Chapter 8 : Good Faith

*Vanessa*

I can’t say that I’m too pleased with having a new babysitter.

Granted, I wasn’t expecting Shawn to give me free rein to move around the compound wherever I liked even while completing this challenge of his, but I definitely wasn’t super thrilled about my new warden being Aaron.

But even the slight anxiety I feel about having him watch over me with his hawklike stare can’t dampen the excitement I feel. And last night, when I fell asleep still thinking about Shawn’s compliments, I had the best rest I’ve had in ages.

Against all expectations, I was beginning to find my footing. The next morning though, when I get ready to leave the infirmary and meet Aaron at the territory entrance, I remind myself that I’ve already come a lot further than I thought I would in a strange pack.

Having been pleased with her final assessment of me, Amara gives me a sympathetic look as she sends me on my way.

“Just a heads up, don’t let Aaron intimidate you. His bark is worse than his bite, trust me. And if he ends up being too hard on you, well, send him to me and I’ll get you an apology out of him by this evening,” she says with a wink.

That makes me grin. I don’t doubt that the medic would be fully capable of bringing Aaron to his knees. That small show of camaraderie, that tiny reminder that something friendly has grown between us gives me the courage I need to head out with my head higher than it's been in a while.

As I take the mini trek to the meeting spot, I can’t help but notice the occasional glance I get from the other pack members, and that there’s something different about the way they all look at me.

The night of the celebration dinner, I was more of a stranger than I am now. I don’t know how much gossip circulates around the pack, and whether or not they know that I’m essentially trying to join them … but, while still wary, they seem to have already gotten more used to seeing me around.

Aaron, however, offers no such progress.

When he finally sees me approach, his body almost imperceptibly stiffens. It’s not an unfamiliar thing for me. I know what it looks like to have someone not like me very much. Any of the happy, almost boyish warmth he has around Shawn and Amara disappears completely around me and it’s like his smiles are locked away, ensuring I don’t even get the vaguest of ideas that he could be my friend.

“Good morning,” I say formally.

“Morning,” he replies in a voice just as rigid as his body. I don’t bother with feeling put off at all. Instead, I decide to focus solely on my plan. Aaron has to help me with it, whether he likes it or not.

“So, where do we start?” I ask.

He drags his eyes off me to look around the compound for a few seconds, then almost immediately returns his stare to me. I resist the urge to tell him that I’m not capable of springing a surprise attack within the span of three seconds. But I’m not sure my sarcasm will be appreciated. Instead, I offer him a smile that makes the muscle in his jaw flex in irritation.

“A tour of the compound, I guess. Shawn said I need to take you around to meet the warriors, have a look at our resource pile, and explain some of the systems set in place here,” he says.

Sounds like I’m meant to give an evaluation of the current state of the pack before implementing solutions. I nod.

“Right. Lead the way.”

Aaron clears his throat and begins walking, and I almost laugh because he is not even close to being discreet about the way he’s watching me from the corner of his eye. But I keep my amusement buried deep and force a mask of neutrality on my face.

We begin moving through the Ashborne territory, and our first stop is the training area. My old pack had an entire building dedicated to training and exercise, outside of excursions into the woods for more hands-on and realistic simulations.

But here, their training arena is essentially a dilapidated warehouse with a sparring pit sunken into the center. There are some free weights and other makeshift pieces of equipment that I deduct are used in lieu of more expensive alternatives.

There are a number of warriors currently using the space, some are paired off to practice hand-to-hand combat in the pit while others exercise on their own using the equipment. The sounds of bodies hitting the ground and weights dropping ricochets off the scrappy walls enclosing the place.

“You’re in charge of the warriors, aren’t you?” I ask, turning to Aaron. “Is there a formal training program or does everyone just fall in wherever they want?”

His face is still a wall of mistrust, but he answers me anyway.

“We’ve never had scheduled training sessions. Alpha Wyatt—Shawn’s father—wasn’t as big on structure. Many of the shifters he started the pack with were wild wolves. Shawn’s been thinking of trying to create something a bit more cohesive, but isn’t sure how to do it without the pack fully trusting him first,” he explains.

“That makes sense,” I respond, my eyes taking in the grappling and weight training. While there isn’t as much in the way of technique as there could be, I can tell that these shifters are naturally gifted and tough, even despite the food shortage. There’s a desperation in their strikes, an intentional ferocity in every movement. If there’s this much potential when the pack is at its weakest, I can’t even begin to imagine what they’ll be like restored.

“From what I’ve heard so far, Ashborne was very successful under Alpha Wyatt. Shawn may be his son but he isn’t his father, and any departure from the way things were would probably make the pack hesitant,” I continue. “But Shawn’s right to think more structure is needed. Especially now, when the pack’s livelihood is hanging by a thread. There aren’t enough strong and healthy shifters to rely on tradition.”

Aaron gives me a strange look, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he introduces me to the warriors. They’re friendly enough to not be considered hostile, but it’s obvious that they trust me even less than the regular members. It’s understandable though. They are, after all, the first line of defense against any threats to the safety of the pack.

However, having Aaron with me must grant me some measure of good faith because they engage with me, explaining some of their fighting techniques and how they’re applied in combat or hunting.

