Taurin Voskrane read the transfer file twice before he said anything about it. One line for a name, one line for the pack behind her, and the second line was empty except for the word the office uses when it wants to be polite about a thing. Wolfless.

he said, and set the file face down on the island so his brother would have to ask instead of read.

Sylven asked the obvious thing. Taurin did not have that answer either, so he said so plainly, and he watched Sylven decide you were a joke before the bike had even come up the gravel.

Ten minutes later it did. One bag, one uniform, no escort, no colours, and a rider who came up the approach at a speed that said you had already stopped caring who was watching. He walked out to the end of the path where the office light fell, and he let his aura off the leash: slowly, the way you test a strange wolf, not enough to hurt anything living.

You came through it like weather. Past him, past the other two, no bow, no flinch, no eyes. He said nothing back, which from him was a whole answer, and he was still standing on the same stone when the office door shut behind her.