“After—“ She stops herself, jaw tight. Her eyes flick to Nova, then to me, nostrils flaring slightly. Something changes in her expression. “Fine. But this can’t wait much longer. Eight people missing now—three more since yesterday. And we’re sitting here doing nothing.”
Over by the Lodge, Ben leans against the railing, watching everything. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just observes. Taking mental notes. His eyes catch mine for a brief moment—neutral, assessing. He clocks the scent on me, on Nova. Files it away without judgment.
Marcus moves to Kari’s side, silent and measured. His senior warrior’s presence carries weight earned through years of service—first at Shadow Peak under Caleb, now here. He’s been watching too, cataloging reactions, weighing loyalties. I can feel him calculating odds.
Wyatt breaks away from his group, approaching with purposeful strides. “Alpha,” he says, the title respectful. “My team is ready to move on Silverwood whenever you give the order.”
“Your team follows orders,” I say calmly. “All of you do.”
The air in the compound feels thick, charged. Wrong. Just like the forest. Birds call inconsistently from the trees, patterns broken, timing off. Even the light seems to bend strangely through the branches.
Marcus shifts his weight, his senior warrior’s authority evident in his posture. “We’re not questioning your leadership, Alpha. But the missing wolves—three of our own gone for weeks with no answers—and now these hikers. Our patrols are stretched thin trying to cover territory we haven’t mapped properly yet. We need resources, not mysteries.”
Derek and Torres move closer, positioning themselves near Marcus. Not threatening. Just ... present. A subtle shift in pack dynamics that doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.
“We follow your lead, Alpha,” Wyatt says firmly, his tone brooking no argument as he meets Marcus’s gaze. “Whatever you decide.”
Quiet murmurs rise from the scattered groups. Agreement. Disagreement. Doesn’t matter which. The fact that they’re reacting at all tells me how far the cracks have spread.
I scan the yard once more, taking in every face, every posture. They’re waiting for me to react, to show weakness or indecision.
“Full pack meeting after dinner,” I announce, voice carrying across the compound. “No exceptions. Until then, maintain positions and protocols.”
I turn and walk toward the lodge, not looking back to see if Nova follows. Control intact.
But barely.
I close my office door behind me, knuckles white around the handle. The pack meeting is in two hours—time to prepare for what could be a bloodbath if I don’t get ahead of it.
Callum’s report sits on my desk, dog-eared and stained with coffee. I don’t need to read it again. Perimeter security logs, scout rotations, supply inventory, all pristine. Perfect even. Too fucking perfect.
I pace the length of my cabin, footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. Four strides, turn, four strides back. Muscle memory from too many nights of strategic planning.
The radio on my desk crackles. “Perimeter check complete. All clear.” Wyatt’s voice—steady, professional. Nothing out of place except the timing. That’s the third check today. He’s never been this thorough before. Or this visible.
I grab my jacket and head outside. The compound is quieter than it should be mid-afternoon. Wolves move with purpose, but their paths are different—avoiding certain areas, clustering in new formations.
Harper emerges from the supply shed with a clipboard, checking items against her list. She spots Kevin near the main house and calls out, “Silverwood run leaves at 0600 tomorrow. You have the kitchen inventory ready?”
“Done this morning,” Kevin calls back. “Added extra flour and salt. We’re running low.”
“Got it.” She makes a note, then turns toward the southern trail where three wolves are gearing up for patrol. “Mateo—before you head out, Ben needs the maintenance report on the north fence line. Something about loose posts near the creek.”
Mateo nods, adjusting his pack. “I’ll radio it in from the perimeter. Should have eyes on it within the hour.”
The pack operates like a machine—each part knowing its function, reporting through proper channels, keeping the whole thing running. When it works, it’s invisible. You only notice the mechanism when something breaks.
I keep walking, cataloging what I see. Not the smooth operation Harper’s coordinating—the fractures underneath it. The wolves who turn away when she approaches. The reports that take too long to filter up the chain. The patrols that “forget” to check in on schedule.
Phil’s been here, all right. Working his way through our structure like rot through wood.
Reyna stands near the armory with Derek. They’re not talking, just watching. Their postures mirror each other, angled away from the main house where Marcus normally holds court. Interesting.
Ben appears at my right shoulder, silent as always.
“Harper’s fitting in,” I observe.
“Shadow Peak wolves adapt fast,” he replies, neutral. No opinion offered. No insight shared.
