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[color=808080][color=3c6c6b][b]#3c6c6b[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/1200x/01/99/7d/01997de7aaa5c14fd5e659a0d8c95324.jpg][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [color=fcb04d][b]#fcb04d[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://cdn.sewmamasew.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/Cargo-Pants-with-Cropped-Baby-Tee-and-Flannel-Overshirt.jpg?width=720&quality=75][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]main street[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Warren Boone started his morning with theft.

The decision came shortly after five-thirty while he stood on the back porch of his cabin with a mug of coffee warming his hands against the October chill, though if he were being honest he’d been planning this for some time now. The forest stretched away beneath a pale blue dawn, layers of pine-covered hills rolling toward the horizon beneath ribbons of lingering fog. Somewhere through the trees sat Harlan's cabin. He couldn't see the building itself from here, but he knew exactly where it was. More importantly, he could see the familiar shape of his brother's truck parked beneath the dark silhouettes of ponderosa pines. The sight settled something satisfied in him before he'd even taken the first step toward stealing it.

The walk took only a few minutes. Fallen needles softened his footsteps while frost clung silver-white to patches of grass and low brush. The air smelled of pine sap, damp earth, and woodsmoke drifting lazily from chimneys scattered throughout the valley. Warren crossed the distance with the ease of someone who had spent his entire life moving through these woods, coffee still in one hand and a bright pink sticky note tucked into his jacket pocket. By the time he reached the truck, his grin had stretched across his face like the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas.

Harlan's old Chevrolet sat exactly where it always did, broad-shouldered and immaculate despite its age. Black paint gleamed faintly beneath the dawn light while the orange stripe along the side caught hints of gold from the rising sun filtering through the branches overhead. Warren rested a hand briefly against the hood before climbing inside. The truck started immediately beneath his touch. No grinding. No hesitation. Just the deep, smooth rumble of a well-maintained engine settling into a contented idle. Warren nodded once, pleased with himself on multiple levels. He’d made a copy of the key weeks ago.

He drove only as far as the end of the driveway before parking and jogging back through the cold. The sticky note found its place squarely on Harlan's front door. Frost crackled beneath his boots as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket while his breath curled pale in the air before him. Somewhere behind those walls his brother slept peacefully, entirely unaware that both his truck and his morning routine had already been hijacked. Warren felt no guilt whatsoever.

[color=3c6c6b]"Perfect."[/color]

The drive into Pine Ridge carried him beneath a canopy of autumn color. Gold aspens burned against dark evergreens. Red leaves tumbled lazily across the road whenever a gust of wind swept through the valley. The heater hummed softly while the truck's engine purred beneath him, carrying him toward a town that seemed to be waking all at once. Storefront lights flickered on. Volunteers hauled decorations onto sidewalks. Orange banners stretched between old brick buildings along Main Street while carved pumpkins appeared on porches and windowsills like cheerful sentries announcing the season.

Months of planning had transformed the town into something festive without losing the worn charm Warren loved about it. The wrought-iron lamp posts wore garlands of autumn leaves and small bundles of dried corn stalks. Hand-painted signs advertised pie contests, costume contests, hayrides, pumpkin carving, and the haunted house that had become the centerpiece of the entire festival. He hated to admit it, and he’d never do it to Samuel’s face, but it was an impressive turn around. It was probably all Sutton.

He backed Harlan's truck carefully into position near the center of the designated trunk-or-treat area. The tailgate faced the street while the front bumper sat near the curb, giving children easy access once the festivities began. Boxes of candy, glow sticks, toy spiders, vampire fangs, and small prizes sat in totes on the sidewalk, covered by a tarp to protect it from the early morning dew. Warren climbed out and immediately caught the scent of hay, pumpkins, and fresh coffee drifting from nearby booths still being assembled. The town buzzed with the low, steady rhythm of people building something together.

Two younger wolves were already waiting beside a trailer stacked high with decorations. Caleb balanced a hay bale against one shoulder while carrying two pumpkins beneath his arm, his breath puffing visibly in the cold. Mason struggled with another bale nearly half his size, boots dragging against the pavement while he stubbornly refused help. Together they began shaping the display around the truck. Pumpkins gathered around the tires. Hay bales formed seating along the edges. Strings of orange lights wound through everything until the old Chevrolet looked less like a work truck and more like the centerpiece of a harvest festival.

Warren folded his arms across his chest and watched the scene take shape while the morning sun climbed higher over the rooftops. Children would swarm these streets before long. Parents would carry hot cider and paper cups of coffee while chasing sugar-fueled toddlers between booths. Teenagers would linger near the haunted house pretending they were above the festivities while participating in every part of it anyway. The thought settled warmly beneath his ribs, and he found himself smiling before he realized it.

[color=3c6c6b]"Little more left,"[/color] he called toward Mason, pointing toward one of the hay bales. [color=3c6c6b]"If somebody trips, Samuel'll bury me in paperwork until Christmas… or just bury me."[/color] He grinned at the idea, but Mason and Caleb looked startled and angry for a moment before he waved them off. Warren wasn’t scared of Samuel, it was Clint you had to worry about. The boys were too young to know that though, so he let them live in a world where their Alpha was fearless in the face of vampires. 

Warren's gaze drifted beyond them toward the mountains rising dark and familiar beyond town. Cold wind tugged at his jacket and carried the scent of pine down from the hills. Somewhere out there, Harlan was probably waking up to discover his truck was missing. After a quick phone call, Charlie was quickly dragged into the shenanigan's. Warren's smile widened as he turned back toward the display and grabbed a pumpkin himself, settling comfortably into the work as Pine Ridge slowly came alive around him.

While most of the pack had quickly got to work laying out pumpkins, stringing garland, and lights, or even running over to help the Sterling brothers set up their booths without getting into a fight… Jesse did not. Born to the pack, Jesse had that kind of chip on his shoulder that said he was entitled to his place among them although he did little to earn the respect that came with it. He was the type of person that once you heard he was tagging along or showing up everyone groaned and rolled their eyes. 

