Third-Person Limited – Kendra
The email was still pinned at the top of her inbox.
Reply by April 15.
The calendar on her wall had a small, crooked circle around the date now. Not big and dramatic. Just enough to say: You can't pretend I'm not here anymore.
Kendra stared at it while she tied her shoes.
Her stomach felt… weird.
Not sick. Not just anxious.
More like standing at the edge of a pool and deciding whether to jump in or walk away.
Downstairs, she could hear the girls talking over each other and the clink of dishes. Someone had already burned toast.
Her phone buzzed.
Dom 🐺: Dad can see us after school. 3:30 in his office. You still up for it?
She exhaled.
Yeah. Let's get it over with.
Dom 🐺: Dramatic. I like it. I'll walk you there after last bell.
She shoved the phone in her pocket, grabbed her bag, and headed downstairs.
One more normal school day.
Then a very not-normal meeting.
The hours crawled and sprinted at the same time.
Math.
English.
Science.
Teachers talking about finals and projects and future careers.
Friends talking about summer plans and "when we go back" like it was already decided.
Every so often, her brain would whisper, 3:30.
By the time the last bell rang, her palms were damp.
Dominic was waiting by her locker, leaning against the neighboring one with forced casualness. His eyes were too sharp for how relaxed his body pretended to be.
"You ready?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Let's go."
He smiled, just a little, and fell into step beside her.
They walked through hallways that were slowly emptying, the chatter of students fading behind them.
Kendra felt like everyone could see the words floating over their heads: Future Discussion In Progress.
No one stopped them.
The secretary at the front office just nodded them through.
"Come in," Principal Garrison's voice called when Dominic knocked.
The office looked the same as always.
Big desk. Two chairs in front. Bookshelves. The faint smell of coffee and something clean underneath.
Theatus Garrison—principal, Alpha, father—sat behind the desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He didn't look particularly intimidating today.
That almost made Kendra more nervous.
"Miss Atchinson. Dominic," he said, gesturing to the chairs. "Have a seat."
She sat, backpack on the floor, knees suddenly very aware of themselves.
Dominic took the chair beside her, close but not crowding.
"Before we begin," Theatus said, "let me be clear: this is not a disciplinary meeting. You are not in trouble. This is… information. Possibilities. Nothing decided for you."
Kendra nodded once. "Okay," she said.
He folded his hands.
"The exchange coordinator reached out to me," he said. "Mentioned that they'd sent out the end-of-year email. That students need to indicate whether they're returning home or applying for an extension."
"Yeah," Kendra said. "I saw it."
"And my son informed me," Theatus went on, "that you have… not decided yet."
Kendra glanced at Dominic. "He's snitch-adjacent," she said.
Theatus's mouth twitched. "He's concerned," he corrected. "As am I. Not because I wish to push you in one direction, but because this is a weighty decision, and you deserve to see the full landscape before you pick a path."
"Landscape sounds expensive," Kendra muttered.
"Often it is," he said. "Which is one of the things we'll talk about."
He leaned back slightly.
"Let's start simple," he said. "Option one: you go home when the program ends. You return to your parents. You complete your schooling there. The exchange is a contained chapter, with a beginning and an end."
Her chest tightened.
"I understand that option very well," she said. "I've been picturing it since before I got on the plane."
He nodded.
"Option two," he said, "is more complicated. You remain here. Not as a visiting student, but as someone who lives, studies, and works in this town. That requires structure. Permission. Paper."
"Always paper," she said.
"Always," he agreed. "So. Let me lay out what staying could realistically look like. Not a fairy tale. A blueprint."
She sat up a little straighter despite herself.
"I spoke with the exchange coordinator," he said. "I spoke with my wife. With our legal advisor. With the school board. With one very patient immigration consultant." His mouth twisted. "This town has had a few cases of foreign students wanting to remain. Some were tied to wolves. Some weren't. We've… learned a few things."
"So there's a… path?" she asked slowly.
"There are several," he said. "Each with conditions. Each with trade-offs."
He held up a finger.
"First: education. You're a good student, Miss Atchinson. Your teachers speak highly of you—when you're not making their lives interesting."
She snorted.
"I believe you have the grades to apply to a local college or training program," he continued. "Community college here in town. Or, eventually, a four-year institution, if that's what you want. If you stay, we would help you with applications and with the paperwork for a student visa."
"'We' as in…?" she asked.
