Claire crouched low, a teasing grin curling her lips as she spread her arms wide and planted her feet firmly just beyond shoulder width, ready to spring into action the instant her little brother made a move. "Don't make me come after you, little man," she warned playfully, eyes flickering with anticipation.

Charlie’s laughter bubbled up, pure and untamed, as flour clung to every inch of his small frame — dusted thickly in his tangled blond curls, streaked down his arms, and smudged across his shirt and pants. The white powder created a chaotic canvas on his skin, a testament to their recent flour skirmish.

With a sudden feint to the right, Charlie darted past her, his tiny legs pumping with surprising speed as he escaped the kitchen, barreling into the living room. If Claire wasn’t shifted into her wolf form, catching him might have been impossible.

But she was, and the chase was effortless. She feigned heavy breathing and exaggerated exhaustion, puffing out her cheeks and pretending her heart raced wildly, though the truth was far less dramatic.

"Charlie! I’m coming for you!" she sang, voice light and teasing.

A delighted trill of laughter responded, filling her chest with warmth. It was the kind of innocent, carefree laughter she hadn’t heard in quite some time — a precious sound she desperately wanted to hold onto.

"No, Care!" Charlie squeaked, hurdling over a stray blanket as he fled towards the staircase. Claire sprang after him, the dust of flour swirling in their wake, white footprints marking their path up the stairs and down the hall.

They paused abruptly outside Charlie’s bedroom, the trail of their floury footprints vanishing behind the closed door.

Though Claire had seen him slip inside, she lingered in the hallway, letting the tension build just a little before she gently pushed the door open. A soft creak echoed in the quiet room.

From inside the closet came the faint sound of rapid, shallow breaths. She tiptoed in, careful not to disturb the fragile moment, but accidentally stepped on a toy that burst to life with a cheerful tune.

"Hmm, where could he have gone?" Claire mused aloud, her voice just a touch too loud as she scanned the room.

From the closet, a soft giggle betrayed his hiding spot.

Her fingers curled around the doorknob. With a quick twist, she flung the door open, aiming a triumphant finger at her brother. "Found you! Thought you could escape me, huh?"

Charlie launched himself forward, his small frame colliding into her arms. Claire caught him effortlessly, her smile blossoming at the pure happiness radiating from him.

"You got me, Care," he admitted, brushing the curls dampened with sweat from his forehead. "You’re way too good at this."

"Practice makes perfect, little man. Practice," Claire replied, her tone fond and patient.

His eyes sparkled with excitement. "Are the cookies ready yet?"

Just then, the oven timer buzzed loudly, signaling the sweet treats were done. "Looks like the deliciousness is ready for consumption," Claire declared dramatically.

Charlie squealed with delight and wriggled free, bounding down the stairs before Claire could react.

"Hey!" she called after him. "You’re cleaning up this mess with me, mister!"

"Okay, Care!" came his cheerful reply.

Claire surveyed the scene — toys strewn across the floor, patches of flour coating the bed linens and carpeting, the remnants of their playful battle scattered everywhere.

She threw her head back and sighed. This was exactly the kind of chaos only a six-year-old could create, especially after a wild flour fight.

With a resigned chuckle, she prepared herself. He was definitely going to help her clean this up.

***

Marcus stood near the edge of the airport terminal, eyes fixed on the baggage claim where his brother would soon emerge. The air was thick with the hum of travelers, but his focus never wavered.

He glanced at his watch — eight o’clock. Ten minutes had passed since Nate had called to say the plane had landed, yet there was still no sign of him.

Then, suddenly, Marcus spotted the familiar sway of dark brown hair bobbing in the crowd. Nate was taller than most, making him easy to pick out, though his unkempt locks suggested a much-needed haircut.

To Marcus's amusement, Nate wasn’t alone. A petite girl trailed shyly beside him, barely reaching a quarter of his height and looking delicate with her blonde hair tucked neatly behind one ear.

The girl flirted subtly, batting long lashes as Nate leaned in, speaking in a low, husky tone that Marcus could barely hear over the terminal’s din.

In the crush of noise and chatter, Marcus felt a slight headache creep in.

Before parting ways, the girl slipped a folded note into Nate’s front jean pocket. Nate accepted it briefly but then pulled it out, shaking his head with mild amusement before tossing it into a nearby trash bin.

Nate approached Marcus next, greeting him with a genuine, easy smile and a warm hug. "How’s my little brother been?" he asked.

"Great," Marcus said, returning the hug with a grin. "Looks like you haven’t lost your touch with the ladies."

Nate gave a half-smile but remained quiet about the comment. "I’ve never lacked opportunity," he admitted quietly.

Marcus caught the shadow of something heavier in his brother’s hazel eyes and lowered his voice. "Did you find anything, Nate?"

For a long moment, Nate didn’t reply. Then he grabbed his bag and headed toward the exit, leaving Marcus’s question hanging in the air.

That silence crushed Marcus’s hope. He had wished that after facing whatever dangers Nate had encountered, he’d come back with answers — some clue to the man behind their father’s death, some sliver of closure for their pack.

They moved silently through the parking lot, Marcus leading the way to their truck. The harsh scent of mold and dirt in the underground lot filled his nostrils, making him yearn for the fresh air outside and the familiar comfort of their Dodge Ram.

The brothers climbed inside, the engine's hum a small comfort in the quiet as they settled into their own thoughts.

Finally, breaking the silence, Marcus chuckled softly. "Mom’s been worried about you. I swear, I’ve eaten a thousand pancakes since you left."

Nate laughed, the sound lighter than before. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You know how Mom gets," Marcus replied, a fond smile touching his lips.

The memory of their mother’s ceaseless care was a balm, even as shadows of their past lingered. Since their father’s death years ago, the pack had endured loss and fear, but moments like this — simple, grounded — reminded Marcus of what they fought to protect.