I take two steps toward the northern markers when the detection stone flares hot again—different heat this time. Sharper. I pull it from my pocket. The violet glow pulses in aggressive spikes—not the steady thrum of land magic. This is emotional manipulation. Fresh.
“What now?” Lyanna asks, watching the stone’s pattern.
I turn slowly, following its pull. Not toward the boundary anomalies. Back toward the compound.
“Faelan’s been inside the compound.” I watch the spikes intensify as I angle toward Ash Hollow. “Not just at the borders. Meeting with wolves directly.”
“You’re certain?”
“Within the last twelve hours.” The stone burns my palm. “This isn’t residue. It’s active manipulation signature. He’s not just visiting—he’s working them.”
Lyanna’s face goes cold. “Dane needs to know.”
“He might already suspect.” I pocket the stone. “But suspicion isn’t proof. And without proof, confronting Marcus—or whoever Phil’s been targeting—just drives the wedge deeper.”
Lyanna doesn’t argue, but her expression says everything: This isn’t paranoia. This is ground truth.
The forest shivers around us—a tremor so subtle I might have missed it if I weren’t looking. The trees don’t move. The ground doesn’t shake. But something ripples through the air like a stone dropped in still water.
I feel it in my bones. In my blood. In the space behind my eyes, where the pressure builds.
“How long do we have?” Lyanna asks.
I stare at the eastern horizon where the first hint of dawn bleeds into the sky. “Not the forty-eight hours we thought we had.”
It’s not waiting to tear open.
It’s syncing to me.
Tighter. Closer. Hungrier.
I retrieve two more markers from their hiding spots—river stones I’d buried along the ridge. Their energy pulses faster than the first ones. Not generic disturbances. Specific. Targeted. Resonating withme.
“The pattern’s shifting,” I tell Lyanna, trying to keep my voice steady. “Field distortion’s accelerating.”
I move to another marker—this one hidden in a fallen log. The stone practically jumps into my palm, hot enough that I almost drop it.
“How many markers did you place?” Lyanna asks, following a few steps behind.
“Seventeen. Along both ridgelines and the valley floor.” I press my thumb to the stone’s surface, reading its signature. “The eastern ones are the most reactive.”
“And they’re all responding to your proximity?”
I nod. “But it’s not just that.” I wave her back as I step forward alone. The air thickens around me—not physically, butenergetically. Like walking through invisible spider webs that stick to my skin.
“The net tension increases when I move east,” I explain. “But it’s not just directional. It’s ...” I hesitate, not wanting to say it out loud.
“Intentional,” Lyanna finishes.
“Yes.”
I climb higher up the ridge, checking two more markers. Each one confirms what I already suspect: The field isn’t responding to random magic. It’s responding tome—to my movements, my breath, my pulse.
To Dane.
The thought intrudes without permission. Heat flashes across my skin as fragments from last night surface—his mouth on mine, hands gripping my waist, the low growl that vibrated through his chest into mine.
I push the memory away, but the damage is done. The stone in my hand pulses faster, matching my heartbeat.
