The outlanders had their own way of doing things, and once you actually understood it, the rest fell into place pretty fast.
Most of them were lone wolves — not rogues, not exiles, not wolves who'd done something unforgivable and gotten cut loose for it. Just wolves who'd made a different choice.
Some had walked away from packs that cost too much emotionally, financially, politically, sometimes all three at once, and decided the quieter life out on the edges was worth whatever they were giving up to have it.
Others couldn't stomach the city anymore. Couldn't keep their wolves dormant just to function inside a world that had never really been built for what they were.
"Ever wonder how they keep themselves supplied out here?" Voren asked, his voice unhurried. Seraphine went still.
She looked around the restaurant again, not just letting it register this time, actually reading it. The way the whole room had quietly rearranged itself the second Voren walked through that door.
