---- 15 The moment I walked out of the airport dragging my suitcase, torrential rain poured down like the sky had opened up. linstinctively hunched my shoulders and pulled my hood tighter, but the rain was so sudden and heavy that I was soaked within seconds. After five years in the northern territories, I'd almost forgotten how unpredictable southern weather could be. The southern territories carried their unique humidity -warm, thick air that wrapped around me like an embrace. It was the feeling of home, something I hadn't realized I'd missed until this very moment. My chest tightened with unexpected emotion. I was really back. I lifted my head, searching through the crowd of people waiting for arrivals. My eyes scanned faces until I quickly spotted that familiar figure standing apart from the others. ---- Garrett Rivers was tall and imposing, easy to spot in any crowd. At six-foot-four, he towered over most people around him. His dark gray waterproof leather armor gleamed with rainwater, and I could see the Stormfang Pack wolf crest pinned prominently to his left chest. But what made me smile despite everything was what he held in his right hand-a black thermos decorated with cartoon wolf paw prints that completely clashed with his intimidating Alpha status. The rain had started suddenly, and he was soaked through just like everyone else. But while other people were running for cover or cursing the weather, Garrett stood perfectly still, carefully protecting the thermos in his hands. He held it close to his chest, not letting any rainwater splash onto it. As I got closer, more details became clear. His clothes were muddy, and I could see fresh bloodstains on his sleeve and shoulder. There were scratches on his hands that looked recent. "Garrett!" I called out, waving to get his attention. ---- His head turned immediately, and when he saw me, his entire expression transformed. The stern Alpha mask fell away, replaced by something so warm and relieved that it made my throat tight. "Sage," he said, and there was something in his voice -like he'd been holding his breath for five years and could finally exhale. He strode toward me quickly, and I noticed he favored his left leg slightly. He was hurt worse than the blood suggested. "Garrett, I told you not to bother picking me up if you were busy with pack business," I said as he approached. "You're injured. You should be resting." But even as I scolded him, warmth spread through my chest. He'd come anyway. Despite whatever battle or patrol he'd just finished, despite his injuries, he'd come to pick me up. Garrett reached out and ruffled my hair, his touch gentle despite his obvious exhaustion. His tone was soft, indulgent. "But I wanted to come. I've been