He swallowed.

"And I have no right to want any of it yet."

Evelyn crossed the kitchen.

One step. Then another.

His wolf surged toward her. Silas did not move.

She stopped close enough that her warmth reached him.

"You don't get to decide what you're allowed to feel," she said. "Only what you do with it."

"What do you want me to do with it?"

Her eyes dropped to his mouth.

The entire world narrowed to that movement.

Then Sophie pounded on the back door.

"There is no snow!"

Evelyn jumped.

Silas closed his eyes.

Ronan shouted through the glass, "We conducted a thorough investigation."

The moment broke into laughter and cold air.

Maeve returned the eggs. Evelyn directed Silas through a second attempt while Sophie supervised from the chair.

He burned only one side of the toast.

Progress.

They ate at the small kitchen table. Sophie drowned her eggs in ketchup. Evelyn drank coffee with milk but no sugar. Silas memorized it despite himself.

Sophie took one bite of toast and frowned.

"Daddy's was softer."

Silas's wolf resumed disliking breakfast.

Evelyn hid a smile behind her coffee. "How did Daddy make it?"

"Blue box."

"Frozen waffles," Evelyn translated.

Silas looked at the toaster. "He didn't make toast."

"Apparently your rival was a freezer."

Ronan pointed his fork at Silas. "This is excellent news. Appliances can be challenged formally."

"Eat."

"I would, but my toast has entered hospice."

Sophie pushed half her ketchup-covered eggs toward Silas. "You can have mine."

He looked at the small, ruined portion offered with complete trust.

"Thank you."

"Mommy says we don't waste food."

"A noble principle."

He ate the eggs.

They were cold and tasted almost entirely of ketchup.

His wolf regarded them as tribute.

Halfway through breakfast, Evelyn's phone rang.

The bank.

She answered on speaker at Miriam's instruction.

"Mrs. Quinn," the representative said, "your joint accounts have been temporarily restricted following a fraud report submitted by your spouse."

Silas's fork bent in his hand.

Evelyn looked at it.

"Furniture and silverware?"

"Apparently."

She turned back to the phone. "What fraud?"

"Officer Grant Quinn reports that you are acting under coercion and that unknown parties are attempting to remove marital assets."

Unknown parties.

Silas sat in a kitchen filled with her laughter, her daughter, and the coffee preference he had learned ten minutes earlier.

The law still saw him as a stranger trying to steal another man's wife.

Grant knew exactly where to press.

Evelyn's fingers tightened around the phone.

Then she straightened.

"Please note that I dispute the restriction," she said. "And send every document my husband filed to my attorney."

Not rescue me.

Not fix it.

My attorney.

Silas set down the bent fork.

Grant had taken her money.

He had not taken her voice.

The call ended after Miriam joined and demanded the fraud documents, recording number, and name of every employee who had accessed the account.

Evelyn set down the phone.

"I have thirty-eight dollars in my purse."

"You don't need money here," Silas said.

Her expression closed.

He heard the mistake as soon as the words left him.

Grant had used the same sentence while controlling every account.

Silas placed both hands flat on the table. "That came out wrong."

"A little."

"I meant the house is paid for and the food is shared. Not that you shouldn't have your own money."

Evelyn watched him carefully. "What happens if I take money from you and then decide to leave?"

"You leave."

"What if you think I owe you?"

"Then you remind me I was an idiot."

"And if reminding you doesn't work?"

Silas looked toward Miriam's business card on the counter. "We put everything in writing before I give you a dollar. No repayment. No access to your account. No condition involving where you live, who you see, or whether you ever touch me again."

Ronan raised his coffee. "Our Alpha has discovered contracts. Next week, indoor plumbing."

Evelyn's shoulders eased, but she shook her head. "I don't want an allowance."

"Then don't take one. What do you want?"

She considered the question.

"Work. Access to the evidence in my own case. And an account Grant cannot freeze."

"Miriam can help with the account," Maeve said. "The clinic needs someone to organize victim records for the civil claim. Paid work. Your hours."

Evelyn looked from Maeve to Silas. "Was that job invented thirty seconds ago?"

"Twenty," Maeve admitted.

"Then write a real description and let me decide if I'm qualified."

Silas felt pride move through the bond—hers first, then his answer to it.

"Done."

Grant had tried to make hunger pull her home.

By breakfast, Evelyn was already building income he could not touch.