They cluster along the quarry’s rim and spill down its terraced sides, half-seen shapes flickering in and out of focus as if the world itself can’t decide whether to acknowledge them.Shifters mostly.Wolves.A few others, leopards, bears, something with horns broken short at the skull.
They are frantic.
“Too close,”one hisses as we edge forward.
“They’re waiting,”another warns.“They always wait.”
I stop short, lifting my hand instinctively.The pack halts with me, no questions asked, no irritation.Just trust, freely given, and it’s a beautiful, yet terrifying fucking thing.
Grayson’s presence is solid at my side, the bond steady even as my pulse races.He doesn’t ask why I stopped.He watches my face, my breathing, my eyes flicking to places that look empty to everyone else.
“What is it?”he murmurs.
I swallow hard.“They’re here.The ones who died.They’re ...panicking.”That’s as close as I’ve come to saying it out loud.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch.“What are they saying?”
The ghosts press closer, voices overlapping in a chaotic rush that makes my head pound.
“Stop,” I whisper fiercely.“Slow down.”
They obey, reluctantly.
A male steps forward, older, his features weathered even in death.His chest bears a scorched wound, blackened at the edges where silver burned him from the inside out.
“The cages aren’t empty,”he says.
Ice slides down my spine.“What do you mean?”
“They are filled with shifters.Bait,”he answers.
My breath catches painfully.“How many?”
“Four or five.They’ve been drugged and they are weak.”
The quarry shifts in my vision, the outlines sharpening into something I can’t unsee.I spot the cages now, metal frames rising from between the rock and brush, set just far enough apart to make a rescue feel possible.
A gift.A lie.
“They’ve layered the traps,”the ghost continues.“There are pressure plates under the loose gravel and silver trip wires in the shadows.Men with guns are waiting on the ridge.They expect the wolves to rush in.”
My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms.
Grayson’s fingers brush mine, grounding and warm.“Trinity.”
“They’re going to slaughter us,” I whisper.“All of us.”
He doesn’t argue.Doesn’t minimize.“Then we don’t do what they expect.”
Caine moves up quietly, Calum and Talon flanking him.His gaze flicks between us, sharp and assessing.“Tell me what we need to do.”
I open my mouth and the words stick.This is it, the edge I’ve been dancing around since the moment I crossed into Katu territory.The line between being tolerated and being feared.Between being chosen and being cast out all over again.
The ghosts watch me with unbearable intensity.They are waiting for me to take the next step.
“Now,”they urge.“You promised.”
I hadn’t.Not out loud.But the truth is heavy and hot in my chest, clawing its way up my throat.I can’t carry it anymore.
