"I looked at the photo she had handed me. A wolf looked back at me, wearing my eyes, a still wolf watching from the woods, sunlight touching the edges of its fur. I looked and looked, waiting for it to mean something. Waiting for a prickling of recognition. It seemed unfair that the other wolves' identities were so clear to me in their photographs, but mine was hidden. What was it in this photo, in that wolf, that made Grace's eyes light up?
What if it wasn't me? What if she was in love with some other wolf and she only thought it was me? How would I ever know?
Grace was oblivious to my doubts and misread my silence for fascination. She unfolded her legs and stood up, facing me, then ran a hand through my hair. She lifted her palm to her nose inhaling deeply. "You know you still smell like you do when you're a wolf."
And just like that, she'd said maybe the one thing that could've made me feel better. I handed her the photo on her way out."
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