Third-Person Limited – Kendra
The deadline sat on the calendar like a bruise.
April 15.
Every time Kendra walked past it, her eyes flicked over.
She'd look away fast, like not staring directly at the date would keep it from getting closer.
It didn't work.
Life kept happening anyway.
Classes. Homework. Jokes in the hallway. Dominic walking her to third period like it was the most natural thing in the world. Joint Service with Ms. Hall. Group study nights where they got more done than she expected and less than they claimed.
Normal, if you ignored the weight of the decision pressing at the back of her mind.
By Wednesday, the pressure got loud enough that even her stubbornness couldn't drown it out.
She had to tell him.
They were at Joint Service, sorting a box of dusty binders that smelled like old paper and boredom.
Miss Hall had left them alone in the office with instructions and the promise of donuts if they didn't break anything.
Kendra flipped another binder open, checked the label, and muttered, "Useless."
Dominic glanced over. "Talking to the binder or yourself?" he asked.
"Both," she said.
He smirked and went back to his stack.
Silence settled.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
She stared at the binder in her hands for a moment.
Felt her heart start doing that nervy, tap-dance thing.
"Dom," she said.
The nickname still felt new on her tongue. It softened his edges.
He looked up instantly. "Yeah?"
"I need to tell you something," she said. "Before the universe does it for me."
His brows knit. "That sounded ominous."
"It kind of is," she admitted.
He set the binder down. "Okay," he said slowly. "Hit me."
She took a breath.
"You know the exchange program ends soon," she said. "End of the school year."
"Yeah," he said carefully.
"They sent an email," she went on. "I finally opened it. They want to know by April 15 if I'm going home like planned… or applying to stay. For school here. For longer."
He went very still.
"April 15," he repeated.
"Yeah," she said. "It's… not far."
He was quiet for a moment. She could almost hear him counting weeks in his head.
"And?" he asked softly. "What did you tell them?"
"I haven't," she said quickly. "Yet. I wanted to talk to you first. And my parents. And maybe the kitchen sink for advice."
His shoulders dropped a fraction in relief.
"You haven't decided," he said.
"Not fully," she said. "I've got two lists going."
"Of course you do," he murmured.
She gave a humorless little laugh. "Going home is… home," she said. "My parents. My street. My food. Familiar everything. But also… money stress. Less opportunity. Everyone knowing every move I make. Feeling like I'm stuck in the same story I thought I'd escaped."
He nodded, listening.
"Staying," she said, "means… you. The girls. This weird town. A chance at college here. New things. But also visas. Papers. Pack politics. Being 'Dominic's human mate' in a place that still doesn't know what to do with that."
She sighed.
"Either way, I lose something," she finished quietly. "Either way, I gain something. Either way, somebody's going to be upset. My mom, or your pack. Maybe you. Maybe all of the above."
He didn't rush to answer.
Just watched her.
She looked away, stared at the far wall where a laminated fire evacuation chart hung crookedly.
"I didn't want you to hear 'Kendra might be leaving' from some adult," she said. "Or from an email accidentally forwarded to the wrong inbox. So… yeah. That's me. Trying to be honest. For once."
He let out a slow breath, like he'd been holding it since she said the word ends.
"Thank you," he said. "For telling me."
"You're not mad?" she asked, bracing.
"Mad at what?" he said. "At you for having choices? At an email existing? At time moving? I can't fight a calendar, Ken."
"You'd try," she said.
He huffed out a small laugh. "Yeah," he admitted. "I did glare at my planner pretty hard this morning."
She almost smiled.
Then his expression shifted.
Serious.
"But I am… sad," he said. "Scared. Selfish, if I'm being honest. I don't want to do the thing where I watch you get on a plane and hope a bond is enough to stretch across an ocean."
There it was.
The thing she'd been too scared to say first.
Her chest tightened.
"Me either," she whispered. "But pretending it can't happen won't make it less possible."
He nodded, jaw working.
They sat in that heavy truth for a moment.
"What happens if I go home?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "For you. For… us."
He didn't look away.
"The bond doesn't break," he said. "Not unless one of us dies. Or does something with a ritual none of us ever want to touch." He gave a humorless smile. "We'd still feel each other. Just… fainter. Like a radio station with static."
"So we'd just… hurt?" she asked.
"For a while," he said honestly. "Then… maybe it becomes a background ache. Or maybe we find ways to bridge it. Calls. Visits. Time together in chunks instead of every day."
"You'd visit?" she asked, startled by how hopeful she sounded.
He blinked, like the question offended him a little. "Of course," he said. "If you went back and wanted me still… I'd find a way. I'd have to work out visas and pack duties and all the grown-up stuff I've been avoiding thinking about. But I'd come. For summers. For holidays. For however long your mom would let me invade her house."
"She'll make you wash dishes," Kendra warned.
"I'm more afraid of that than rival packs," he admitted.
She snorted.
"If you leave," he said, sobering again, "it will suck. I won't lie. I'll be angry at the world. At myself. Maybe at you sometimes. Not because you did something wrong, but because I'm… human enough to feel selfish and wolf enough to hate distance."
"I think I'd be mad at you too," she said. "For not being there when I want to scream about stuff. For not being real in front of me, just a voice on a screen."
He nodded like he'd already pictured it. "We'd fight," he said. "We'd have stupid miscommunications. We'd fall asleep on calls. We'd miss each other. A lot."
