The shift is small, but it’s there. A sliver of respect. From Rafe, of all people.
Darius notices. His jaw clenches, his fists curl, but he says nothing.
Mary’s eyes flick to me. For the first time since the fire, since the bed, since the silence she left me in, she doesn’t look away.
And in that moment, I know I’ve earned something. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But the smallest piece of ground to stand on.
19
MARY
The council breaks, the wolves dispersing into the night like restless shadows, their voices carrying in low growls and mutters, the scrape of boots against wood fading into silence. I remain by the fire a moment longer, the heat soaking into my palms as I press them close, staring into the flames until my eyes blur. The weight of everything presses in—Roman’s threat, Silas’s words, Darius’s fury. And under it all, the unspoken truth that gnaws at me: my place here doesn’t feel as solid as it once did.
Tessa’s hand brushes my arm, her touch light but grounding. “Come,” she says softly. “The others are waiting.”
I follow her out into the cold, the wind sharp but clean, stars breaking through the clouds above. She leads me to a smaller cabin tucked on the far edge of the ridge. Lantern light glows through the cracks, warm against the night. Inside, the air is different—not thick with anger or suspicion, but humming with quiet energy, with something that feels like breath drawn in before a storm.
Kaleigh sits near the hearth, her hands pressed against the chest of a man slumped against the wall. His wings are bent andbroken, feathers ragged with blood, his breath shallow, his eyes sharp even in pain. A bird shifter. An enemy.
I pause in the doorway, instinct bristling. My wolf growls low.
“He’s a spy,” Tessa explains, her voice calm. “But not one who came willingly. Roman uses chains as much as fear.”
Kaleigh looks up briefly, her face drawn with concentration. Her hands glow faint, green-gold light seeping into the man’s broken chest. His breath steadies, the sharp wheeze fading, though his eyes remain locked on us, wary, mistrust thick in them.
Jennifer kneels nearby, her dark hair falling across her shoulders, her voice a low hum, each word layered with subtle pull. Her gift is not force, not domination, but persuasion laced in melody, her tone wrapping around the spy’s mind like silk threads. “You’re safe here,” she whispers, her words rolling smooth. “You can tell us what he ordered. You can tell us the truth.”
The man’s jaw works, his lips trembling. His body resists, his hawk pushing back. But the words linger in him, softening the iron in his gaze.
Angie steps in then, her hands raised, her eyes soft as dawn. She doesn’t speak to him with words but with presence, her magic flowing like calm water. The sharpness in his breathing fades further, his muscles loosening, his shoulders sagging. Rage gives way to exhaustion.
I stand there, watching them—four women, each wielding strength in different forms, each filling the space with something that feels like balance. The cabin hums with it, the air thrumming as though the walls themselves draw in breath.
Kaleigh pulls her hands back at last, the glow fading. She exhales hard, her face pale, sweat beading her brow. The spy’schest rises steadier now, the bleeding slowed, his body no longer trembling with pain.
Jennifer leans closer, her voice a steady rhythm. “Tell us,” she says gently. “Tell us what Roman sent you for.”
The man swallows hard, his lips parting. “He… he wanted the maps,” he mutters, his voice raw. “The routes to the outer villages. He said… he said if I failed, he’d burn my kin.”
Angie’s hand brushes his, her magic soothing the tremor in his voice. “You’ve done what you must,” she says softly. “No harm will come to your family here.”
His eyes close, a tear streaking his dirt-stained cheek, the fight leaving him at last. He slumps against the wall, breathing steady, his body surrendering to exhaustion.
The women move back, each of them carrying the weight of what they’ve done in different ways. Tessa remains calm, her eyes calculating, already fitting the spy’s words into patterns, into prophecy. Kaleigh leans against the hearth, her chest rising hard with the effort of pouring her own life into another’s healing. Jennifer brushes her hair back, her voice fading into silence but leaving its echo behind. Angie’s shoulders drop, her magic retreating, her hands folding into her lap.
I watch them all, my heart heavy.
They wield magic like breath, weaving threads of hope and strength and cunning until even an enemy softens under their hands. They carry their gifts as shields and weapons both, standing shoulder to shoulder in a unity I can feel in my bones.
And me?
I am wolf.
I carry no magic, no glow, no hum of power in my blood. My gift is tooth and claw, muscle and rage. My strength lies in tearing and in killing, in standing in the storm and refusing to bow. I have no spell to soothe, no voice to compel, no vision to guide. Only my wolf, old as bone and scar.
I cross my arms, leaning against the wall, watching as they gather closer together, their voices low, their eyes bright with something I cannot name. Pride, maybe. Bond.
Tessa glances at me, her gaze sharp but kind. “You think you don’t belong here.”
