The house has never been louder, and Valko has never looked happier. He counts them again out of habit—five small bodies, six if you include the one currently scaling him like a mountain. Tiny ears poke up through tousled hair in every shade between yours and his, and little tails wag and bristle according to their rapidly shifting moods.

Valko stands in the middle of the chaos with a bright, happy grin. One of his boys gnaws contentedly on his thumb, and another has wrapped herself around his bicep and refuses your offer to get her down.

“Alright, alright, pack meeting,” Valko declares, and somehow his mellow, amicable voice is enough to cut through the din. Six little faces turn up towards him expectantly. His tail sweeps the floor in a slow, proud arc. “Who wants pancakes?”

The roar that follows nearly takes the roof off. He catches your eye over the top of the stampede, grinning in a way that looks altogether too happy. Valko reaches out and snags your wrist, pulling you into his side. “C’mere, pack meeting means you too. Rules are rules.”