Panic, cold and sharp, drives a spike into my chest. I’m losing him. I’m watching the only thing that has ever made sense in my life disintegrate, and I don't have the tools to fix it.
Think, Miranda. Think.
My father.
The thought hits me like a hammer to the head.
"Silver," I whisper.
I turn to Remy. "You said my father... you said everyone called him Silver because he was immune."
Remy blinks, confused by the pivot. "Yeah. That was the legend. He took a round to the chest and healed it."
"How?" I demand. "How does a wolf survive the one thing designed to kill it?"
"Nobody knows. He was just... strong. An Enforcer."
"Biology doesn't work on 'just strong,'" I argue, pacing the small space between the table and the wall. "There has to be a mechanism. A genetic mutation. An enzyme."
I look at Jax. He’s fading. The rise and fall of his chest is getting shallower.
"If my father was immune," I say, my mind racing, connecting wires, looking for a circuit, "and I am his daughter... then I carry that genetic marker. I carry the immunity."
"You're a Chimera," Remy says. "You ain't a Wolf. It’s different."
"It’s the same blood!" I scream. "Jax said it himself. I carry the blood of the strongest Wolf in the swamp."
Outside, the world explodes again.
A shockwave rattles the shack, knocking a jar of nails off the shelf. The sound of gunfire is closer now. Thepop-pop-popof rifles mixing with the roar of flames.
I run to the window and shove the shutter open.
The bayou is burning.
Gregor has escalated. He’s not just using lights anymore; he’s using incendiaries. Orange flames lick at the Spanish moss, climbing the cypress trees like living things. The smoke is thick, oily, and black, blotting out the moon.
Through the smoke, I see shapes moving. The battle has spilled into the deep marsh. The Howlers—Jax’s pack—are being pushed back. They’re fighting, but they’re tired, wounded, and blind.
"They’re losing," Remy says, standing behind me. "Without the Alpha... the line is breaking."
"If we don't stop this," I say, watching a tree crash into the water in a shower of sparks, "there won't be a swamp left to hide in. If the Hunters win tonight, they’ll hunt us down one by one."
I turn back to Jax.
He’s convulsing again. A violent, full-body spasm that lifts his hips off the table. Foam gathers at the corner of his mouth, pink with blood.
I rush to him. I grab his face, forcing him to look at me.
"Jax, listen to me," I beg. "You have to fight the silver. You have to push it out."
He stops thrashing. He goes limp, his head lolling back.
"Can't," he breathes. "Too... heavy."
"You have to!"
"Go," he whispers. A tear tracks through the grime on his cheek. "Please, Miranda. Run."