He looked and acted like a junky. He had virtually no meat on his bones, skinny enough to be a living skeleton with greasy black hair that reached his jaw, and face tattoo had to have been a drunken decision, because no one in their right mind actively [i]chose[/i] to get ‘no regerts’ stamped across their forehead. 

In typical Jesse fashion, he wasn’t there to actually lend a hand but more lounge around, giving unwanted commentary and generally just being in the way. He laid in the back of Harlan’s truck, knees hooked over the tailgate with his feet hanging free, swinging them lazily back and forth. One arm was bent behind his head while a billow of smoke rose from his cigarette as he took a long drag. 

Volunteers moved steadily between booths and folding tables while truck beds unloaded pumpkins, decorations, and crates of supplies. Warren crossed the street with a bale of hay balanced against his shoulder, boots crunching over scattered leaves that had blown loose from the gutters overnight, and immediately spotted Jesse stretched across the back of Harlan's truck like an unwanted cat that had claimed ownership of the place.

His jaw tightened.

Jesse had somehow managed to make himself comfortable in the middle of a worksite. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers while his muddy boots hung over the tailgate, lazily kicking at the cold air. Thin streams of smoke curled upward through strings of orange lights that still needed securing, drifting across hay bales and cardboard boxes packed full of candy. Around him, everyone else worked. Caleb hauled another pumpkin toward the display with both arms wrapped around it while Mason struggled with a stack of wooden signs nearly as tall as he was, and neither looked particularly thrilled to see Jesse contributing absolutely nothing.

Warren dropped the hay bale beside the truck with a muffled thump and stepped forward. [color=3c6c6b]"Get out of the damn truck."[/color] The back of his hand cracked against Jesse's boot as he passed, knocking the swinging foot aside before he pointed toward the cigarette. [color=3c6c6b]"And put that thing out before you burn half the festival down."[/color] Wind stirred through the street and rattled the dried corn stalks tied to a nearby lamp post. [color=3c6c6b]"We've got hay stacked everywhere, decorations hanging overhead, and enough cardboard packed in that bed to keep a fire going until Christmas. If Harlan's truck ends up a pile of melted steel because you wanted a smoke break, he'll string you up by your ankles… or worse."[/color]

Jesse snorted, pulling the cigarette from his lips to flick ashes somewhere over the side of the truck without a care. [color=d6d6d6]"I’m not scared of Harlan,"[/color] he snickered, taking another drag. [color=d6d6d6]"I’ve met pups with more bite than him."[/color]

Warren shook his head once, slow and unimpressed, before adjusting the pumpkin tucked beneath one arm. [color=3c6c6b]"Then you're dumber than you look."[/color] The words came easily, delivered with the same certainty someone might use to comment on the weather. His gaze lingered on Jesse for a moment longer before drifting toward the mountains rising beyond town, dark pines crowding their slopes beneath streaks of gold and orange foliage. Harlan had never needed to bark the loudest or throw the first punch. There was a reason people listened when he spoke and moved when he decided to act.

Warren turned back toward the truck and set the pumpkin into place beside a hay bale. [color=3c6c6b]"Anybody who isn't at least a little scared of my brother hasn't been paying attention."[/color] He brushed straw from his hands and glanced over his shoulder again. [color=3c6c6b]"Or they're too stupid to realize when they're standing in front of a bear trap."[/color]

The cigarette smell lingered stubbornly in the air. Warren folded his arms across his chest and looked over the setup they had spent all morning building, from the pumpkins gathered around the tires to the strings of lights hanging above the tailgate. Children would be crawling all over this section of the street in a few hours. Families would crowd around the truck for candy and photographs. The image of Jesse dropping ash into the decorations made something sour settle behind his ribs. [color=3c6c6b]"You've got hands. Use them."[/color] His gaze shifted toward the others working nearby before settling back on Jesse. [color=3c6c6b]"Help Caleb and Mason finish setting up, or find somewhere else to be until the festival starts. I'm not paying people to stand around and be decorative, and if I were it certainly wouldn’t be [i]you."[/i][/color]

The junkie wannabe’s brows rose incredulously from where he remained unwaveringly cemented to the bed of the truck. [color=d6d6d6]"Who the fuck you kiddin’? You ain’t paying any of us?"[/color]

A bark of laughter escaped Warren before he could stop it. Cold air caught the sound and carried it down the street where volunteers continued hanging decorations between storefronts and arranging pumpkins along the sidewalks, and a few of them smiled at the jovial sound. None of them saw the cool anger in his face, the expression directed at Jesse. The autumn wind stirred the hem of his flannel while dried leaves scraped across the pavement around his boots. Nearby, Caleb suddenly found a reason to focus very hard on stacking hay bales. Mason looked equally invested in a string of lights that definitely did not require his attention. Neither wanted to be standing anywhere near Jesse when Warren stopped smiling.

[color=3c6c6b]"I'm not paying [i]you.[/i] I’m paying everyone else because they know better than to waste my time."[/color] He stared at him for a moment longer, letting the unspoken threat linger in the air, before he turned and moved to help Caleb. 

The festival wasn’t going to start until nighttime settled over Pine Ridge, but that didn’t stop eager kids and curious tourists from creeping through the various booths and attractions, like if they got the lay of the land then they would be able to optimize their time to the fullest potential. One of said people was a woman in her early thirties with hair as orange as a pumpkin wearing a witch costume that left little to the imagination. The skirt barely reached below her bottom, the neckline was plunging, and fishnets clung to her pale legs. The most surprising part wasn’t how she walked through town in six inch heels like they were no different than hiking books, but the young child that bounced alongside her. The young boy was dressed in a pumpkin costume two sizes too big, wild blond curls poking out from beneath the oversized hat that refused to stop drooping into his face. One hand held tight to his mother’s while the other kept pushing that pesky hat farther back on his head so he could gawk at the festival set up in awe. 

