He was poised for flight, but there was nowhere to go.

I should have never let him back into my life.

The wonder of Sierra’s creations was that he didn’t look out of place here, as long as he didn’t move. He looked stuffed and intentional. I had seen plenty of stuffed animals in my time.

Thanks, Dad.

That spurred my brain into movement.

Think, Isabel.

I took in the scene: wolf, pile of clothing, candles.

Isolate the worst part of the problem.

The candles weren’t a problem yet. Discovery wasn’t a problem yet. Those were only possibilities.

The problem was the wolf. And if I thought about it, I knew the answer to this. I knew enough about the science to know that his body defaulted to human in this weather. The wolves back in Minnesota shifted into wolves in the winter, but this store was only a temporary winter. I didn’t know why the airconditioning had made him shift now of all times, but I had

seen its effect on him right in front of me.

Identify a solution.

I glanced toward the wall opposite, where the thermostat was.

Heat.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes until Sierra was supposed to get here to start setting up the champagne.

My heart was thumping.

Damn you, Cole, damn you —

I took a step, just to see what would happen.

The wolf’s head jerked to follow the motion. There was nothing overtly aggressive about the move, but still, everything in the wolf’s posture suddenly looked dangerous. I saw the knot of shoulder muscles beneath the fur. I heard the thin, barely there scrape of nails on concrete as his paws tensed. I saw the deadwhite canine as he silently lifted his lip and then dropped it again.

A warning.

As a wolf, Cole didn’t know me. He wouldn’t go out of his way to rip my throat out. But if I threatened him, nothing would stop him, either.

I cut my eyes away from him. Staring would only be seen as a challenge. I took another step. Then another. I wasn’t getting any closer to him. No threat.

The wolf turned, swift and sinuous, and left a noseprint on the inside of the glass door before turning back. Low to the ground, wary, he moved farther into the store.

As long as he didn’t come over here — I had made it to the thermostat. I flicked on the heat and turned it all the way up.

On the other side of the store, the wolf caught a sudden glimpse of himself in one of the decorative mirrors that leaned against the walls. He jerked back, surprised.

His haunch hit one of the tables. Three tall candles sat on the topmost part of it, above a display of taupe tops with seagrass woven sleeves.

In the mirror, I saw the reflection of the lit candles wobble.

I held my breath.

The candles tumbled.

For one brief moment, as one of the candles fell and went out, I thought it would be okay. And then the other two hit. One of them rolled off to the side and sputtered. The third landed on a top, and it caught. The fire bit into the sea grass.

Damn you, Sierra —

The reflection of the growing flame caught the wolf’s attention.

Even lower to the ground, he slunk away, fast, but there was still nowhere to go. He was trying to look brave and aggressive, but this world was small and unfamiliar and fiery, and he couldn’t bluster himself out of this trap.

It was starting to get hot in here. Come on, Cole. Come on.

The burning display began to release uneven smoke in opaque clouds. In two seconds, the fire alarm was going to go off.

All I needed was for the fire department to show up and call the cops to shoot this wolf.

Isolate the worst part of the problem.

I took my chances. I grabbed a vegan leather jacket from the wall and bolted across to the burning display. I beat the flames.

I didn’t know what vegan leather was, but it melted.

As I hit the flames again and again, the wolf shot away from me, back toward the front of the store. His eyes were locked on me. Making sure I wasn’t a threat. Or maybe looking at the fire, making sure it wasn’t a threat. In any case, he didn’t see the frontmost display in time. He barreled right into it. This one was lit with low, stubby candles that wouldn’t tip. But he crashed right into it. I smelled a quick flash of singed fur.

Overhead, the fire alarm went off. Loud and pure and continuous.

And he broke.

The wolf clawed up the table opposite, dashing candles every which way. Everywhere, I saw flames catching and holding.

The tables of shirts, the racks of leggings, Cole’s piled clothing. Even Sierra’s plants gave themselves up, dried leaves curling first, and then the others wicking the fire hungrily. It was as if this entire place had been rigged as a bomb.

I dashed to the back counter and got my bottle of water. I soaked the edge of one display. It was such a useless gesture. In the back room — was there something larger? When was the fire department going to get here? Did I just let the wolf out into the street?

I couldn’t think. The fire alarm screamed at me to get out.

Cole had pressed himself into a corner, ears flat back against his head, shaking.

“How can this not be hot enough for you?” I snarled.

But it was hot enough. Because he was shaking with the shift.

Now his paws had become fingers, and they clutched the wall and scrabbled on the concrete, and his head was bent, shuddering, and then it was Cole, the boy, the monster. Naked and human, curled in the corner.

I hurt. Everything in my heart hurt so bad, seeing him, smelling the wolf, watching everything get absolutely destroyed.

His eyes were wide. Flames flickered in the shine of them.

“God,” he said.

The flames came no closer because of the concrete floor and walls. The only thing in here for the fire to eat was everything Sierra had made and everything I’d grown.

I heard sirens in the distance. Fire. Police. Cameras. Proof.

“You can’t be here,” I told him, more furious than I could imagine, though I didn’t know yet what, exactly, I was furious at. I hurriedly kicked off my boots and peeled off my leggings from under my long tunic. I threw them at him. “Put those on.

Get out. Go out the back.”

The windows out front were suddenly filled with the dark red of the fire truck.

“But —”

My stomach felt sick with the ruin of all of it. In five minutes, Sierra was going to pull up. Nothing felt real. Or else, this was real, and nothing else had ever been.