“Keep searching,” I order. “Document everything. When we find the exact location, I want full tactical assessment. Rescue operation for five people from an unstable dimension—we do this right or we don’t do it at all.”
Ben nods, already turning back to the map. Kari pulls up satellite imagery on her laptop, cross-referencing energy signatures with terrain features.
I step outside, the weight pressing down on my shoulders. Eight lives hanging in the balance while Faelan plays his games.
But lost isn’t the same as gone.
Not yet.
My gaze drifts across the yard to where Nova stands with Lyanna near the edge of the clearing. Their heads bend together in quiet conversation. Nova’s hands remain at her sides, fingers occasionally flexing then going still. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then back. Small, controlled movements that most wouldn’t notice.
I notice.
Her shoulders form a rigid line under her dark jacket. When she turns slightly, I catch her profile—jaw set, eyes steady. She looks composed. In control.
But I can feel it from here—the wrongness. The discomfort that lives under her skin.
My chest tightens. The urge to cross the yard builds beneath my ribs, pressure that doesn’t ease when I breathe through it.
Fuck.
A sharp bark cuts through the morning air. I turn to see Ben separating two wolves—Eli and Tomas—both bristling with aggression over what should be standard training.
“Back off,” Eli growls, hands flexed at his sides.
Tomas steps forward instead of back. “Make me.”
I move without thinking, cutting through the space between them.
“Enough,” I say. The word comes out quiet.
Both wolves freeze, then step back. The challenge dies in their posture.
“Eli, take five. Tomas, south patrol with Callum.”
They nod, separating without argument. But the reaction was wrong. Too sharp. Too ready for escalation.
The whole pack feels like a wire pulled taut—not yet broken, but stressed at every point.
I turn back to where Nova and Lyanna were standing.
The absence hits me like a physical blow. My chest tightens, an uncomfortable pressure building beneath my ribs. I scan the compound methodically—checking shadows between cabins, the path to the eastern boundary, the treeline where she might have disappeared. Nothing.
My hands curl into fists at my sides before I force them to relax. The urge to track her scent, to follow her trail, claws at my wolf instincts. But I plant my feet, jaw working as I grind my teeth against the compulsion.
She’s been gone maybe five minutes. Ten at most. But something cold and sharp settles in my gut—not fear, but recognition. The distance between us is growing, and every instinct I have screams that it’s wrong.
The space is empty now. Nova gone without a sound.
My jaw clenches tighter. I don’t like that.
I circle back toward the lodge, scanning the treeline, the cabins, the winding paths between buildings. No sign of her.
Something cold settles in my gut. Not fear—I don’t do fear. But awareness.
The distance between us is growing, and I can’t seem to close it.
An hour later I push through the command center door with measured force. The hinges stick like they always do, scraping metal on metal. Normally these small, predictable frictions ground me. Today they grate.