Of course the moment his big blue eyes caught sight of the trunk-or-treat, a squeal of excitement tore through the area. Little feet scurried at full speed, dragging his mom along behind him as he beelined straight toward the big black truck. [color=d6d6d6]"Mommy! Mommy! Look!"[/color] He pointed excitedly at Warren and the others around him as they milled about, setting up the final touches. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Sweetie, it’s not time yet,"[/color] the mother tried to argue through bright laughter, trailing along behind the excited pumpkin while her other hand kept her witch hat from flying off with every gust of wind. 

Her pace slowed as they neared the truck, her gaze immediately settling on Warren, shamelessly watching his arms flex or the tensing of muscles along his back every time he lifted or moved something. She took a second while his back was turned to adjust her dress and brush a stubborn lock of hair back behind her ear. [color=d6d6d6]"Hey Warren,"[/color] she finally greeted him, his name slipping off her tongue, honeyed and sweet like he was the best thing the festival had to offer. 

Jesse shifted, propping himself up on his elbows as his gaze drifted over the back of the truck toward the voice in question. A cigarette hung lazily from his lips as he looked her up and down from the tippy top of her witch hat down past the fishnets to her black heels. He let out a pleased whistle, accented with a sly smirk. [color=d6d6d6]"[i]Hell-ooooo[/i], Heather,"[/color] he called out.

Warren was halfway through carrying another hay bale toward the truck when the squeal of a child cut through the bustle and drew his attention toward the street. The little boy came first, all oversized pumpkin costume and wild blond curls, barreling toward the display with the singular determination only children possessed. His mother followed close behind, laughing breathlessly while trying to keep both her witch hat and her dignity intact. Warren's gaze lingered briefly on the kid pointing excitedly toward the truck, then Heather spoke his name. The familiar voice settled somewhere behind his eyes like the beginning of a headache while he shifted the hay bale higher against his shoulder and kept moving.

Jesse's whistle reached him a second later.

Warren stopped walking. His jaw tightened. The cigarette smoke curling above the truck mixed unpleasantly with the smell of hay and pumpkins as he turned toward the truck bed. Jesse had hauled himself upright onto his elbows and was already grinning toward Heather like he thought he was charming. Warren pointed directly at him, expression flattening into something that left very little room for interpretation. [color=3c6c6b]"Go. Now."[/color] The words came low and sharp enough to cut through the noise of the street. His eyes lingered there for another second before dismissing him entirely and turning back toward the actual problem standing in front of him.

[color=d6d6d6]"Fuck man, who pissed in your Cheerios?"[/color] Jesse grumbled as he sat up fully and scooted toward the tailgate of the truck. He drew in a large puff of smoke before hopping down, dirty boots crunching whatever straw, leaves, or unlucky decor was underfoot. His gaze drifted between Warren and Heather with a knowing curve to one brow. [color=d6d6d6]"He could use a good lay. Warren’s been awfully upright recently."[/color] Before his Alpha could crack him over the head, Jesse scurried out of arm’s reach and headed down the street, leaving the festival setup for those who cared. 

Warren's jaw locked so hard it ached. Jesse's laughter drifted down the street alongside the smell of cigarette smoke while his boots crunched through fallen leaves and scattered straw. Orange banners snapped overhead in the wind. Children continued weaving between booths while volunteers hauled decorations into place, blissfully unaware of how close Warren was to grabbing the younger wolf by the back of the neck and rattling whatever loose screws remained in his skull. His fingers curled once against his palms before he forced them open again.

A slow breath filled his lungs. Cold air carried the scent of pine from the mountains and settled some of the heat simmering beneath his skin. Warren rolled his shoulders back and let the tension ease out little by little. Jesse wasn't worth losing his temper over. He rarely was. The kid lived his entire life like somebody constantly testing the strength of a wooden bridge of his own creation by jumping on it, convinced it would never collapse beneath him. One day he was going to discover otherwise.

His gaze followed Jesse's retreating figure for another moment before drifting toward the dark forest rising beyond town. The full moon was only days away. Warren could already feel the subtle shift moving through the pack, that restless energy gathering beneath everyone's skin as the moon grew fuller overhead. Most wolves managed it well enough. Jesse's control over his wolf was about as impressive as his control over the rest of his life, which was to say it was piss poor.

Warren huffed quietly through his nose and bent to straighten one of the pumpkins Jesse had nearly kicked over climbing from the truck. Straw clung to his sleeves as he adjusted a hay bale and brushed it away with rough hands. The kid would regret mouthing off eventually. Warren would make sure of it. For now, there was a festival to finish building, children already wandering the streets, and enough work left to keep his hands occupied while the irritation slowly bled away into the cold autumn morning.

Heather looked exactly like she always had. Perfect makeup. Perfect hair. Perfect timing. The costume looked better suited to a nightclub than a family festival, though Warren supposed that was hardly surprising. He adjusted his grip on the hay bale and resumed walking, boots crunching softly through scattered leaves gathered along the curb. [color=3c6c6b]"Morning."[/color] The greeting came polite enough, if somewhat rough around the edges, as he passed her and lowered the bale into place beside the others surrounding the truck.

