Evening meal. The pack gathers in the main lodge, the routine we’ve built over months. Communal dining—one of the few traditions I insisted on from the beginning. Everyone eats together. No hierarchy at mealtimes. Equal access to food, equal seating.
Except tonight, equality fractures in real time.
Marcus sits at the far table with Derek on his left, Torres on his right. Elena settles across from them without hesitation. Mateo hovers nearby, uncertain, then slides onto the bench beside Derek. A younger wolf whose name I can’t recall joins them a moment later.
Six wolves. Marcus’s table.
They’re not loud. Not hostile. They eat, pass dishes, talk in low voices. Normal pack behavior.
Except for the three feet of empty space surrounding them like a moat.
The rest of the pack clusters at the other tables—closer to me, closer to Ben and Callum. Harper moves between groups, trying to bridge the gap with her natural warmth. She approaches Marcus’s table with a platter of bread.
“Anyone need more?” Her voice carries forced brightness.
“We’re fine.” Marcus’s tone stays polite. Distant. “Thanks, Harper.”
She lingers a moment, clearly wanting to say more. Derek gives her a nod—respectful but dismissive. She retreats to the main tables.
Ben sits beside me, tracking the same dynamics I am. He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t need to. His gaze flicks between the two groups, calculating distances, noting who sits where.
Wyatt pauses in the doorway, tray in hand. His eyes move from my table to Marcus’s group. For five seconds, he stands frozen—physically caught between factions. Finally, he joins us, but his gaze keeps drifting toward the other table. Toward Marcus.
Reyna enters last, Derek’s usual patrol partner. She scans the room, spots him at Marcus’s table, then deliberately chooses a seat with us. But her posture stays rigid, her jaw tight. Torn.
“This is how it happens.” Nova’s voice comes from behind me, quiet enough that only I hear. She’s leaning against the wall, observing like she’s cataloging data for a report. “Not explosion. Erosion.”
I watch my pack eat dinner in two separate groups.
Not one pack anymore. Two.
The food tastes like ash.
After the meal—which I couldn’t bring myself to eat—I climb the watchtower, needing altitude and perspective. From here, I can see the entire compound laid out below me. The pack moves in strange patterns now—new alliances forming in how they walk, who they avoid, where they gather.
No one looks up at the tower. No one seeks my guidance or approval.
A pack doesn’t fall in battle. It bleeds out in silence—while its Alpha watches.
Chapter 26
Nova
The firepit crackles in the pre-dawn darkness as I move through the compound’s eastern edge. Most of the pack sleeps, but not all.
Harper sits on one of the split-log benches, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, staring into the flames. Her head lifts when a cabin door opens across the clearing.
A female wolf I recognize but don’t know well—one of the newer arrivals—slips out, tugging her jacket closed. She moves quickly toward the main lodge, avoiding the firelight.
Ben appears in the doorway, pulling his shirt over his head. He scans the clearing and spots Harper by the fire.
Their eyes meet across the dying embers. Harper doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. But something in her posture folds inward, like armor closing over a wound.
Ben disappears back into his cabin and shuts the door.
I slip past the firepit, invisible in the darkness. Harper’s still staring at his closed door when I reach the treeline.
My pack-trained senses clock five wolves on perimeter patrol as I slip between shadows at the eastern edge of the compound. Two stationed at fixed points, three moving in rotation. Predictable. Easy to track. Easier to avoid.
