“Where do they want us?” I asked. I could hear how tired my voice sounded.
“Here, for now. We assemble everyone at the compound. Menace and Savannah are up in the family room; the other teams are en route. Bronc wants a full headcount by dawn,” said Arsenal. “And we’ve got to prep for the witches, too. They’re coming in from three covens, and each group needs a safe landing. They don’t want to waste energy on travel; they’re saving every ounce for the actual fight.”
Wrecker tugged me aside, his voice dropping to a hush. “They’re bringing in Griffin Calloway and the entire East pack royal guard. Kazimir’s got his best four plus Lucia. Slade Stewart’s running point for the West wolves. Everybody’s showing up for this.”
My mouth felt dry as sand. I couldn’t believe everyone in the country was showing up for my mate.
Wrecker asked if I could feel Brie through the bond.
“It’s faint, but I don’t get an overwhelming feeling of injury. I think she’s hurting, don’t get me wrong, but things just feel hazy. Maybe it’s because she’s on another plane. Maybe she’s asleep, or maybe she’s pretending to be. If Maltraz wanted her dead, he’d have done it already.” Just saying that made me want to vomit.
We turned back toward the main room, where Bronc had assembled a huddle of the key players: Ms. Pearl, Juliet (waddling, massive, still the Luna even with a baby due in a few weeks), Big Papa, and the rest of the officer corps. The mood was pure trench warfare: no jokes, no nervous tics, just the kind of grim efficiency you get when the only options are win or die.
Bronc spoke, voice low and steady, the way a big dog calms a whole kennel with nothing but a growl. “We’re on the clock. Menace’s team is wheels up. Rafe’s bringing his best, landing in four hours. The witches are split—each coven leader with a team. Kazimir and Lucia will be bringing their private jet straight here. Slade Stewart and his team will also fly directly here, ETA three to four hours. We’re gonna make this happen tomorrow. Eh…” he looked at his watch. “Well, shit, actually today at dusk.”
He scanned the table. “Nobody gets in or out unless we say so. Wrecker, double the guards on the compound perimeter. Arsenal, make sure Juliet, Harper, and Maddie are locked down. Pearl, you’re in charge of all incoming teams. Doc, set up triage in the garage. Assume worst-case scenarios.”
Then he looked at me. Just me.
“Gunner, you hang tight. Brie’s alive, and she needs you sharp. You’re no good to her if you run yourself into the dirt.”
It should have been a comfort. But the words just made my skin itch.
“I need to do something,” I said, and heard the desperation in it.
Ms. Pearl moved over, her hand gentle on my shoulder. “You are doing something, honey. You’re holding it together. Sometimes that’s the hardest job there is.”
Juliet slid a mug across the table toward me, but I barely noticed.
Everything started to blur—voices, faces, even my own thoughts. I watched Arsenal hand Wrecker some document; couldn’t make out what it even was. I saw Doc pulling supplies from a duffel, his movements precise and surgical. Ms. Pearl poured coffee, but her eyes never left the entryway, scanning for threats I couldn’t even imagine.
And still, all I could see was Brie, in the dark, alone, waiting for someone to come through.
I drifted to the window and looked out at the compound. Trucks and bikes lined the drive, headlights cutting through the deep night. Even from inside, I could smell the pack: hot oil, sweat, a trace of wildflowers and diesel. Above it all was the tang of wolf, sharp and bitter. That was the scent of fear, and it had taken up residence in every corner.
I felt like I was sleepwalking. The emotions of the previous hours and lack of sleep had finally caught up with me. I must have looked like a corpse with a broken leg, because Bronc didn’t even bother with the keys—he just picked me up by the armpits and half-carried, half-walked me across the compound to his house. The screen door creaked, the smell of baking bread and lemon cleaner hit me, and suddenly we were inside, the noise of the war room swapped for something softer, closer to human.
Juliet was already in the kitchen. Eight months pregnant and still on her feet, belly round as a pumpkin under a blue cotton dress. She had her hair twisted up in a knot, apron tied over her midsection like a flag of surrender. When she saw me, she smiled, genuine, as if the world hadn’t just fallen to pieces.
“Sit, Finn,” she said, and her Luna voice was so gentle I sat before my knees even had time to argue.
She put the kettle on, moving with slow, deliberate grace. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted a glittery purple, and I stared at them, grateful for the ordinary detail. I could feel her aura—a warmth that radiated through the room, smoothing out the jagged edges in my skull. For the first time in hours, I felt my hands unclench.
Bronc went to the fridge, poured himself a glass of water, then settled at the table opposite me, elbows wide, the top button of his shirt popped. He looked at me for a long minute, then said, “You holding up?”
“Not really,” I said, but the words tasted less raw than before.
Juliet brought over a mug and set it in front of me. Chamomile, heavy on the honey. “Drink,” she said. “It’ll help.”
I did as I was told. The tea was hot and sweet and tasted like memory, like something my mother would have made me. Shit, my parents. I hadn’t even told them what was happening. It was just as well. I didn’t need them in the middle of this. Just more people to worry about. Juliet put a hand on my wrist, cool and dry, and gave a squeeze. She didn’t say anything else, just let the contact do the work.
“Come on in here.” She led me to the great room and sat me on the large sofa. Her eyes held mine. “I know you want to be in the fight this minute,” she said after a while. “But right now, you need to let others work. You can’t help Brie if you’re falling apart.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
She smiled, soft and sad. “I used to think I was weak for needing people. That the only way to survive was to handle everything on my own. Turns out, the opposite is true. The strongest thing you can do is let someone else help.”
I tried to think of how she might have been before Bronc; a little scared, a little proud, still finding her place in the world.
