“They’re not guessing,” I say hoarsely.“They know we’re coming.They’ve been planning this.Watching patterns.Timing rescues.”
Caine’s eyes narrow.“We assumed as much.”
“There are captives,” I continue, forcing the words out.“Alive but drugged.They’re using them to draw us in.”
A low growl ripples through the wolves around us.
“Where?”Talon asks.
I point.“Three cages on the lower tier.Two more near the waterline.All rigged.”
Calum exhales slowly.“That’s not a snatch-and-grab.That’s an execution.”
“Yes,” I say.My voice shakes now, but I don’t stop.“And the dead are screaming because they recognize it.This is how they died.”
The silence that follows is deep and terrible.Caine studies my face, really looks at me, and something shifts in his expression, not suspicion and not anger but understanding.
“You’ve seen this before,” he says quietly.I nod once.
Peyton steps closer, her presence calm even here, even now.“How do you know where everything is?”
My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid they’ll hear it.Grayson’s hand tightens around mine, just a fraction.Not to hold me back but to remind me I’m not alone.
“I can see them,” I say.
The words fall into the quarry like stones into water.For a heartbeat, no one speaks.The wind whispers through the rock formations.Somewhere far below, water drips steadily, counting time no one has.
“See who?”Calum asks carefully.
“The dead,” I answer.My voice is steadier now that the truth is out.“I see them.I hear them.They warn me.They always have.”
Shock ripples through the pack, not explosive and not hostile.More like a collective intake of breath.
“I was banished for it,” I add quietly.“Because it scared them.”
The ghosts lean in, watching, waiting to see if history will repeat itself.
Caine doesn’t move for a long moment.Then he nods once, slow and deliberate.“Thank you for telling us,” he says.
Just like that.No condemnation.No recoil.My knees nearly give out as relief crashes over me.Grayson turns fully toward me now, his face unreadable.The bond flares, not in pain and not rejection.But with hurt, sharp and unexpected, threading through his certainty.
“You didn’t trust me,” he says softly.The words hurt worse than any accusation.
“I was afraid,” I whisper, “that if you knew, you’d look at me the way they did.Like I was broken.”
His jaw tightens, his eyes dark and unreadable.“You should have told me.”
“I know.”Tears blur my vision.“I know.”
For a terrible second, I think that’s it, that this is where the bond fractures, where choice gives way to regret.But then he exhales, slow and controlled.
“But you still came,” he says.“Still warned us.Still stood here knowing what it might cost you.”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Then we deal with the lie later,” he says quietly.“Right now, we need to save lives.”
Relief crashes through me so hard it’s almost dizzying.