Loose straw clung to his sleeves as he straightened and brushed his hands together. Around them the festival continued taking shape. Someone down the street tested a speaker system. Fresh coffee drifted from the diner each time the door opened. Children darted between booths while parents called after them, and above it all the autumn wind rattled dried cornstalks tied to the lamp posts. Warren nodded toward the display and finally glanced back toward Heather and the little boy. [color=3c6c6b]"Bit early. Think the kids'll enjoy it more once everything's actually finished."[/color] His attention settled briefly on the boy's wide-eyed excitement before returning to the work waiting around him. [color=3c6c6b]"Though he's got the right idea. Half the fun's looking forward to it."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Jack’s been looking forward to it for weeks,"[/color] Heather mused while affectionately brushing one of the boy’s wild curls out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. [color=d6d6d6]"Figured I’d let him get a sneak peek… And you know how I always liked watching you work,"[/color] she added, her voice slipping back into that silky lilt that used to work on him so well. Her free hand lifted, gently plucking straw from Warren’s bicep, being sure to let her touch linger for a second or two longer than was necessary. [color=d6d6d6]"[i]Plus,[/i] you haven’t been returning my calls. Figured this way you couldn’t ignore me."[/color] She tilted her head to the side slightly, forcing herself a bit more into his line of sight as the wind blew copper curls across her face.

The touch nearly did it. Not because it stirred anything in him. Quite the opposite. Warren felt his patience fraying thread by thread as her fingers lingered against his arm. Around them, Main Street buzzed with activity. Warren stood still through all of it, staring at the hay bale he was positioning into place and trying very hard not to let his eye twitch. His gaze shifted toward Heather slowly.

[color=3c6c6b]"Why,"[/color] he started, each word measured carefully, [color=3c6c6b]"Would I answer your calls?"[/color] The question hung between them while he brushed stray pieces of straw from his flannel. His attention lingered on her face for a moment before drifting downward toward the little boy standing beside her. The sight struck the same place it always did. For a second he saw the shape of a future that had once seemed possible before it dissolved beneath the weight of memory.

[color=3c6c6b]"We both know what you did."[/color] The words came without heat. Years had worn the anger smooth, leaving something heavier behind. Warren adjusted another pumpkin near the truck wheel and straightened, hands settling against his hips while the wind tugged loose strands of hair across Heather's face. Jack continued staring at the decorations with complete fascination, blissfully unaware of the conversation unfolding above his head. Warren found himself looking at the boy longer than he intended before forcing his attention elsewhere.

[color=3c6c6b]"I'm not interested, Heather."[/color] His voice remained gruff, steady, carrying the same certainty he'd carried into every conversation they'd had for years now. [color=3c6c6b]"Do yourself a favor and get back with the kid's father. Give him a real family to grow up with. Stop chasing something that isn't going to happen."[/color]

Before she could argue, before she could smile that smile or twist the conversation into circles he'd already walked a hundred times, Warren bent to grab another hay bale. The rough straw scratched against his palms as he lifted it onto his shoulder and turned away. Cold autumn air filled his lungs. Work waited. The festival waited. A street full of children would be running through here before long. Warren focused on that instead, carrying the weight across the pavement while the sounds of the town swallowed the conversation behind him. 

The thing about Pine Ridge's Halloween decorations was that they had not meaningfully changed since approximately 1987, which Harper knew because Cece had told her so. Cece had been alive even then, you see, though she got cagey about exactly how much "even then" actually covered. But back to the decorations. They were the same orange and black streamers, the same plastic skeletons with the same slightly broken arm on the one that always went above the bar mirror, and the same ceramic pumpkins that Hank brought out of the back room every October 31st. Halloween was one of the town's biggest nights of the year, considering almost the whole town came out for it every time. Granted, this year would be the first year they would have so many big outdoor events (like frickin' carnival games!) going on for a bunch of random tourists to participate in. The mayor had called it an "economic development initiative," or something like that. Cece, by contrast, had called it "a chance for a bunch of city folk getting lost in our woods and needing rescue, which I am not doing this year, and you better tell Warren I mean that," (she didn’t). 

Even so, Harper had been coming out for Halloween herself since she was small enough to ride on Cece's shoulders, and she had loved every single iteration of it without exception. She still loved it, to be fair. She just thought certain things should change along with the town, like the streamers she was currently wrestling with. They could maybe be a different colour by now, or at the very least not slightly faded from two decades of storage in Hank's back room, where they doubtless shared shelf space with mouse droppings and god knows what else. Not to mention that the festival was outside and would presumably continue without anyone setting foot in the saloon until well after dark, if ever. Hank knew this. Hank decorated anyway. He had decorated every October 31st for as long as Harper could remember, and she suspected he would continue doing so long after everyone else had stopped bothering.

She was perched on the second rung of the stepladder with a length of orange streamer pinned between her teeth and both hands occupied with the sticky tack that never quite stuck properly to the saloon's old timber walls. She pressed the streamer to the wall and stepped back onto the ladder's bottom rung to assess. The streamer immediately sagged in the middle, peeling away from the timber in a slow, mournful curl.

[color=fcb04d]"Hey Hank?"[/color] Harper called toward the back room. [color=fcb04d]"Quick question for ya."[/color]

A pause. Then the sound of boots on old floorboards, followed by Hank himself emerging from the stockroom. He was carrying a cardboard box labelled HALLOWEEN - FRAGILE in block letters.

[color=d6d6d6]"If you're about to ask if we can finally throw out some of these things,"[/color] Hank said, setting the box on the bar, [color=d6d6d6]"the answer is no. They’re pretty much tradition."[/color]

[color=fcb04d]"They’re depressing is what they are,"[/color] Harper shot back, hopping down from the ladder.

[color=d6d6d6]"No, they're classic."[/color] Hank said like the matter was settled and the only sensible response was to nod and move on. Harper had heard that tone approximately four thousand times since she started working here at sixteen, and she had yet to find a single argument that could penetrate it. 

Still… she couldn't quite help herself. That was the thing about Harper. She could see a losing battle from a mile away, could map out exactly how it would end, and would still walk toward it with her chin up just on principle alone.

