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"So," I said as we finished cleaning up, "ready to plan the next one?"

Kit looked up from the stack of business cards she was organizing, her smile bright enough to power the whole town.

"Already am," she said. "Tom's right. We need an intermediate class. And maybe we should think about adding other art forms. Photography, fiber arts, creative writing..."

"Before you know it, you'll be running an arts festival," Micah observed.

"Don't tempt me," Kit said, but her eyes were sparkling with possibility.

Later that night, after Charlie was in bed and the property was quiet, the four of us sat on the back porch looking out at the barn, still lit by string lights but now empty of visitors. Kit was curled up in her favorite chair, brainstorming ideas for curriculum development, while Jonah and Micah discussed logistics.

"Look at this," I said, showing Kit my phone screen filled with social media posts from the evening. "Mrs. Carrington posted about Abigail's pottery, dozens of people sharing photos and talking about commissioning work."

"That's beautiful," Kit said softly, her voice warm with satisfaction.

"You started something today," Jonah said quietly. "Something that's going to keep growing."

Kit looked around at all of us, her gaze lit with that same kind of spark, the one that made even the string lights feel dim.

"We started something," she corrected. "The house, the community, this family. It's all connected. I couldn't have done any of this without you."

"Maybe," I said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you're the one who had the vision to see what was possible."

"And the courage to make it happen," Micah added.

"And the wisdom to make it inclusive," Jonah finished.

Charlie's voice drifted down from upstairs: "Are you guys having another feelings talk without me?"

"Go to sleep, buttercup!" Jonah called back.

"I'm trying, but you're being loud with your emotions!"

We all laughed, the sound echoing through our house. Our gallery, our community center, our home.

"She's not wrong," Kit said, setting aside her sketchpad. "We are being pretty loud with our emotions."

"Good emotions, though," I said.

"The best emotions," she agreed.

And sitting there on our porch, looking out at the illuminated barn surrounded by the evidence of dreams made manifest and community bonds strengthened, I couldn't have agreed more.

Our omega had found her calling, our pack had found its place in the world, and our property had become exactly what it was meant to be.

Home.

Chapter 30

Kit

The courthouse parking lot was busier than I'd expected for a Tuesday morning in the county seat, but then again, Marcus had always been the type to make waves even when he was drowning. I sat in the passenger seat of Jonah's truck, watching people in suits hurry up the courthouse steps, and tried to ignore the way my hands were shaking.

Four months. Four months since our bonding, since Marcus had broken into our house in a desperate attempt to reclaim what had never really been his. Four months of legal proceedings and depositions and lawyer meetings that had felt surreal, like watching someone else's life play out in a courtroom drama. Not to mention Kit’s second heat that thankfully hadn’t started in such a dramatic fashion.

"You don't have to do this," Reed said from the back seat, his voice gentle but edged with the protective anger that had been simmering in all three of my alphas since we'd gotten the callthat Marcus's trial was finally happening. "We can turn around right now. Go home, let the lawyers handle it."

"I know," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "But I want to. I need to see this through."