“You okay here by yourself? You need help?” The wolf had a vague idea that Rowen was part of Alex’s pack and in need of looking after. “I’m sixteen,” Rowen said, like that meant something. “Yeah?” When Devin was sixteen, he had about ten different people taking advantage of him and, if that therapist he spoke to was right, an undiagnosed case of anxiety. “I’m good,” they said with authority.
