“I’m sure you can.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But why don’t you come with us anyway? Our alpha wants to meet you.”
Hands grab me from behind before I can even think about shifting. Someone circled around while I was focused on the one talking. Strong arms pin mine to my sides, and I drop the knife as they lift me off my feet.
I kick backward and connect with something solid. The grip loosens, and I wrench one arm free and drive my elbow into whoever’s holding me. They grunt but don’t let go. A second person grabs my legs.
“Feisty one,” someone mutters.
They drag me toward their vehicle. I manage to call my wolf forward enough to grow a claw and scratch one of them across the face, drawing blood, but then an overwhelming feeling of pain explodes throughout my body, making my wolf retreat.
I thrash and fight, trying everything I learned in combat training. None of it works. They’re stronger, more experienced, and working together.
And that’s when it hits me.
Nobody knows where I am. Nobody knows I need help.
I’m completely alone.
Chapter 2 - Reeyan
The map is telling me something I don’t want to see.
I lean over the worn parchment spread across my desk, comparing three centuries of territorial disputes to the current Thornridge scout positions. The pattern is there if you know how to look for it. Every major infiltration in Edune Valley history started exactly like this—systematic mapping of border regions, careful documentation of weak points, and slow encroachment disguised as innocent exploration.
We’re not dealing with random opportunists. These people know what they’re doing.
I mark another position with red ink, noting the date and approximate number of operatives spotted. The dot joins a dozen others, forming a semicircle around Grayhide’s eastern territory. They’re being careful to avoid our main patrol routes, but not careful enough. Every movement leaves traces for someone who knows where to look.
My worn journal sits open beside the map, filled with observations from the past year. Scout sightings, territorial markers, and communication patterns. I’ve documented everything I can about Thornridge’s movements since they first appeared in our region. As the pack’s historian and strategic advisor, this kind of analysis is exactly what Oren pays me for.
Well, “pays” is a strong word. Oren gives me a place to live and access to the pack’s resources in exchange for keeping everyone from repeating the mistakes of the past. Fair trade, considering I’d probably do this work for free anyway.
The door to my office swings open without warning.
“Still at it?” Axle leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. He’s one of Oren’s security team, built like he could bench press a small car. “You’ve been in here since dawn.”
“The Thornridge scouts moved again last night.” I tap the newest mark on my map. “Fourth position change in two weeks. They’re definitely planning something.”
He moves closer to examine my work. “You think they’re going to make a move on the Amanzite reserves?”
“That’s what all the evidence points to.” I grab my journal and flip to a previous entry. “See this pattern here? It’s almost identical to the Blackwater incursion of 1847. They spent six months mapping territory before launching their assault.”
“And how did that turn out?”
“Badly for everyone involved. Blackwater lost half their pack. The defenders lost their alpha and most of their council.” I close the journal. “We need to avoid repeating that disaster.”
Axle whistles low. “Oren’s going to love hearing this.”
“Oren already knows. I briefed him yesterday.” I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness from hunching over maps all morning. “Today I’m supposed to head to Llewelyn territory to discuss setting up a collaborative intelligence network. Share information across Badlands so we can identify threats before they become crises.”
“Like the Bastian situation.”
“Exactly.” I gather my maps and tuck them into a leather case. “If we’d had better communication between territories, someone might have flagged his movements earlier.”
The council meeting starts at noon and runs long, because everything with Oren’s council runs long. Dorian Fields joins via video call from Ambersky territory, his face pixelatedon the screen mounted to the wall. He looks tired, probably dealing with his own security concerns.
Dorian runs a hand through his dark hair and declares, “The intelligence network is a good idea in theory, but implementation is going to be tricky. We’re asking packs to share sensitive information about their territories and vulnerabilities.”
“Trust issues,” Oren notes. “Everyone’s still raw from the Thornridge infiltrations.”
