“I'm a mechanic, not a nurse.” Gideon settled back, watching me with that unnerving stillness of his. “So. You came here to talk about the forest.”
It wasn't a question.
“It was loud last night,” I said. “Evan felt it too.”
“It's been loud for weeks. Getting louder.” Gideon's jaw tightened. “My wards are holding, but they're... strained. Something's pressing against them. Testing.”
“Testing for what?”
“Weaknesses. Gaps. The patient kind of testing, the kind that doesn't mind waiting.” He met my eyes. “Whatever's out there, Daniel, it's not in a hurry. It's been hungry for a long time. A few more weeks won't make a difference.”
My wolf growled, low and warning, and I had to breathe through it to keep my eyes from flashing. “Can you pinpoint it?”
“If I could, I would have already.” Gideon's mouth twisted. “My wards tell me what's trying to get in. They can't tell me what's already here, biding its time. Watching. Waiting for the right moment to strike.”
“Silas?”
Gideon's face went carefully blank. “Silas hasn't shown his face in Hollow Pines in decades.”
“Doesn't mean he's not pulling strings from the shadows. Men like him don't just disappear. They fester. They plan.”
“No. They don't.” Something flickered in Gideon's eyes. Something old and tired and almost sad. “If it is Silas... if he's finally making his move...”
“Then we need to be ready.”
“Ready.” Gideon laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You can't be ready for Silas, Daniel. You can only survive him. And not everyone does.”
There was weight in those words. History. Pain. But before I could push, Gideon's expression shifted, closing off whatever had been visible for that brief moment.
“There's something else,” he said. “Something you're not saying.”
I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug, let the warmth seep into my palms. “Michael.”
“Ah.” Gideon's eyebrows rose. “The human.”
“Evan says he's not doing well. Working himself ragged, drinking too much. Drowning in that renovation like it's the only thing keeping him afloat.”
“And you care because?”
It wasn't cruel. Gideon was never cruel. But it cut anyway, right to the heart of something I'd been avoiding for months.
“I care because he's pack-adjacent. His son is mated to my son. That makes him family, whether he wants the title or not.”
“Pack-adjacent.” Gideon repeated the words slowly, tasting them. “Is that what we're calling it?”
“What else would we call it?”
“I don't know, Daniel. What wouldyoucall it? That thing that happens when he walks into a room? The way your wolfgoes quiet and watchful every time you catch his scent? The way you've been circling him for months like a man standing outside in the cold, staring at a fire he won't let himself touch?”
I stared at him. “How do you...”
“I'm old. I notice things.” Gideon leaned forward, and for just a moment, I saw something beneath the gruff mechanic exterior. Something ancient and knowing and almost kind. “You've been alone for years. If we count the years you spent watching Claire fade. You've given everything to this pack, to this town, to that boy of yours. At some point, Daniel, you're allowed to want something for yourself.”
“Claire was my mate.”
“Yes. She was. And she's been gone a long time.” His voice softened. “The dead don't need your loyalty. They need you to keep living. Keep fighting. Keep letting yourself feel things, even when feeling things is terrifying.”
“When did you get so philosophical?”
