I shrug once, jaw tight. “Now I’m remembering how to do both.”
Mary steps closer, and I feel the cold on her coat even from here. It clings to her like memory. She looks around the clearing like she’s appraising it—not just the supplies, but the structure, the position, the way I’ve laid traps along the ridge. She’s noting everything. She always did. Her brother taught her that. Darius trusted observation more than weapons.
“He’s alive,” she says finally, and I nod once, already knowing who she means.
“I figured.”
“He sent me.”
“Then this isn’t just a visit.”
“No,” she says simply. “It’s a warning.”
Angie comes up beside me, not touching, not speaking, but there, and Mary sees it. Sees her, really sees her, and her expression shifts subtly—not unkind, but shaded with something close to regret.
“You remember how the Pact used to work,” she says to me. “What we stood for. What we protected.”
“I remember the blood.”
“I remember the cause,” she says, quiet but firm. “And I remember that it was always meant to be bigger than our pain.”
I exhale through my nose, fingers tightening around the edge of my coat. “Why now?”
Mary glances at the fire, then at the Seal still lying in the wooden bowl beside it, its glow muted but steady. “Because we’ve stirred something darker. Roman’s not alone anymore. He’s building alliances with things we thought were extinct. He’s not just hunting shifters. He’s trying to break what little is left of the balance.”
“And the Pact?” I ask.
“Scattered,” she says, eyes hardening. “But breathing. And we have a weapon now. Something that might shift the tide.”
I wait, but she doesn’t elaborate.
“You’re not going to tell me what it is.”
“No,” she replies. “Not yet. Not until you can see for yourself.”
Something dangerous, then. Mary wouldn’t be so cryptic otherwise.
She turns to Angie again, and I feel that stillness ripple through her—like she’s bracing for a blow without knowing where it’ll land.
“You’re bound to him now,” Mary says softly, no accusation in it, just gravity. “You know what that means?”
Angie lifts her chin. “I do.”
Mary watches her for a long time. Then she says, “Being tied to a bear is not just a bond. It’s a burden. You’ll carry it when he can’t. You’ll feel it when it breaks. You’ll be hunted because of it. Hated for it.”
“I already have been,” Angie replies, voice strong, clear. “And I haven’t backed down yet.”
Mary studies her like she’s trying to find the fault lines, the cracks in the armor, the truth behind the conviction. But there’s none to find.
“You’re young,” she says.
“And you’re underestimating me,” Angie answers.
Something in Mary’s eyes shifts again. Approval, maybe. Or something close to it.
“Good,” she says. “Then maybe you’ll be strong enough.”
Cassian POV again now.
