“Found what I thought was a breach in the eastern perimeter. Had my whole plan worked out, ready to report back that we had an intruder.” Finn’s lips quirk up. “Marcus watched me for maybe two minutes before he stepped out of the shadows. Didn’t say I was wrong—just asked me what else I was seeing.”
He pauses, swallowing hard.
“Turned out the ‘intruder’ was an injured doe who’d been using the same path for three days, trying to get to water. I was tracking the right signs, but missing half the story. Marcus showed me how to read the full picture—the blood drops, the favoring of one side, the desperation in the gait.” Finn’s voice drops. “Made me better at something I thought I was already good at. That was Marcus—he didn’t tear you down. He just ... built you up from where you already were.”
A few quiet nods ripple through the circle. Understanding. Recognition.
Wyatt’s voice is gruff when he speaks. “Sounds about right. Man never made you feel stupid for what you didn’t know.”
“Just made sure you learned it properly,” Reyna adds softly.
Mateo laughs, obviously thinking of another memory. The sound is bright against the somber backdrop. It’s the first crack in the wall of grief we’ve built around ourselves.
The laughter seems to give others permission. Stories begin to flow—some hilarious, others quietly touching. Derek talks about Marcus teaching him to fight left-handed after a training injury. Nora shares how he’d slip her extra rations when she was recovering from the flu, pretending he’d “miscounted” the portions.
Wyatt tells a story about Marcus getting his boot stuck in mud during a patrol and refusing help for an hour out of pure stubbornness. “Had to dig him out with a stick eventually,” he says, grinning. “Man was ankle-deep and still insisting he had it handled.”
The grief doesn’t disappear. It just becomes something we can carry together, lighter for being shared.
Movement at the edge of my vision draws my attention. Caleb separates from his pack, crossing the clearing with measured steps. Not intrusive, but purposeful. He stops a few feet away, his gaze on the dying embers of Marcus’s pyre.
“Isla saw it,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only Alpha hearing would catch it. “Three days ago. She woke from a vision of your pack tearing itself apart, wolves corrupted by purple light from within. She saw Marcus fall. Saw the choice you’d have to make.” His jaw tightens. “She also saw that if we didn’t come, Ash Hollow would be slaughtered.”
I don’t respond immediately. “You came because of a vision.”
“We came because you needed us,” Caleb corrects. “The vision just told us when.” He pauses, watching the embers. “Isla wanted us to leave the day she had it. I made her wait—wanted to be sure.”
I don’t respond immediately. Just watch the embers glow and fade. Without Shadow Peak’s intervention, Marcus’s faction would have killed my loyal wolves. Ben. Wyatt. Callum. All of them.
“You got here,” I say finally.
“That’s what pack does,” Caleb says, and there’s weight in those words. “We show up when it matters. Even when you’ve chosen to build something separate from us. Pack is always pack.”
I nod once. Between Alphas, that’s enough. Acknowledgment. Gratitude. The wordless understanding of what was risked and what was saved.
Caleb doesn’t wait for more. He returns to his pack at the clearing’s edge, and I let him go.
My gaze shifts across the clearing. Nova stands apart, neither inside the circle nor fully outside it. Her gaze meets mine brieflybefore she moves toward the cluster of healers at the edge of the clearing.
Lyanna, Isla, and Elysia have formed their own quiet node of connection.
“The root mixture worked better than expected,” I overhear Lyanna saying as Nova approaches. No emotional processing, just practical healer talk. But I recognize it for what it is: grounding through purpose.
Nova nods, immediately engaged. “The bleeding stopped faster this time.”
“We’ll need more willow bark,” Elysia adds. “I know where to gather it.”
Some bonds form through blood and battle. Others through shared skills and understanding. I see both happening across the clearing tonight.
Kari remains alone, arms crossed tight against her chest. When Rafe walks past, their eyes meet for a split second. Hers narrow. His remain impassive. The air between them practically crackles with unresolved tension.
I file that away for later. Not my focus tonight, but something to monitor.
Callum approaches, offering a nod instead of words. I return it. Between us, no speeches are needed. He understands what it means to carry the weight of lives. To lose one under your watch. As a seasoned warrior with Shadow Peak pack, he’s seen his share of losses.
The pack continues to loosen, stories flowing more freely now. Remembering Marcus through their own experiences. Not just how he died, but how he lived.
I stay silent, watchful. This moment isn’t about my voice. It’s about theirs. Finding their way back to each other through shared memory.
