I cross-reference with my notes from the other territories I investigated before coming here. Same pattern. Same escalation curve. Three packs that fractured from within before anyone realized they were being manipulated. All showing the same signature emotional manipulation—the kind that works specifically on wolf pack instincts, turning natural conflicts into pack-destroying fractures.
Ash Hollow makes four. And Faelan’s getting bolder. Or more desperate.
I slip the stone back in my pocket and close my notebook.
The convergence at Silverwood. The realm boundary destabilization. The fracture points Rafe traced when he arrived. It’s all connected.
And it all leads back to Faelan.
I look out at the compound through my small window. Wolves moving through their routines, trying to rebuild, trying to heal. Not knowing that every conflict, every doubt, every moment of suspicion is exactly what he wants.
If I can’t stop it here, there won’t be a fifth chance.
I push back from the desk and head outside. I need to clear my head, let my wolf stretch. The afternoon sun filters through the trees as I walk the perimeter alone, my steps crunching over fallen leaves.
Something still hums beneath my skin—that energy from Silverwood, clinging like static.
My palm still tingles from where I touched that Skylar Cassidy book. The magic had recognized me, reached for me specifically. Whatever Faelan’s built in Silverwood, it knows I’m here now. I flex my fingers, trying to shake off the sensation. Harper has the book in her bag—maybe Lyanna can examine it later, figure out why it called to me.
The woods feel wrong. Off-balance. Like they’re listening.
I stop at the eastern boundary marker and press my hand against rough bark, letting my senses expand. The magic here is thin, stretched across territory lines like worn fabric. I search for tears, for weak spots, for anything that might explain the prickling between my shoulder blades.
And that’s when I feel it.
Not a sound. Not movement.
Pressure.
The air shifts, compresses. Like the forest itself is making space. Holding its breath.
I know who it is before I turn. That signature presence is unmistakable; the heaviness of command, of restrained power. The woods recognize him. So does my body.
When I pivot, Dane is already there. Standing motionless between two pine trees, watching me. His stance is rigid, legs braced shoulder-width apart, arms hanging loose but ready. Nothing about him is relaxed. Everything is coiled, controlled, patient. Predatory.
His eyes lock onto mine, and I catch the flash of amber in their depths. His wolf is close to the surface.
“You followed me,” I say.
He doesn’t blink. “You kissed me in front of the entire pack this morning. Did you think I’d let you walk into the woods alone after that?”
The blunt truth of it hits like a physical blow, but I refuse to flinch. “That was different.”
“Was it?” He takes a single step forward, deliberately closing distance. “Your magic hasn’t settled since Silverwood. I can smell it.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good. Because that’s not what I am.” Another step. His scent reaches me now—pine, leather, and that distinct wolf musk that makes my pulse jump. “You think I’m here to stop you? I’m here to watch your back.”
“I don’t need—“
“Say ‘protection’ and we both know it’s a lie.” His voice drops lower. “Your hands haven’t stopped shaking since we left town.”
I glance down at my fingers. A fine tremor runs through them—almost imperceptible, but there. I curl them into fists.
“That thing recognized me,” I say. “Whatever’s in Silverwood—it knew me.”
“I know.” Dane moves closer, until barely three feet separate us. “That’s what worries me.”