"Sounds… hard," she said.
"It would be," he agreed. "But not impossible. If we both wanted it enough."
She swallowed.
"And if I stay?" she asked.
His eyes softened in a way that made her heart trip over itself.
"If you stay," he said slowly, like each word mattered, "I will spend the rest of my time on this planet making sure it was worth it. Not by promising you some fairy tale, but by doing the work. With you. Not instead of you."
She looked skeptical.
"That means what, exactly?" she asked. "Because 'I'll make it worth it' sounds nice, but what does it look like on a Tuesday when the sink is broken and you're grumpy and the pack council is yelling about protocols?"
He smiled a little. "It looks like… making plans," he said. "Real ones. On paper. Where you go to school here, and I figure out how to balance pack responsibilities with being more than just 'Alpha in training'. Where we talk about rent and bills and laundry, not just kisses in empty hallways."
Her cheeks warmed at that last part.
"And paperwork," he added. "Lord, so much paperwork. Visas. Maybe scholarships. Housing. My dad knows people who can help. He said he'd support us if you wanted to stay. Not… force. Support."
She heard the difference.
"And the pack?" she asked. "They just… accept a human attached to their future Alpha?"
"Some will take longer than others," he admitted. "Some may never fully love it. But they'll respect it. Or they'll have to deal with me and my father."
"Sounds exhausting," she said.
"It will be," he agreed. "For both of us. But we wouldn't be doing it alone."
Her chest tightened in a different way now.
Hopeful and terrifying mixed together.
"I don't want you to pick a path just for me," he said quickly. "If you stay, I want it to be because you can see a version of your life here that's yours. With or without me. I'll fight to be part of it, obviously. But I don't want you to wake up one day and realize you traded one cage for another.
She stared at him.
"Sometimes you say things that make it really hard to keep my walls up," she muttered.
He shrugged, a little helpless. "I'm trying to make up for all the idiot things I said before I knew better."
She sighed.
"I haven't decided yet," she said again. "But you deserve to know that both options are real in my head. I'm not pretending I'll automatically stay. I'm also not pretending I'll automatically leave. I'm stuck in the middle, and it sucks, and I hate it."
He nodded.
"I'd be more worried if you weren't torn," he said. "If you just said, 'Sure, I'll stay forever, no questions, no doubts.' That wouldn't be you."
"What would be me?" she asked.
"This," he said simply. "Making lists. Overthinking. Asking hard questions. Being scared and still talking about it anyway."
Her throat tightened.
"How much time do you have?" he asked.
"Until April 15 to answer the email," she said. "Then the wheels start turning for real."
He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "Then we have a few weeks to get some answers. Not about your feelings—those are already pretty loud." His mouth twitched. "About practical stuff."
"Like what?" she asked.
"Like what staying would actually look like," he said. "School options. Money. Where you live. What kind of protection or status the pack could offer you without turning you into a trophy. My dad's dealt with this kind of thing before. Not exactly like us, but… close enough to have files."
"Of course there are files," she said.
He smiled. "So… will you come talk to him?" he asked. "Not as 'student in trouble' this time. As… you. Looking at possibilities."
She hesitated.
Meeting with the principal as "girl who almost broke someone's nose" was one thing.
Meeting with the Alpha as "mate considering choosing this world" felt… bigger.
"He won't… pressure me?" she asked.
"I'll be there," Dominic said. "He might pitch. He loves a good speech. But he respects you. And he knows if he pushes too hard, you'll do the opposite just to prove a point."
She couldn't even argue with that.
"True," she said.
"So?" he asked. "Will you talk to him? Just talk. No signing in blood required."
She took a breath.
"Yeah," she said. "Okay. I'll talk to him."
The knot in his shoulders loosened.
"Thank you," he said softly. "Whatever you decide… thank you."
"For what?" she asked.
"For not shutting me out," he said. "For not making this choice in a corner by yourself."
She looked away, suddenly overwhelmed.
"If I cry, I'm blaming you," she muttered.
"That's fair," he said.
Miss Hall chose that exact moment to come back in carrying a box of donuts.
"How's the filing—" she started, then stopped, blinking at their faces. "Huh. I thought the paper dust might kill you. Didn't think feelings would get you first."
Kendra sniffed. "It's your fault for giving us time to think," she said.
"Well, stop that," Ms. Hall said briskly. "Here. Sugar solves at least half of life's problems."
She set the box down.
Kendra took a donut.
Took a bite.
It didn't fix anything big.
But it grounded her.
One bite at a time.
One choice at a time.
That night, in her room, Kendra sat cross-legged on her bed with her notebook open again.
The two pages stared at her.
GO HOME.
STAY.
Under STAY, she added a new line:
Meeting with Principal Garrison & Dom – ask what's possible.
Under GO HOME, she added:
Talk to Mummy & Daddy again – what would life look like for real, not just in memories?
Both lists looked less like vague dreams now and more like routes.
Hard either way.
Clearer, though.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Dominic:
Whenever you're ready, I'll set up the meeting with my dad. No rush. Just… don't let your brain explode first.
She rolled her eyes and smiled.
I make no promises.
But… okay. Soon.
She put the phone down and looked at the calendar.
April 15 waited.
Scary.
But not as shadowy as before.
If she had to choose an ending for this chapter, she'd do it with her eyes open.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Not alone.