"'We' as in the school and my family," he said. "The school can provide certain official documents. I, personally, can sponsor certain aspects of your stay as a guardian equivalent, with your parents' consent."
Kendra blinked. "Like… you sign something that says 'I won't let her starve'?" she asked.
"More or less," he said. "Plus, 'I'll make sure she goes to class and doesn't start fights in the cafeteria.'"
"No promises," she murmured.
His eyes warmed faintly.
"The legal side is doable," he said. "Complicated. But doable. It would require your parents' agreement. It would require you to take your studies seriously. But it is not impossible."
She let that sit for a second.
"Okay," she said. "Education. Visa. Papers. Stress. Got it. What about…" She hesitated. "The rest."
"The pack," he said.
She nodded.
He didn't dance around it.
"If you stay," he said, "and you remain tied to my son as his acknowledged mate, you will not be invisible. Not to wolves in this town. Not to wolves beyond it."
Kendra swallowed.
"I know," she said quietly. "I feel eyes even now."
"Some of those eyes are curious," he said. "Some are wary. A few are genuinely welcoming. Others… less so. That will not vanish if you stay. If anything, it will intensify for a time."
"Great," she muttered. "Love that for me."
"But," he continued, "you would also not be unprotected."
She looked up at that.
"As Alpha, I can formally extend pack protection to you," he said. "You are already under it informally because you are under my roof's influence at school and because Dominic has claimed you as mate. But there are levels. Titles. Status."
She tensed. "I don't want a crown," she said quickly. "Or a throne. Or whatever you people sit on. I don't want to wake up one day and find out I've been drafted as Luna-in-training because I looked at someone the wrong way."
"I wouldn't allow that," Dominic cut in.
Theatus lifted a hand slightly. "He is correct," he said. "We cannot make you a symbol against your will. We can, however, offer… terms."
"Terms?" she repeated.
"Option A," he said. "You remain here as a human resident, dating my son, with no formal pack title. You live in this town. You go to school. The pack is… aware of you. You would be extended courtesy and basic protection because of your connection to my household, but not more."
"That sounds… simple?" she said.
"It is the lightest," he said. "It also gives you the least leverage if something goes wrong. You cannot be used as a pawn in official politics if you are not officially on the board—but you also have fewer formal avenues for complaint if someone mistreats you."
"Option B," he continued, "is a limited status. We recognize you as 'under Alpha protection' in a formal sense. Not Luna. Not pack officer. Just… acknowledged. It tells every wolf in and visiting this town: 'This human is ours to guard, not to test. If you cross that line, there are consequences.'"
"That sounds intense," she said.
"It is," he agreed. "But it also deters the sort of outside trouble that sometimes comes sniffing around an unclaimed mate. Especially a human one."
They both went quiet.
"Outside trouble," she repeated.
"Most packs are… decent," he said carefully. "But we live in a world where not everyone approves of certain bonds. Some see human mates as weakness. Some see them as… leverage."
She thought of the new scent she'd noticed at Spring Glow. The way the wolves in the gym had reacted.
"Has someone already…?" she started.
"No," he said quickly. "No one has approached you, and no one will be allowed to. But as Alpha, I have to think six moves ahead. If you stay, I want you protected on paper, not just in promises."
She nodded slowly.
"Would this… protection status…" She searched for the words. "Lock me in? Like, if I decide five years from now that I'm tired of all this, can I quit? Or do I sign a blood contract and suddenly I'm pack forever?"
"You would not be forced to stay," he said. "Protection is not a cage. If you decide to leave—return to Jamaica, move elsewhere—we can revoke the status in council and mark you as a former protected human. Messy. But possible."
"Option C?" she asked, because of course there was one.
He exhaled.
"Yes," he said. "Option C is… long-term. If you stay. If, years from now, you and Dominic are still together, still choosing each other, still willing… there are ceremonies. Roles. Ways to formally make you Luna in the eyes of the pack, even as a human. There are costs and benefits to that. More responsibility. More authority. More target on your back. That is a conversation for another time. Not today. Perhaps not for years. You are seventeen."
"Good," she said firmly. "Because my brain already hurts."
He actually smiled.
"The point is this," he said. "If you choose to stay, you are not walking into a void. There are structures. Paths. People ready to help. You will be asked to compromise. To adapt. To learn. But you will not be alone."
Silence settled.
Kendra stared at her hands.
"You'd really… sign for me?" she asked quietly. "On paper. As sponsor."
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "If you want it. If your parents consent. If you commit to doing the work on your end."