I listen, making a mental note of everything they say, and by the time we leave the training area, I think I have a better idea of how to approach creating solutions.

“Well?” Aaron asks as we head to what I believe is the resource depot.

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s impressive. Ashborne may not be the most wealthy or advanced pack, but there’s the sort of spirit and courage most Alphas would kill to have nurtured in their warriors. I can only assume Alpha Wyatt was an amazing leader.”

Aaron opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again, pressing his mouth into a tight line. I cast a sidelong look at him and his eyes look contemplative.

“Yes,” he says eventually, and I don’t miss the hint of sadness in his voice. “He was.”

The resources depot is definitely more fortified than the training area. Some of the reinforcements look new, which suggests that Shawn prioritized protecting their food and medicine stores.

Upon a closer look inside, everything seems pretty standard, if rather scarce. I’m greeted with the same sort of borrowed trust that having Aaron as my escort gave me with the warriors, and as I’m filled in on the gist of how the system of acquiring and depositing resources works, I notice something that I’m sure very few others would. There’s a random white sticker plastered on the floor of the depot, near one of the corners.

Something about it snags my attention, and only once I really focus my gaze on the area, do I notice what it is. There’s a square outcropping, maybe half a meter across and down, that has a slightly higher elevation than the surrounding ground.

A trap door.

There must be more supplies in the burrow below us. I once read that there was an older practice used by more impoverished packs to ensure that even during raids, there’d be supplies left for the remaining pack to rebuild. It’s done well, and the only reason I even noticed is because I know of its possibility. Other wolves, who haven’t bothered to look into these old survival techniques, most likely wouldn’t even think to check.

Once we leave, most of the tour is done. For a bit, we don’t say anything. Then, as though it’s painful, Aaron asks me what I thought of everything.

“I think it’s smart, having most of your important resources underground,” I say.

That makes him stop completely, his mouth hanging open. “How did … what did you even—”

“The sticker marked the entry trapdoor. It’s not obvious at all to people not looking for it,” I clarify.

I’m worried that he’ll trust me even less knowing that I could pick up something that was obviously meant to be a secret, so I move on quickly, opting to bring up some of the solutions that’d been stewing in my head since the very beginning of the tour.

“I was thinking … Shawn made a perfect choice to prioritize fortifying the depot. The only thing I’d suggest is using a different marker to outline the entryway. The average shifter might not notice it, but there are ones who are terrifyingly perceptive.”

Aaron’s mouth is once again pressed into a tight line, but he nods in agreement. “Noted. Is there anything else you want to add?”

“The training … there needs to be some more structure to how the warriors go about it. Even though it’s important to have each group specialize according to whether they hunt or patrol, it might be smart to have all of them also ensure they are capable of the other group’s role too. That way, until you can build up the numbers, you won’t lack for either hunters or patrol guards. All of the warriors would be qualified to do either,” I carry on, leaning on the conviction behind my ideas.

“And what about your earlier observation about the pack potentially not trusting Shawn if he does implement these structured programs?” Surprisingly enough, the question doesn’t sound cold or like it’s intended to catch me out. He sounds genuinely curious.

“That’s where I’ll need your help.”

He looks taken aback. “My help?”

“Yes,” I reply. “You’re well-respected in the pack. I could tell judging by how those wolves were all willing to speak with me despite their obvious suspicion, that it was because you were with me. They trust you. I know the same is even more true of Shawn, who seems to have all the makings of a great leader.”

I pause, remembering how he conducted himself during the celebration dinner, the way the fire lit the planes of his face and made the small smiles tugging at his lips seem bigger.

“There’s an undercurrent of pride and trust here. You know Ashborne. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think the pack underestimates Shawn. I think they’re waiting for him to come fully into his own. It’s not that they want him to be identical to his father in leadership, but rather in conviction. And I don’t blame him for struggling to find his solid footing in the wake of his father’s death. It isn’t that he’s in his father’s shadow, but rather that he doesn’t trust himself yet to cast his own. If he can build that, if he can lead without any doubts, I think the pack will follow," I finish.

Aaron’s looking at me with that strange expression again, and suddenly I feel foolish and like I’ve misinterpreted everything. But I don’t rush to apologize like the old me would’ve done. Instead, I just keep walking, allowing him to escort me back to the infirmary in silence.

I’m not sure what he thinks of me after today. He hasn’t said much after my last words, hasn’t even so much as looked at me for longer than was necessary. But when he drops me off and Amara turns to smile at us, asking how things went, the smile that appears on his face is almost sweet enough to make me forget that he’s kind of an asshole whose respect I may not yet have earned.

As I get myself to my desk and begin working on setting my plans in stone, I hear the two of them have a quiet conversation about the day and things in general, and in those few minutes, he’s more animated than he’s been all day.

If it wasn’t obvious that he was harboring feelings for her before, then I have absolutely no doubts about it now.

But Amara is no friendlier with him than she is with everyone, and even though Aaron is far from my favorite person, a part of me does feel bad for him as he forlornly slinks out of the infirmary with one last longing look at the medic.

It’s not my place to say anything, so I don’t.

Maybe, just maybe, in another world where he wasn’t so insistent on me being some kind of saboteur, we might even have been friends.