When I woke up, it was almost eight at night. I groaned, realizing my sleep schedule was completely wrecked. The experience suddenly reminded me of my years as a medical resident, when this sort of thing—sleeping all day, working night shifts, living moment to moment—was normal. And, frankly, right now, that sounds wonderful compared to a whole night of empty hours spent just thinking.

Thinking about my life, my strangely-evolved career, my relationships…plural. About a certain kiss in the woods. About a sweet doctor who apparently wants to build a life with me.

I sighed and sat up, looking around my sterile little apartment. I hadn't really decorated, I realized, gazing at the grey and beige furniture, the simple linens, the charmless curtains. Everything was functional and high-quality, but none of it felt…me. Or did it?

I frowned, thinking of Ella's sweet home, which—even though Sinclair picked out most of the furniture before she moved in—still felt distinctly Ella in every corner. It was warm, sweet, and comfortable. What did my space say about me?

I'm an orphan; I never had possessions or control over my living environments. Where would I have learned to decorate? I never had a mother to show me how…

So where did Ella…?

I groaned, rolling my eyes, sick of being jealous of my sister. I love her so much, and I'm so happy she has what she wants. But sometimes she's just so…perfect. It makes me realize how unhappy I am in comparison.

I rolled over, reaching for my phone, seeking distraction from these disquieting thoughts. But when I picked it up, the first thing I saw was a barrage of messages from one of the relationships I'm trying to avoid. I sighed and opened my messages.

Hank: Hey, Cora – how did the baptism go? Dinner later?

Hank: Cora? You okay?

Hank: Hey, text me when you wake up – I know you were up all night, but I'm worried I haven't heard from you.

Sighing, I swiped away the messages and scrolled through the rest of my phone, determined not to let it bother me that there was nothing from Roger. Not a peep. As I checked my email, another message from Hank popped up.

Hank: Hey, are you home? I'm… this is a little pathetic, but I'm outside. Can you let me in? I'm at your apartment door…

My heart twinged. Hank. He's being so sweet, and I'm… not being fair to him, am I?

Ella's right. I'm holding onto a space for Roger, one he doesn't even want—despite last night, nothing's changed. And there's a man outside my door with moo shu pork, dying to love me.

God, what's wrong with me? I jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, yanking it open.

Hank jumped, his eyes widening as he accidentally dropped the large bag of Chinese takeout onto the small mail table outside my door. "Gah!"

"Hi!" I said, brightly—maybe too brightly. "I'm so sorry," I continued, smiling. "I just woke up. We were up all night. I'm very sorry. I should have texted before I fell asleep."

"It's okay," Hank said, giving me his rare, warm smile. "I get it—you had a busy night."

"Do you want to come in?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe and gesturing inside. "I'm… starving."

"Sure," he said, his lips curving upwards. "That sounds great, Cora."

As we sat, the Chinese takeout spread around us on the coffee table, eating with chopsticks right out of the containers, Hank told me about his day. He'd held down the fort at the free clinic where we both work, seeing expectant mothers and treating general ailments in humans and wolves currently without access to their regular healthcare providers. It was, apparently, a busy day with some tricky cases. I watched him closely, my eyes flicking over his handsome, serious face, his thick brown hair, his strong, capable hands—and I felt something twist in my stomach, something that made me… want to jump across the couch and kiss him.

"Cora?" he asked, making me blink and refocus. "Did you hear me?"

"Hmm?" I asked, shaking myself and forcing myself to listen. I grimaced. "I'm sorry, Hank," I said apologetically. "I got…lost in my thoughts. Forgive me. Can you start again?"

"It's okay," he replied, winking and reaching for my hand, squeezing it before sitting back. "I was just curious if you think Ella would want to be more involved in the clinic."

"I think she'd be dying to be more involved," I replied instantly, picking up a piece of chicken and broccoli. "But she doesn't have any medical experience. Would she really be helpful? I think she'd do anything—she's got a big heart, but…"

"I wasn't thinking about administration," Hank said, swirling noodles around his chopsticks. "And it's true she doesn't have medical experience, but she does have…healing experience."

I cocked my head, confused.

"Or, more precisely, healing powers," Hank clarified quietly.

"Our mother's gift?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

He shrugged. "It was incredible, what she was able to do—twice now. To bring herself out of that coma, and then I saw her instantly heal wounds that should have incapacitated her for days. If she were able to harness that power… Or, Cora," he said seriously, meeting my eyes, "if you were able to harness that power…"

"Oh," I said, my mouth forming a small "o" as I lowered my takeout. I'd honestly never considered leveraging my mother's power for medicine. It seemed too sacred, too special, to be used for bumps and bruises. But could it—should it—be used to cure people on the edge of death, like Ella had been? Could it be used to fight terminal cancer or deadly wounds?

My skin tingled at the possibilities, but I was wary. I gave the gift back to Ella; our mother gave it to her. It's hers to use as she wishes.

But if I had it, would I use it differently?

"Sorry," Hank said softly. "Did I…was it wrong to suggest it?"

"No," I said, snapping back to him. "But it's a bigger question than I can answer. We'll have to ask Ella."

"Well," Hank said with a smile, "now that she's feeling better, maybe we can have that conversation soon. If the gift can truly heal…she could help a lot of people, quickly."

"Yeah," I said, grinning, excited. "And it's not like she's got anything else on her plate at the moment."

"Well, neither do we," Hank said, pushing his takeout aside and moving closer, taking the container from my hands and placing it on the table. "At least, not for the next twelve hours or so, until we have to go to work."

I laughed lightly as he moved closer, bringing his face near mine and slipping a hand behind my back.

"Whatever shall we do?" I murmured, happy as he used his hand to lay me flat on the couch. I closed my eyes as Hank kissed me.