“I know,” she says simply.
Ben steps aside as I walk past him, barefoot on the cold wooden floors. The morning air hits my bare chest when I step outside, and I let the shift take me. Bone and muscle reshape as I move, the familiar pull and stretch of transformation rippling through my frame. My spine elongates, shoulders broadening as my arms become forelegs. Four legs replace two, paws finding purchase on the cold ground. My wolf finds their scent easily, following the trail toward the northern edge where the trees thin out before the ridge.
The compound falls behind me as I run. Most wolves are still resting after the wake, processing grief and rebuilding bonds.Caleb and the Shadow Peak contingent left at first light, their gesture of respect and unity still resonating through the pack.
The run takes me past the compound’s edge, through dense forest, up the gradual slope toward the northern boundary. I catch their scent before I see them—Rafe’s territorial musk and Ansel’s strange, unplaceable signature.
I find them in a small clearing where the trees thin before the ridge. I shift back, letting the angel magic weave clothes around me as my human form solidifies. Rafe stands with his back partially turned, pack slung over one shoulder. He isn’t sneaking away. His posture is too deliberate, too patient. Ansel faces the woods, still and watchful, but his head turns slightly as I approach. He clocks my presence without seeming to look at me at all.
They aren’t running. They’re waiting.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
Rafe turns fully to face me, his expression carefully controlled. “Thought it might be easier. The pack needs time to heal without outsiders complicating things.”
“Outsiders?” I raise an eyebrow. “You bled with us. Fought beside us. That makes you pack in my book.”
I hold his gaze steadily. We both know what he’s not saying: that their purpose here is complete, that the temporary alliance has served its function, and that they have their own battles waiting elsewhere.
“I could use a couple of good warriors,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Ash Hollow’s stronger with you here, but the choice is yours.”
Rafe studies me for a long moment, reading between the words.
I look back at Rafe. “Was planning to hold a strategy meeting this afternoon. Recalibration after everything that’s happened. Your input would be valuable.”
Rafe’s mouth quirks up slightly. “If we stay, are you going to show me that trick of magically getting dressed after you shift?”
The tension breaks. I actually laugh. “Yeah. I can do that.”
Rafe glances toward Ansel with an almost imperceptible nod, then turns back to me.
“Three days,” he says. “Then we reassess.”
It’s exactly what I’d expect from him—measured, calculated, giving nothing away that he doesn’t have to.
I accept it with a single nod. “Works for me.”
Ansel’s expression doesn’t change, but his stance shifts slightly, weight redistributing as he settles into the decision. His loyalty to Rafe is absolute—that much has been clear from the beginning. Silent and watchful, he communicates more through stillness than most wolves do with words.
We turn back toward the compound, moving through the trees with easy steps. I walk point, not because I’m trying to establish rank, but because this is my territory. The dried pine needles crunch under my boots as we navigate the uneven ground.
The silence between us isn’t heavy. It’s functional. The kind of quiet that forms between fighters who understand what matters isn’t what you say but what you do when shit hits the fan.
The treeline breaks, revealing the collection of cabins and structures that make up Ash Hollow. Morning has fully taken hold now, the compound waking up to face whatever comes next. Harper crosses the yard with a stack of firewood, nodding briefly in our direction. Ben watches her from the porch of the main cabin, pretending not to. Marcus’s absence hangs in the air, a void that will take time to fill.
Mateo jogs past, already dressed for training despite the bruises still visible on his arms from the Fade battle. He’s beenpushing himself harder than anyone—maybe trying to prove something, maybe just trying to stay ahead of the nightmares.
Ansel stops, catches Mateo’s attention with a single word: “Boy.”
Mateo slows, turns. Ansel nods toward the training field. No explanation needed. The kid’s face brightens slightly—the first real expression I’ve seen from him since the wake. He changes direction without question, jogging toward the field where Ansel’s already heading.
The scent of coffee drifts from the common area, mixed with the sounds of low conversation. Life is continuing, despite everything. Wolves rebuilding, recalibrating, and finding their footing again.
Near the healer’s cabin, I spot Nova standing with Lyanna and Isla. Isla arrived yesterday with Caleb’s group, bringing her quiet strength and steady hands. Her presence has already eased some of the burden on Lyanna, who looks less exhausted this morning.
Nova’s eyes find mine across the distance. Her expression doesn’t change, but I feel the connection snap into place between us, sure and solid. She takes in Rafe and Ansel at my back without surprise or question. She simply processes the information, adjusts whatever calculations she’s running in that razor-sharp mind, and continues her conversation.
The air shifts subtly, a stillness spreading through the trees beyond the eastern perimeter. I pause, senses sharpening. It’s not a scent, exactly. More like a pressure change, the way the air feels different right before a storm forms. But it’s not the weather.
