Chapter 5 Distance

In the weeks that followed, Eric stayed away.

It had not been a conscious decision, not exactly. It was more that he had looked at the situation clearly on the third morning after her arrival, and understood that returning to that corridor in the middle of the night was not something he could afford to make a habit of. He had a pack to run. He had responsibilities that did not pause because an uninvited human was recovering in his medical wing. He had given Danielle the task of monitoring her progress and reporting back, and Danielle was more than capable of handling it. There was no reason for him to be there.

So he stayed away and he kept himself busy. He told himself that the low persistent restlessness that had settled into his days was nothing more than the particular irritation of having an unresolved situation on his hands. A problem not yet dealt with. That was all it was.

His parents found out on the fourth day.

He had not told them about the girl, which in hindsight had been optimistic. His mother had her own network within the pack, people who kept her informed as a matter of long habit, and it had only been a matter of time before word of the girl in the medical wing reached the main house. Alexandra had come to his office with Samuel behind her. She had not raised her voice because she never raised her voice, but the quiet precision with which she had expressed her displeasure had been, if anything, worse.

A human. In their medical wing. Eating their food, using their resources, breathing their air. Three weeks, possibly more. His mother had said it the way she said most things she disagreed with, with a control so complete it left no room for argument.

His father had been shorter about it. "You know what they are," he had said. "You know what they do. Have you forgotten what it cost us?"

Eric had not forgotten. He never forgot. It was the reason he had built the borders the way he had, maintained them the way he did, enforced them without exception for seven years. It was the reason the story of his pack was one that other packs told with a particular kind of respect, the kind that came from knowing that certain lines would not be crossed without consequence.

He had not forgotten any of it.

"She stays until she is well enough to travel," he had told them. "Then she goes. That is the end of it."

His mother had looked at him for a long moment with a displeased expression. For her the situation was not considered closed, regardless of what he said. But she knew better than to argue with her son. Then she had left and had taken his father with her.

The conversation had not made the restlessness better.

In the three weeks since, his parents had raised the subject four more times in various forms. His mother through careful questions about resources and precedent. His father through directness that left no room for misinterpretation. Each time, Eric had given them the same answer. She was recovering. She would leave when she was able. It was not a discussion.

What he did not tell them was that he had asked Helena for daily updates. That he knew the bruising had faded to yellow at the edges and was nearly gone from her cheekbone. That he knew she had gained weight, incrementally, as her body began to accept nourishment again. That he knew her ribs were healing cleanly and that Helena was satisfied with her progress.

He told himself it was practical. He needed to know when she would be ready to travel. That was all.

Helena came to his office every morning at nine, which was a time he had specifically chosen because it fit neatly between his first and second meetings of the day and left no room for the updates to become something more than they were. A briefing. Practical information about a situation that had an end date.

On the eighth day she told him the girl had spoken. That she was beginning to eat more consistently and that her ribs were healing faster than expected. Eric had nodded and made a note and moved on to the next item on his agenda.

On the twelfth day Helena told him the girl had asked about him.

He looked up from his desk at that. "What did she ask?"

"Whether you came often." Helena's expression gave nothing away. "Danielle answered."

He looked back down at his desk. "Good," he said. "That's what Danielle is there for."

Helena said nothing further on the subject. She gave him the rest of the update in the same measured tone she always used and left when she was done. Eric sat at his desk after she had gone and looked at the wall for a moment longer than he needed to.

Then he picked up the next report and got back to work.

On the fifteenth day Helena mentioned that the girl had started sitting up on her own and spending time looking out the window. On the eighteenth day she said she was walking short distances along the corridor with Danielle's help. On the twentieth day she said her weight was close to what it should be and that she was sleeping more normally.

Each time, Eric listened. Each time, he nodded and said very little and went back to whatever he had been doing before she arrived.

On the morning of the twenty-second day, Helena came to his office and told him it was time to bring her out of her induced coma.

He set down the report he had been reading and looked at Helena for a moment. He nodded, told her he would be there, and watched her leave. He sat at his desk for a few minutes longer, not reading anything, not doing anything in particular. Then he got up, grabbed his jacket, and walked to the medical wing.