Her guidance, like the advice she gave me to plant sunflowers first to revitalize the soil, was invaluable to our survival up here the first year when the kitchens wouldn’t give us a full ration depending on who had distribution duty.

A smile tugs at my mouth as I stroll past the potatoes and the herbs I’ve cultivated from foraging, and from seeds I traded for to the quarantined plants at the far end, their pots clearly marked with poison labels.

In the seven years since I met the witch, I’ve learned so much, finding a new passion for studying every plant and experimenting to figure out its uses. The pack’s designated head healer doesn’t recognize half of the ailments easily soothed by what the land provides all around us. The lazy old male’s too reliant on our natural recovery abilities as shifters when he could be helping more.

“Stop obsessing over your babies, they’ve been fine and haven’t grown an inch without your supervision while you’ve been gone,” Beatrix calls from one of the open windows.

“How would you know? You never come out to tend to them for me,” I tease.

She rolls her eyes. “I saw what happened when you got that nasty rash. No freaking thank you.”

My heart warms as I make my way inside. At seventeen now, she’s growing to look like the spitting image of our mother, her and Lena both getting Mom’s lighter blonde hair while I have more of Dad’s caramel tones streaking mine. I miss both of them so much, but at least I have my sisters.

Losing Mom is what drove our father to do what he did, I think. I remember overhearing him arguing with the alpha about looking for her when she went missing after a run. Shifters sometimes get lost if they’re pulled too far tracking an interesting scent, or if they spend too much time in their fur the wolf can lose the human side, returning to our original nature.

I don’t know what to believe happened to our mother. There weren’t any signs of her turning feral. She was happily mated to Dad in a True Mate bond and loved to take us out on girls-only exploration trips. Was that a hint that she wanted to leave us? I don’t like to dwell on it, because I can’t change it now. I don’t have the luxury of time to sit around dissecting the past when there’s always so much to be done.

“Did you bring us anything?” Bea asks when I come through the door.

I pause from unloading my satchel on the table, setting aside the wire and some extra secondhand tools the man from the market threw in simply because he was eager to boast to his stall neighbors he’d traded with a shifter.

The main area of the house is one room we divide into our eating area by the sink and ancient wood burning stove, the bed Lena and Beatrix share shoved into the alcove in the corner, and the rest is nearly overtaken by my herb workbench by the windows. I’ve grown from having one bench to a whole corner overflowing with hanging plants and drying cuttings, potted propagations and seeds I’m coaxing to grow on the windowsill, and my tools.

Bea blinks her big brown eyes at me hopefully. “Say yes. For Lena, I mean. You know she loves a sweet treat.”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “I got these in exchange for a vial of dried hyssop and lavender. One for each of you.”

She squeals in delight at the matching pink sticks of rock candy I pull from one of the pockets. I grunt when she barrels into my side for a fierce hug. Her wolf is making her stronger every day. I have no doubt when she comes of age in another year, she’ll be celebrating her first shift during a full moon run like tonight.

Lena’s the one that worries me. I fear she’ll be Wolfless like me.

I wish there were others in the pack to ask about the signs, but I’m the only one. A crabby Merryweather elder told me when my coming of age ceremony didn’t result in a shift that I should consider myself lucky the pack won’t allow Wolfless to be killed to keep bloodlines strong anymore before he spat at my feet.

Crossing the cramped space to my workbench, I pluck the liatris petals and leaves, depositing them in a bowl to grind later once they’ve dried out. Then I take one of the small knives from the leather roll sitting to the side, slicing the stem to small pieces. Next I add them to another bowl with a pinch of calendula flowers and a scoop of orange powder beneficial for inflammations from the row of vials on a spice shelf above the workbench.

I mash it together with a pestle and pour in a dollop of honey as Beatrix brings me a cup of hot water without being asked. She’s watched me make poultices daily in the last week for Lena’s cold.

“Thanks,” I murmur before adding just enough water to moisten the ingredients to hold them together in a paste.

When it’s ready, I nudge the frail lump bundled beneath the covers, perching on the bed. Lena stretches with a yawn from her nap.

“Hey, buttercup.”

“You’re back.” She’s groggy, her voice crackling.

“I’m back. Don’t let Bea tell you I didn’t bring anything.” I help her lean up against the headboard and carefully prod her throat. “Good, the swelling’s a little better today. How do you feel?”

“Just sleepy.”

“Your throat doesn’t hurt?”

She lowers her lashes. It’s not her fault her health is fragile. It’s mine.

In the winter during our first year living here, she caught a terrible pneumonia. She almost died and I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. It was bad enough I went down to the healer to beg him to help her because she was only seven, no one had a right to hate her for her name. He refused, slamming the door in my face.

I’ll never fail her like that again.

I reach for the bowl. “Here. Let me put this on you anyway. Then you can have the rock candy I got you.”

She tips her chin up obediently, used to the unpleasant feeling of her throat smeared with the mashed herbal treatment. I hum while I apply it, then clean my hands and bring her the candy and a cup of ginger tea Beatrix made. Smiling, I comb her hair with my fingers.

A timid knock sounds at the back door. I stop what I’m doing and glance at Beatrix.

“It’s for you,” she says without looking up from the potato she’s returned to skinning for dinner.

I kiss Lena’s head before getting up. “I know. I’m expecting this one.”

The knock comes again, with a tad more force when I collect the sachet waiting on my workbench. I lift my brows when I open the back door.

“Sorry.” The girl waiting is a couple years younger than me with unkempt hair and a fading bruise on her cheek, a shocking contrast to how put together she was when we were in school together. She bounces a chubby baby on her hip, glancing at the woods every few seconds. “I don’t have much time before he’ll be back.”

My lips press into a thin line. If it were up to me, I’d love to give her something stronger than the monthly dose of valerian root to knock her horrible mate out early for the night so he’ll leave her the hell alone. I’d even give it to her for the same price as the sedative, because like anyone from old Cormac’s brood, he’s a close-minded, short-tempered thug.

“Do you want a salve for your cheek? It’ll help with the swelling,” I offer.

She gives a feeble shake of her head. “Can’t. Don’t want him noticing me doing anything different. It’s healing fast enough on its own.”

I grimace, imagining how bad it must’ve been for it to still be puffy. When I offer the sachet, she takes it quickly, slipping it into the pocket of her loose smock dress. She turns to leave with a muttered thanks.

“Wait, Nina. Your payment.” As sympathetic as I am to what she endures with her unfortunate arranged mating, I need whatever she’s bartering with more.

She freezes on the stoop, lip quivering. “I—I forgot, I’m sorry. We’ve got a lot of meat this week. Can I give you some of that?”

I nod. “Food will always be accepted as a fair exchange.”

“Okay. I don’t have it with me. It’s hard enough coming up the mountain discreetly. People will talk if they see me on the same path today,” she mumbles, hushing her fussy baby. “Come down to the back of my cabin just after sundown? Trent will be at the gathering early with the security team. I can sneak it to you better that way instead of trying to come all the way up here.”

The security team Trent’s part of is bullshit. It’s part of Cormac Blackburn’s—Caden’s uncle—not the official pack guards.

I chew the inside of my cheek in consideration. It would be wiser to refuse her so word doesn’t get around that I’m going soft on my payment terms with the females in the pack. They visit me in secret despite my family’s disgraced reputation. It’s my new one they care about when they come for the herbal remedies and concoctions I provide that they can’t get from the regular healer.

Normally, I avoid a full moon bonfire night whenever I can. When I attend, I’m at a disadvantage. But she’s right, it’s the only way people won’t be suspicious if they see someone with a large pack of food heading away from the dining pavilion outside of a distribution day.