[color=fcb04d]"Classic and depressing aren't mutually exclusive,"[/color] she pointed out, crossing to the bar. Her fingers found the edge of the cardboard box and pulled it closer, the flap scraping against the wood. She peered inside like she was looking at evidence of a crime and picked up one of the pumpkins inside. She held it at arm’s length, turning it slowly. It was light, and its painted face grinned up at her with a sort of vacant cheer. 

[color=fcb04d]"Hank. This one has a crack in it."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"That just gives it character,"[/color] he said.

[color=fcb04d]"It's missing a chunk…."[/color] She turned the pumpkin over, and a small piece of dried ceramic fell out of the bottom and bounced across the bar. She stared at it. Hank stared at it. Neither of them moved to pick it up.

[color=d6d6d6]"Distinguished character,"[/color] Hank amended. His expression hadn't changed, but there was something in the set of his jaw that suggested he was fighting a smile.

Harper set the pumpkin down and turned to face him with her arms crossed. [color=fcb04d]"Right…"[/color] she drawled. [color=fcb04d]"Anyway, as promised, I fixed the streamers for ya, but I should probably head out."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Head out where?"[/color] Hank asked, reaching into the box for the skeleton with the broken arm.

[color=fcb04d]"Promised I'd help with the trunk or treat setup,"[/color] she said, grabbing her jacket from behind the bar and shrugging into it. The denim was stiff with cold, and Harper shivered once before the fleece lining started doing its job.[color=fcb04d]"Said I'd be there before ten."[/color]

Hank made a sound that landed somewhere between acknowledgment and mild betrayal at being left alone with the decorations. He lowered the skeleton onto the bar with a thump and fixed her with a look that suggested he was reconsidering every kind thing he had ever thought about her.

[color=fcb04d]"Oh, you'll be fine,"[/color] Harper added, waving him off and heading for the door. [color=fcb04d]"You've got distinguished character to keep you company, remember?"[/color] She threw him a teasing smile over her shoulder and then pushed through the swinging door. It creaked behind her, a sound so familiar it had stopped registering years ago, and then she was outside.

The wind came down off the mountain with that particular October bite to it that Pine Ridge locals learned early to either respect or ignore, and Harper had long since chosen the latter. Respect was for things that could actually hurt you. The cold was just uncomfortable, and uncomfortable had never stopped her from doing anything. Her breath curled pale in the air as she tucked her hands into her pockets and took stock of what the morning had built while she was inside arguing about ceramic pumpkins.

The street was closed to traffic, which gave the whole thing the quality of a town that had decided to become the fun storybook version of itself for a day. Orange banners snapped between the wrought iron lamp posts overhead, and someone had strung garlands of autumn leaves along the storefronts that Harper had passed a hundred times without ever seeing decorated quite like this. Hand-painted signs pointed toward the pie contest, the costume contest, and the haunted house (the library, of all places, had apparently decided this was their year). She passed a booth being assembled by two people she vaguely recognized from the far end of town and sidestepped a child in a dinosaur costume who was either chasing something or being chased by something. With kids that age, it was hard to tell the difference. The dinosaur's parent—or guardian, or exhausted older sibling—trailed behind with a half-empty cup of coffee, judging by the smell. Hopefully it will be enough. 

The smell of something fried and warm drifted from a food stand that definitely hadn't been there yesterday. Funnel cake, maybe, or fried dough, or something else that would leave a slick of grease on her fingers and be positively worth it. Harper's stomach made a quiet but pointed observation about breakfast, a low growl that had nothing to do with the wolf and everything to do with the fact that she'd had nothing but coffee since 6 AM. She ignored it, though, figuring if she helped out fast enough, she could always grab something small after. Besides, she wasn't far now, the trunk or treat area coming into view around the corner of the hardware store, and the sooner she got there, the sooner she could finish and eat.

Harper spotted Harlan's truck immediately, which was hard to miss even when dressed up in pumpkins, hay bales, and strings of orange lights. Caleb and Mason were both nearby, unloading something from the back of it while neither of them was looking directly at Warren as they worked. But it was in such a way that it was obvious what they were trying to do, like two kids pretending they hadn't just broken a vase while standing in the middle of the broken glass. Every few seconds, one of them would glance toward Warren and then immediately find something fascinating to stare at in the opposite direction.

So, of course, Harper chose to follow their carefully averted gazes, her eyes more than willingly landing on her alpha.

Now, Harper had known Warren Boone literally her entire life since he had been born way before her (but not before Cece!), which meant she had a fairly comprehensive catalogue of his expressions and what each of them meant. There was the "Warren who was genuinely happy", which was warm and easy and likely to take up a whole room. Then, there was the "Warren who was pretending to be fine", which looked almost identical but had something careful behind the eyes, along with a slight delay in his reactions as if he was running a slow translation program between what he felt and what he showed.

And then…there was the "Warren who was done with a conversation and had been done with it for some time but was handling it in such a way as not to make a scene in public". That was the one Harper was looking at now. 

On the other hand, the woman standing near the truck was pretty in a way that she knew it, but Harper didn't recognize her immediately which meant she wasn't a regular face at the saloon. There was also something about the way she was standing slightly too certain of her welcome that suggested she and Warren had a history. Not that it mattered, really. Harper had approximately zero context for whatever was happening and approximately zero desire to insert herself into the middle of it without any. That was the kind of thing that blew up in your face. She had learned that lesson before.

Besides, there was the boy. 

Harper had always had a soft spot for kids. Always. Something about the way they moved through the world like nothing had taught them yet to be careful about what they showed on their face. She had grown up wanting a house full of them someday, a whole chaotic pack of her own, and Cece had told her more than once that it would surely be karmic payback for what Harper herself had put her through, which was probably fair. Cece had also told her, on more than one occasion and with varying degrees of sobriety, that she believed Harper had the maternal instincts of a golden retriever; she was enthusiastic, well-intentioned, and, thus, prone to bringing home stray things she found in the street. So, she was sure to be a good mother, right? 

