The next month was a blur. We spent most of our spare time with Rocco and the rest of the pack, doing extra-long dinners in which everyone tried hard to make things as normal as possible. Rocco was much quieter than his usual jokester self, and every time Ford and I tried to get him alone to tell him about the scent in the hallway thing, he made up an excuse and left before we could.

I didn’t blame him, of course; everyone dealt with trauma and loss differently. Eventually, he’d listen, ...