Eleven distinct patterns. Three I recognize immediately: Jensen, Kira, Tomas—Ash Hollow’s missing wolves. Two humans. Must be Jessica Chen and Mark Sullivan. But six others I don’t know. Victims from outside Ash Hollow territory, their signatures faint and unfamiliar. Some bright and sharp, others softer and muted. None in pain. None terrified. They all exist in a strange, gentle limbo.
He’s been doing this longer than we thought. Taking victims from multiple territories, building his collection systematically.
Jensen’s presence flickers strongest among the Ash Hollow wolves—young, protective instincts still firing even in suspension. Kira and Tomas’s patterns intertwine, packmates to the end. Jessica’s consciousness pulses with scientific curiosity even here, while Mark’s radiates steady concern for her safety.
All of them trapped. All of them waiting for rescue they don’t know is coming.
This isn’t a killing ground. It’s a holding pen. A collection point.
The implications turn my blood cold. Faelan isn’t destroying his victims. He’s harvesting them. Storing them for something worse than death.
I pull my hand back from the stone, breaking contact. The resonance fades but doesn’t disappear completely. Now that I’ve felt them, I can’t unfeel their presence.
I check the position of the sun through the trees. The pack will be mobilizing soon. Dane will have discovered I’m gone. He’ll come.
I draw my knife and mark the stone with a quick slash.
Then I move to the edge of the clearing to wait.
I steady my breathing. In. Out. Five counts each. My pulse settles into a calculated rhythm.
The forest remains suspended in that unnatural stillness, like everything’s holding its breath. I force myself to do the same—to become part of this frozen moment rather than fight against it.
I push up my sleeve and stare at the silvery mark on the inside of my wrist.
It appeared weeks ago—I still don’t remember getting it. Just woke up one morning and it was there, faint and easily ignored. After the Fade, it became impossible to ignore. Raised now,the edges iridescent, pulsing with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat.
Here, in this clearing, the pulse intensifies. Responding to something unseen. My skin prickles.
It didn’t.
Now it’s raised and pale, the edges slightly iridescent. And here, in this clearing, it starts topulse. Slow. Rhythmic. Responding to something unseen. My skin prickles.
I press my thumb to it. The heat intensifies—still no pain, just pressure. Like something inside it iswaiting.
“You made me a key,” I whisper. “But keys open doors from both sides.”
That’s what Faelan miscalculated. He didn’t choose me. He programmed me. Assumed I’d act according to plan.
But tools fight back.
And weapons—
Weapons like me choose how they cut.
I scan the clearing again, seeing it with new eyes. The symmetry isn’t just unnatural—it’s intentional. Every tree positioned to channel energy. The bare earth swept clean for maximum conductivity. The stone at the center—not just a marker but a focus point.
I close my eyes, reaching out with that part of me that’s always been different. The presences I sensed earlier pulse steadily in the suspended magic.
I brush against one consciousness—Kira, I think. Female, young. Her mind isn’t panicked or fighting. It’s drifting, peaceful. Drugged almost. Contained in a gentle prison that feels like a dream.
My stomach turns.
I drop my hand, severing the connection. My skin crawls with the wrongness of it. Whatever Faelan is building, these captivesare fuel for something bigger. Something worse than simple death.
My thoughts turn to Dane. Not to his hands on my skin or his breath against my neck. To his tactical mind. His ruthless clarity. He needs to see this—not just hear about it. Needs to understand what we’re truly facing.
He’ll be here soon. He’ll track me. Find me. And when he does, I won’t be shaking or crying or lost.