The boy was maybe four years old and stuffed into a pumpkin costume two sizes too big, the orange fabric practically pooling around his ankles. Wild blond curls escaped from beneath a little green stem hat that kept drooping stubbornly into his face, and every few seconds, he would push it back up with one chubby hand, only for it to fall again. He had both palms pressed flat against one of the hay bales and was staring at the orange lights strung through everything with an expression of such pure and total wonder that Harper felt something warm settle in her chest.

She couldn’t help herself. 

She skipped on over not to Warren, not to the woman, not to Caleb or Mason, who were still pretending to be busy while obviously watching everything, but to the kid, crouching down to his level and waiting for him to notice her on his own terms. His eyes were blue, she realized, once he had. A bright, clear blue that stood out against all the orange.

He looked at her. She looked at him. 

[color=fcb04d]"Hey. Cool costume."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"I’m a Jack-O-Lantern,"[/color] the boy responded, talking slowly to try and say the name right, yet still stumbling over his own tongue. [color=d6d6d6]"Which is funny because I am Jack,"[/color] he added pointing at himself with a toothy grin and a laugh that carried through the festival area like sunshine on a gloomy day.

Harper's face split into a grin before she could help it. [color=fcb04d]"Jack the Jack-O-Lantern,"[/color] she said, like this was the best thing she'd heard all morning, which honestly it was. [color=fcb04d]"That's the best costume I've ever seen. And I've seen [i]a lot[/i] of costumes."[/color]

This was not entirely true, however.  She'd seen exactly as many costumes as any other person who had grown up attending the same small town Halloween for twenty-five years, which meant she had seen approximately twenty-five iterations of "ghost made from a bedsheet" and at least seventeen years of someone's uncle showing up in the same werewolf mask that smelled a little of basement. But Jack didn't need to know that. And his laugh was the kind that made you want to say whatever would bring it back anyway.

She stayed crouched at his level for another moment, letting him have it. The hat drooped back into his face, and he pushed it up again with both hands, unbothered, still grinning. Harper had a sudden and very strong feeling that this kid was going to be just fine, whatever else was happening above his head or behind them both. 

It was obvious that Heather had every intention of storming away. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, offense clear across her face in the way her brows creased and the rising heat that reddened along her cheeks. She turned and went to grab Jack’s hand, only to find him distracted by one of the members of Warren’s little posse that always seemed to follow him around everywhere. For a second or two she simply stood there, scowl tensing every muscle in her face while she tapped her stiletto impatiently against the concrete. Then, because Jack was distracted and she [i]obviously[/i] was not pleased with how the conversation ended, she pivoted, crunching dead leaves under foot before stomping after Warren like a pissy stray cat desperate for attention. 

[color=d6d6d6]"It’s been nearly five years, Warren,"[/color] she called after him in a sharp whisper, attempting to keep their conversation from carrying across the festival grounds, even though she did little to [i]actually[/i] be quiet. The rapid click of her shoes against asphalt preceded her as she hurried in front of him, forcing Warren to stop in his tracks and look her in the eyes. [color=d6d6d6]"I’ve apologized countless times… I’ve changed."[/color] And in that moment, Heather almost looked like she meant it. Tears pooled along her bottom lashes, but it was the dark glint behind her eyes that said it wasn’t guilt, but embarrassment and anger. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Jack’s dad left us,"[/color] she confessed, too ashamed to meet his gaze as she spoke. [color=d6d6d6]"I fucked up. I hurt you… And I didn’t realize what I had until I ruined it."[/color] Heather crossed her arms once again, strumming her manicured fingers along her upper arm. [color=d6d6d6]"But you’re a good man… And Jack could use a role model like that in his life."[/color]

Warren stopped.

For a second he simply looked at her. The hay bale dug into his shoulder. Somewhere behind him Caleb and Mason continued working around the truck, the muted scrape of straw and shifting pumpkins carrying through the otherwise quiet stretch of Main Street. He had spent years trying to end this conversation politely. Every ignored call, every brief answer, every refusal had been an attempt to spare her feelings while making himself perfectly clear. Apparently none of it had stuck. His jaw tightened.

[color=3c6c6b]"I don't care about your apologies."[/color] The words came out rougher than he'd intended. Warren lowered the hay bale to the ground beside his boot and straightened slowly, looking her squarely in the eyes. [color=3c6c6b]"I don't care that Jack's dad left. I don't care if he needs a role model."[/color] His hands settled on his hips as frustration finally broke through the restraint he'd been holding onto all morning. [color=3c6c6b]"Because it isn't going to be me, no matter how many times you try to force it."[/color]

Heather had spent five years chasing a version of him that no longer existed. Warren felt tired of it. Tired of the calls. Tired of the conversations. Tired of being treated like a backup plan she could return to because the life she'd chosen hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped. [color=3c6c6b]"I'm over you."[/color] The statement landed flat and certain. [color=3c6c6b]"I was over you the day I found out you cheated on me, and I will never have feelings for you again."[/color] He shook his head once. [color=3c6c6b]"Move on."[/color]

The silence that followed sat heavy between them. Warren looked away first, spotting Harper talking to the damn kid. The sight gave him an excuse to disengage before Heather could pull the conversation into another loop. [color=3c6c6b]"You're late."[/color] His tone softened as he addressed Harper, though the irritation hadn't fully left his face. [color=3c6c6b]"Let's go. We've still got work to do."[/color] He turned away from Heather without waiting for a response and headed back toward the truck.

When Warren’s voice reached her, Harper straightened up and turned, reading the situation in approximately one and a half seconds. So, after giving a small wave goodbye to Jack, she fell into step beside him without being asked, because that was what you did for pack. You showed up. You stood next to them. You made it clear, without saying a word, that whatever was happening, they weren't facing it alone.

