Rafe collected his coffee, turned toward the door, and caught my eye across the café. His smile was warm, friendly, completely genuine-looking.
“Michael,” he called. “Good to see you up and around. Heard you had quite the encounter.”
“Yeah. Got lucky.”
“Lucky and skilled are two different things.” He moved closer, and I fought the urge to shift away. “Taking down that many corrupted wolves alone? That's impressive. Most humans wouldn't have survived.”
“I'm not most humans anymore,” I said carefully.
“No. You're really not.” His eyes tracked to the token still visible in my hand, and something flickered in his expression too fast to read. “Nature-warlock bloodline, right? Gideon mentioned it. Must be strange, learning you've got magic running through your veins.”
“Strange is one word for it.”
“Well, if you ever need someone to practice with, someone who understands what it's like to not quite fit the normal pack mold—” He smiled again, all helpful concern. “I'm around.”
“Thanks,” I said, even though every instinct screamed not to trust him. “I'll keep that in mind.”
Rafe nodded, raised his coffee in casual salute, and left. The bell chimed behind him, and slowly the café felt like it could breathe again.
“Okay,” Nate said quietly. “That was deeply creepy.”
“Yeah.”
“We should tell Daniel?—”
“We will. But right now, I just want to have coffee with my son and pretend the world isn't actively trying to kill us.” I forced a smile. “Tell me about the renovation. How's the house coming?”
Nate launched into a description of drywall disasters and Evan's surprisingly good carpentry skills, and I let myself relax into the normalcy of it. Let myself have this moment of father and son sharing coffee and conversation, of warmth and laughter and the kind of ordinary that felt precious because I knew how quickly it could be taken away.
Martha refilled our coffee without being asked. The café hummed with small-town comfort, locals greeting each other, tourists planning their day. Outside, frost painted patterns on windows that might have been ward marks or might have been just ice.
It was perfect.
Which should have been my first warning that something was about to go catastrophically wrong.
Daniel and Evangot the call just after lunch—one of the younger wolves injured during patrol, needed immediate attention. They'd left in a rush of authority and concern, Daniel pressing a quick kiss to my forehead and telling me to stay at the pack house where it was safe.
I'd agreed because arguing with an Alpha in crisis mode was pointless.
Nate had come with me, unwilling to go back to the renovation house alone, and we'd settled in the common area with Gideon's research journal. Gideon had left it with instructions to study ward patterns, to start learning the geometry that would let me control moon magic instead of just surviving it.
“This is impossible,” Nate said, staring at a page covered in symbols that looked like they were moving. “How is anyone supposed to memorize this?”
“You don't memorize it. You feel it.” I traced one of the ward marks, felt power pulse under my fingertips. “It's like music. Once you understand the rhythm, the individual notes make sense.”
“That's the worst explanation I've ever heard.”
“Yeah, well, I'm making this up as I go.”
He grinned, started to respond, then froze. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, and I saw his eyes shift—human to wolf and back in a blink. “Dad. Something's wrong.”
I felt it too. Pressure building in the air, cold creeping in despite the heating, and the token in my pocket suddenly burning hot enough to make me gasp.
The lights flickered.
“Nate—”
The temperature dropped twenty degrees in seconds. Our breath came out in visible puffs, and frost spread across the windows with unnatural speed. Through the glass I saw shadows moving in the tree line, too many to count, pouring toward the pack house with deliberate intent.
