And finding a path forward through pain that won’t disappear but can be carried together.
The smell of woodsmoke and ash lingers, but beneath it runs something else—the scent of the pack binding itself together again. It’s not pretty. It’s not clean. But it’s necessary.
Nova stays with the healers, occasionally glancing my way. I give her space. This isn’t about us right now. It’s about them.
Movement catches my attention. Rafe, who has been circling the edge of the gathering, pauses. His shoulders square slightly, head tilting just enough to indicate he’s caught something. Most wouldn’t notice the change, but I’ve spent years reading micro-expressions in combat situations. His sudden focus is like a flare in my awareness.
I continue listening to Mateo’s story about Marcus teaching him to fish, but track Rafe with my peripheral vision. He makes his way smoothly to where Ansel stands, moving with deliberate casualness. The two exchange words, heads bent close, voices too low for even enhanced hearing to catch.
Ansel nods once, shoulders already shifting toward the forest. No questions asked. No unnecessary confirmation. He simply slides into the treeline, his exit so natural that none of the grieving wolves even notice his departure.
My instincts sharpen. I wait, letting nothing show on my face as Wyatt finishes an anecdote about Marcus winning a bet with three cherry stems and a blindfold.
Rafe returns to the circle, standing beside me with a relaxed posture. Only the rigid line of his jaw betrays his alertness.
“We have an observer,” he says quietly, eyes still on the flames. His tone is conversational, steady. “Nothing immediate. Holding distance on the north ridge.”
I don’t turn my head, don’t break my attentive stance toward the pack. “Faelan?”
“Not his signature.” Rafe takes a slow breath. “Too controlled. Too patient. Just ... watching.”
I grant him a short nod, processing his assessment against my own growing awareness. Now that he’s named it, I can sense it too—a faint pressure at the boundaries of my consciousness. Not threatening, not yet. But distinctly present.
The feeling reminds me of being stalked by a mountain lion once. The predator hadn’t attacked, just tracked me for miles, maintaining a precise distance. Curious but cautious.
I glance at Nova, wondering if her fae senses have picked up our visitor. Her attention remains fixed on Lyanna, who demonstrates something with leaves and twigs. She hasn’t noticed. Or hasn’t chosen to respond.
“Ansel will track but not engage,” Rafe continues softly. “Better to understand what we’re dealing with first.”
“Agreed.” I scan the trees beyond the clearing, seeing nothing but feeling everything. My territory. My responsibility.
The stories continue around the fire, laughter occasionally breaking through the solemnity. Ben steps forward to share something about a mission with Marcus. The pack leans in, hungry for connection after too much death.
But beneath the grief, beneath the healing, something stirs. A subtle shift in pressure. The forest inhales, holding its breath.
We aren’t finished here. Not by a long shot.
“Keep the circle strong,” I tell Rafe, my voice low. “I don’t want whatever’s out there sensing weakness.”
He nods once, then moves to join a cluster of wolves near the fire’s edge. His presence steadies them immediately, their postures relaxing without conscious thought.
I remain where I am, feet planted firmly. Alpha. Guardian. Target, maybe.
Let them watch. Let them wait.
My pack is grieving, but it isn’t broken.
Chapter 46
Nova
Iwake before sunrise, Dane’s arm heavy across my waist. The cabin is silent except for his steady breathing—deep, even, peaceful. Something I never thought I’d associate with him.
Three weeks.
It’s been just three weeks since I walked into Ash Hollow, stone in hand, tracking magical disturbances that felt wrong in a way I couldn’t name. Three weeks since I first caught Dane’s scent and knew—instinctively, unwillingly—that something would change between us.
I didn’t come for a pack. I came for evidence. For traces of Faelan’s interference. For confirmation that the magicalimbalances I’d been tracking weren’t random fluctuations but deliberate manipulation.