It was only when they’d gotten far enough that she nudged his arm with her elbow, gentle, familiar. [color=fcb04d]"Sorry about that. The lateness."[/color] She probably shouldn't have asked what she did then. Warren was the alpha, which meant his business was his business until he decided otherwise, and whatever had just happened with Heather was clearly the kind of thing he'd been managing on his own for a long time before Harper ever walked into it. She knew that. Cece had practically drilled the importance of boundaries into her head growing up, right alongside don't eat the yellow snow.

But still…she couldn’t quite help herself. 

[color=fcb04d]"You good?"[/color] She glanced sideways at him.

Warren pressed his lips into a tight line as he walked, forcing his attention onto the steady rhythm of his breathing instead of the conversation he had just escaped. The cool air filled his lungs and carried the lingering scent of hay, dust, and old pavement from the festival setup around them. Usually that was enough. Usually work, movement, and time gave his temper somewhere to go. Harper's question caught him before any of those things could do their job, and he glanced down at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again as he searched for an answer that didn't feel unfair.

She was young. Not a child, but young enough that the instinct remained all the same, and Warren had never been particularly good at ignoring that instinct. Venting to her felt wrong. Harper carried enough of her own burdens without him adding his to the pile, and there was an eleven year gap between them that only seemed larger during moments like this. More than that, he was the Alpha. Harlan might have shoved that responsibility onto his shoulders years ago, but it still belonged to him, and somewhere along the way Warren had accepted that leadership often meant carrying things quietly so nobody else had to.

[color=3c6c6b]"I'm fine,"[/color] he said at last, looking away from her as he let out a slow breath through his nose. The answer felt thin, though no thinner than the hundreds he'd given before it. [color=3c6c6b]"Thanks, and you're fine. I'd take you showing up late over Jesse skulking around any day."[/color] A soft chuckle escaped him despite himself, and some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders as he shook his head. Jesse had a talent for making everyone else's mistakes seem significantly less irritating by comparison.

Harper accepted ‘I'm fine’ for exactly what it was: a placeholder at best. Instead of pushing, she focused on the latter part of his answer. The part about Jesse. Just like most members of the pack, she'd known Jesse Thornton her whole life, which was not the advantage it might sound like. Growing up in the same pack meant she'd had a front row seat to every bad decision he'd ever made, every bridge he'd burned, and every moment where someone had extended him more patience than he deserved. He wasn't malicious exactly. He was just the kind of person who moved through the world like something was always owed to him that nobody had gotten around to paying yet. That particular brand of entitlement had a way of making everything around him slightly more difficult than it needed to be. But most of the time, honestly, it was just plain exhausting.

[color=fcb04d]"Glad I could be of service,"[/color] she said. She wanted to add that perhaps someone might want to keep an eye on Jesse before the moon, but something told her that Warren was ten steps ahead of her. 

The truck came into view a few moments later, surrounded by stacks of crates and rows of bright orange goodie bags waiting to be loaded. Warren led her around to the tailgate and rested a hand against one of the boxes. The bags were sturdy fabric instead of cheap plastic, each stamped with the Boone Garage logo that had been around longer than either of them. They were meant to be the first stop of the night, big enough for kids to keep using as they collected candy from the rest of the festival. [color=3c6c6b]"I just need you to put these in the truck and double-check them while you're at it. Make sure they've all got a decent amount of candy, toys, stickers, all that jazz."[/color]

He gestured toward another stack of crates sitting nearby, each one labeled in thick silver marker. [color=3c6c6b]"If anything's missing, grab it from those and toss it in. The crates are marked, so you shouldn't have to dig around for half an hour looking for stuff."[/color] Warren paused, glancing down at Harper before a slightly wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. [color=3c6c6b]"I trust you to make it look... what do the kids call it?"[/color] He snapped his fingers once, thinking. [color=3c6c6b]"Aesthetically pleasing. Yeah, that shit."[/color] The smile widened a fraction as he nodded toward the display. [color=3c6c6b]"Take a few pictures when you're done too. The Mayor's assistant will probably want them for advertising and all that crap."[/color]

Harper looked at the bags before picking one up and turning it over in her hands. It was big enough to fit a small novel, which meant it was sure to hold a lot of candy. She set the bag down after and looked at the crates properly, her mind already formulating a few ideas. The bags needed weight so they didn't tip, so the candy should go at the bottom as the heavier stuff, while the lighter stuff, like the stickers and small toys, could go on top where kids could see them immediately. She could arrange them in the truck bed by size, too, with the tallest bags in the back and the shortest in the front so the smallest kids could reach without their parents having to intervene every thirty seconds. Maybe she could even group the colours if there were enough options, since the fruit chews were bright reds and yellows, and the chocolate bars were deep browns.

There was something satisfying about this kind of work, Harper decided. Perhaps because she could see the result of her effort. Bartending was the same in some ways, like the immediate feedback of a customer's expression when she would set down exactly what they didn't know they wanted. But, at the same time, this was a little different. This was making something for kids who would light up at the sight of it and tell all their friends about the truck with the super cool bags.

She reached for the first crate and glanced back at Warren.
[color=fcb04d]"I've got it. Don’t worry."[/color]

Warren watched her for a moment longer, taking in the way she immediately threw herself into the task. Most people would have started tossing things into bags and called it good enough. Harper was already organizing sizes, weights, colors, and accessibility like she was preparing a military operation disguised as a trunk-or-treat. The sight pulled a tight but genuine smile from him. [color=3c6c6b]"Thanks, you're the best,"[/color] he said, meaning every word of it as he folded his arms loosely across his chest.

His gaze drifted toward the mountains rising beyond the edge of town. Pine-covered slopes rolled beneath the autumn sun, patches of gold and rust spreading through the forest where the season had begun its slow work. The smile slipped from his face for a moment as old instincts pulled his attention outward, checking boundaries he couldn't physically see from here but felt responsible for all the same. After a second he looked back at Harper, concern settling quietly into the space where amusement had been.