"What if the council doesn't like it?" she asked. "What if they yell and stomp and say, 'No human girl from another country gets to tie herself to our future Alpha and our laws'?"
"Some will protest," he said. "They already murmur. But they do not rule this house. I do. And soon, my son will. They advise. They do not dictate your life."
Dominic's jaw flexed slightly, some private resolve passing through his eyes.
Kendra let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"So staying is… really possible," she said.
"Yes," Theatus said simply. "Hard. But possible."
"And going home is… also possible," she said.
He nodded. "Also hard. Also possible."
She laughed once, humorless. "You're not making this easier."
"I'm not supposed to," he said. "I am supposed to make it clear. Easy and clear are not the same."
"Unfortunately," she muttered.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze gentle in a way she'd seen more in his wife than in him.
"Whatever you choose, Kendra," he said, using her first name deliberately this time, "I would prefer that it be from a place of knowledge, not fear. If you go home, I want it to be because you love your family and your country and feel called back—not because you were scared of forms and wolves. If you stay, I want it to be because you see a life here that fits you—not because you felt trapped by my son's bond or my pack's expectations."
Her throat thickened.
She nodded.
"Okay," she said quietly. "I… appreciate that."
He sat back, letting her breathe.
"The deadline is not today," he reminded her. "You still have time. Not too much. Enough to speak to your parents again, to ask more questions, to sit with this."
She glanced at Dominic.
He'd been quiet, letting his father talk, but his eyes never left her.
"What do you want?" she asked him suddenly.
He blinked. "Right now?"
"Big picture," she said. "Not just 'I want her to stay.' We already know that part."
He hesitated.
Then, slowly:
"I want a life where you don't have to choose between being loved and being yourself," he said. "Where you can study what you want, wear what you want, fight who you want—within reason." His mouth twitched. "Where you can go to sleep knowing no one will drag you into a role you didn't pick. Where my wolf doesn't spend every night snarling at a map because you're on the other side of it."
Her eyes stung.
"I can't guarantee it would be easy," he added. "Here or there. But if you stay… I want to build something with you. Not a castle. Not a fortress. Just… a life."
Somewhere deep in her chest, something shifted.
A click.
Not a decision.
But the sense that, either way, she was going to break her own heart and heal it again.
She took a shaky breath.
"Okay," she said again, more firmly this time. "I've heard the pitch. I've heard the warnings. I've seen the forms in my nightmares already. I don't know what I'll pick yet. But… I'm glad staying isn't just a fantasy in my head."
"I am too," Theatus said.
She stood slowly.
Dominic did too.
"Thank you," she said to his father. "For being… weirdly fair about this."
He inclined his head. "You are welcome," he said. "My door is open if you have more questions. My wife's kitchen is always open. And my council chamber is… occasionally open, if you're prepared for shouting."
"I'll start with the kitchen," she said.
"Wise choice," he replied.
In the hallway outside, the air felt different.
Not lighter.
Not heavier.
Just… more defined.
Like the fog had thinned enough to see the road ahead, even if she still didn't know which lane she'd pick.
Dominic fell into step beside her as they walked toward the front doors.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," she said. "But in a good way?"
He laughed softly. "That sounds like progress."
She shoved her hands into her pockets.
"Staying is real now," she said. "Not just daydream-level. Real paperwork, real protection, real 'your dad will sign his name next to mine' real."
"Yeah," he said.
"And going home is still there too," she added. "Same tiny house, same bills, same noise, same parents who love me and want me back."
"Yeah," he said again.
She looked at him.
"You sure you're up for whichever way this goes?" she asked.
"No," he said honestly. "But I'm up for trying. With you. Or… without you, if I have to. Preferably not that option."
She huffed.
"You know sometimes I wish the bond didn't exist?" she admitted.
He nodded. "Me too," he said. "Not because I don't want you. But because it would mean every choice we made was 100% ours."
"We still get a say," she said. "Even with fate involved."
"Then let's use it," he said.
They stepped out into the afternoon light.
The school behind them hummed with the usual noise—students waiting for rides, buses pulling away, a teacher yelling at someone for running in the halls.
Ordinary.
Unimpressed by life-changing decisions.
Kendra looked up at the sky for a second.
Then she pulled out her phone.
This time, when she opened the email from the exchange coordinator, her hands didn't shake.
She didn't answer it yet.
But she scrolled all the way to the bottom.
Read the line about Reply by April 15 again.
And didn't look away.