Tin opened the window a crack, letting a spear of fresh air cut through the stale air inside the old shipping container. This was on paper a great example of adaptive reuse, but it was stiflingly hot in the summer and freezing in the winter, and there were leaks beginning to form where metal walls had rusted through. 

He returned to mopping the floor, sweeping in methodical circles, maintaining the rhythm that Alpha Taucusi had taught him all those years ago. 

The alpha countless generations ago had set up a byzantine roster of tasks, as the best way of stopping his underlings from overthrowing him, and nobody ever since had had the courage or the will to change the system. It was probably the only thing keeping the pack from falling apart. The pool of people who were available to do those tasks was slowly dwindling into nothing though, and more and more, he was being forced to fill gaps at short notice. 

It did not help that the responsibilities had only mounted now that he was promoted to beta. Ordinarily this would have been unthinkable for an omega, but his predecessor had left for university in Wythaven on the other side of the border, possibly never to return, and there was nobody else suitable to replace him. 

Every other young person except for him had either left for university or the mines. He was quite literally the last man standing. 

He didn't mind the mopping though. The task at this time of day, as the sun was setting, was usually the bright spot of the day, no matter what it was. 

On the middle of the three beds in the one-room clinic, Alpha Taucusi lay watching TV. Reruns of old stuff. His skin was sallow. He was unrecognisable. The framed photo on the bedside table only served to remind people of this point. 

It was an unfortunate fate, given he had always been the one people had whispered in hushed tones should have been the alpha rather than that deadshit. He was the one who had comforted people after one of Lorbaugh's tempers. The one who had silently paid the bills and talked the debt collectors away. The one who had worked in the mines for most of his life to support the pack until his lungs gave out. 

It was a miraculous moment when all the older residents were elsewhere, so he was the only person occupying the clinic. The nurse who came here had to split her time: she came here on odd days, and the specialist came in every Tuesday. She split her time with the neighbouring pack; the specialist split his time with six other packs. They both lived in Wythaven and commuted the three-hour round trip across the border each day. They had spent so much effort staying fiercely independent of the Republic and its heathens and now they had more or less capitulated. He wondered what his ancestors would have made of it. Would they understand?

 But staying self sufficient was not really possible, even before the business with Alpha Lorbaugh had gone down. Only the wealthier larger packs had the means to fund their own healthcare, and even then things were often stretched tight. 

"How was the doc the other day?" Tin leaned the mop against the bedside table. 

Taucusi grunted. It was impossible to tell if this was a response or just a grimaced reaction to a sudden pain. 

"What did he say?" 

"He doesn't think it's promising, but, you know, he's trying to be hopeful." Taucusi managed to crack a smile. "He wants to put me on a new treatment next week." Each word took effort. He stopped to wheeze. "It's a bit of a long chance, but it might make things better." 

They locked eyes for a moment. "Well, here's hoping." 

Taucusi cast his eyes up, through the limited sightlines of the tiny high-set windows. "Tin." His voice was hushed, but it carried across the room, with that peculiar quality he had always possessed, but had only mastered with the onset of his illness. 

"Yes?" He moved back across the room. "You know how they say I don't have a mate." "Yes." "Wicked wagging tongues, they are." He beckoned him to draw in. and he obliged, close enough that he could smell the death dwelling in every exhale. "Well, in a way I do, actually," he conspirationally whispered. 

Tin thought for a few seconds. Why he would entrust him to this information? He realised it was obvious he was the only person he trusted. "It was seven years ago. I was in Wythaven to meet someone." 

"That's a long time ago."

"It's not that long when you're my age," Taucusi said, matter-of-factly. "Time is basically flying when you're this old. Feels like it was yesterday."

"A lot's happened since then." Tin pointed out. 7 years ago, Lorbaugh was still alpha, his dad was still alive, they hadn't found out about the thing, everything seemed to be on the up. He realised he wished he could go back in time. 

Taucusi produced a box from a drawer in the bedside table. Tin realised he had prepared for this moment quite a bit behind the scenes, in his own quiet reserved way. He must have been bottling up his energy for some time. 

"Take a look when you have the time. I've written it all down. Just follow the instructions. It's all in there. Ta."

Tin looked at the box. "You want me to bring her back here."

"Look in the box. The box has all the answers." The alpha could hardly get his words out, but he was still trying. 

"So who will be the beta while I'm gone?" 

"We'll figure that out. We should manage."

"Is it that important?"

"It's handled." Taucusi did not elaborate. Once again his expression was inscrutable, either deliberately ambiguous or the product of his illness. 

Tin looked once more at his alpha. He trusted him. He looked out the window, at the setting sun, casting an apricot glow over the off-frame snippet of the landscape that was visible from the too-high window. 

"You should get going." Taucusi urged. "There's going to be stuff to be done in the pack house." Even in his state, he was still well aware of all the pack going-ons. Tin wondered how he knew.