[color=3c6c6b]"You and Cece doing alright?"[/color] he asked. The question came easily, absent of judgment or prying curiosity. Warren had spent most of his life keeping an eye on the people around him, especially the younger members of the pack, and Harper had long since earned a permanent place on that list. His hand lifted briefly before falling again. [color=3c6c6b]"You know if you ever need anything..."[/color] The sentence trailed away because they had both heard it before. He'd said those words enough times over the years that finishing them felt unnecessary.

The meaning remained the same regardless. If either of them needed help, a place to stay, money, backup, advice, or someone willing to show up in the middle of the night without asking questions first, Warren would be there. He wasn't offering because he expected something to be wrong. He was offering because that's what pack was supposed to be. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before a faint smile returned. [color=3c6c6b]"Just checking."[/color]

[color=fcb04d]"Ohh, we're good,"[/color] Harper said, which was true. Mostly. She kept her hands moving while she said it, settling a bag into place with more focus than it strictly required. The fabric crinkled under her palms as she smoothed it flat, aligning the logo just so. She didn't look up at Warren, but she could feel him watching her, attentive in that alpha way of his.

Cecelia was fine. Of course, she was fine. Cecelia was always fine.  But…she [i]had[/i] been quieter than usual the last few days. Not sad exactly. Just…a little solemn for whatever reason. Harper had learned not to ask, however. Cece would tell her what she wanted to tell her when she wanted to tell her, and pushing only ever produced a raised eyebrow and a subject change so smooth she never noticed it happening until they were three topics away from where they'd started.

It didn't help that her own wolf had been a little restless since yesterday. That low hum beneath her skin that meant the moon was coming, which she knew, she always knew, it wasn't anything new. Except it felt slightly different this time. Less like anticipation and more like…well, she didn't have a word for it. Something adjacent to the feeling of walking into a room and knowing something had been moved without being able to identify what. That was the best way she could think about it to herself.

Harper shook it all off. [color=fcb04d]"Oh, you know Cece,"[/color] she said, glancing back at Warren with a small smile. [color=fcb04d]"She's already got opinions about all the tourists coming in."[/color]

Warren nodded to himself as he listened. The answer sounded genuine enough, which eased some of the tension he'd been carrying beneath the surface. Still, he filed the information away. The older wolves always occupied a different corner of his thoughts, especially this close to a full moon. Age eventually stole shifting from all of them; their bodies simply stopped tolerating it. The moon never stopped calling, though, and for some that meant little more than irritability and restless nights, while others spent a week feeling like they'd been dragged through the woods behind a truck. The worst he’d seen of it had been pneumonia-type symptoms; Ralph had passed in his sleep, and that had been a rough time. Cece had always been tough though, but that never stopped him from worrying.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest as he imagined exactly what kind of opinions Cece was sharing about the incoming tourists. He could practically hear them. [color=3c6c6b]"I'm sure she does,"[/color] he said, shaking his head with the fond resignation of a man who'd spent years listening to those same observations himself. Harper's hands continued arranging bags while she talked, careful and methodical, and Warren found himself relaxing slightly at the sight. The setup was in good hands. Better hands than his, honestly.

His gaze swept once over the truck bed, the crates, and the growing display before he pushed himself upright. The festival still had hours before it opened, but volunteers were beginning to trickle through town, and there were a hundred little things left to check before sunset. [color=3c6c6b]"Alright, I'm gonna head to the garage and make sure Old Rivers isn't asleep at the front desk,"[/color] he said, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. [color=3c6c6b]"Wouldn't be a great first impression for the tourists if one of the mechanics is drooling on himself before noon."[/color]

The grin he flashed her was warm and easy as he stepped backward toward the sidewalk. Autumn leaves scraped softly across the pavement in the breeze, gathering against the curb where volunteers had already swept twice that morning. [color=3c6c6b]"If you need anything, just call me!"[/color] he called over his shoulder before turning down the street, hands slipping into his jacket pockets as he headed toward the garage. Even as he walked away, part of his attention remained behind with the pack, as it always did, quietly counting heads and making sure everyone was where they needed to be.

Harper watched him go until he turned the corner, then looked back at the truck.

Right. The bags. 

She reached for the next crate and got back to work, the festival noise settling around her like background static. Without Warren, the space felt quieter than the actual volume of Main Street warranted. She was used to that. Warren had a way of making whatever space he occupied feel fuller than it was, which was probably part of what made him good at what he did. She pulled open the next crate. More candy. More stickers. More tiny plastic toys that would no doubt end up lost under car seats by November.

Harper was three bags in when she found the Tootsie Rolls. A whole bag of mixed flavours—vanilla, chocolate, cherry, lime—tucked into the corner beneath a stack of vampire fang party favours.

She picked them up and looked at them for a while without really meaning to.

They were Cece's thing and something Hank, if he were, might have labelled as one of the classics and had been for as long as Harper could remember for her now elderly caregiver, anyway. The bowl by the front door was always stocked with them around this time. The ones that appeared in Harper's Halloween bag every year without comment until Harper was old enough to buy her own candy and started doing the same thing back, also without comment, because that was how they communicated certain things like that to each other. She should have found this funny too, and normally she would have. Instead, Harper stood there with a bag of Tootsie Rolls in her hand and thought about Cece's face over the last few days.

It was probably nothing. Cece herself would have insisted everything was fine if asked either way, and Harper had learned a long time ago that there were some things you didn't push on, not because you didn't care but because you did. Because Cece had spent most of Harper's life teaching her that love wasn't about demanding access. It was about leaving the door open and trusting the other person to walk through when they were ready, much like Cece had done for her all those years ago. 

She set the Tootsie Rolls carefully into the next bag before closing the crate. 
[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] harper, npcs[color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] a shit ton of npcs[color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Qia][/color]
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