Dane’s voice carries from the meeting hall—something about reinforcements and protocol. The words blur together, background noise that shouldn’t matter. But they do. Each syllable pulls at something in my chest I refuse to acknowledge.
I move fast, silent, staying downwind. My boots don’t snap twigs. My breath doesn’t cloud the air. I’ve spent a lifetime being invisible. This is what I do.
Three miles from the compound, the forest thickens. No paths. No markers. Just instinct pulling me forward like a compass needle finding north. The magic in my blood vibrates, recognizing something ahead before I can see it.
Something that wasn’t there yesterday.
But before I can investigate, my detection stone flares hot in my pocket—sharp, aggressive spikes that burn through the fabric.
Voices. Male. Close.
I drop behind a thick pine and pull out the stone. Violet light blazes across its surface. Active manipulation magic. Right here.
Through the trees, I spot them: Marcus and Phil, standing in a small clearing twenty yards ahead. Phil’s hand rests on Marcus’s shoulder—casual, friendly. But my stone tells a different story. Magic flows from that touch, seeping into Marcus like poison through a wound.
“You’re not wrong to question it,” Phil says, voice smooth and reasonable. “Dane’s made decisions that would concern any loyal pack member.”
“The missing wolves,” Marcus’s voice cracks. “It’s been weeks—“
“And instead of searching, he’s focused on other priorities.” Phil’s thumb moves in small circles against Marcus’s jacket. The magic intensifies with each touch. “You have options. Wolves who think like you do.”
I should intervene. Expose him.
But I can’t. Not without revealing I’ve been tracking him. If Phil knows I’m onto him, he’ll vanish. Change tactics.
“Think about what’s best for the pack,” Phil says, stepping back. “Not what’s easiest.”
Marcus nods, mechanical. Compromised. He turns toward the compound, walking like he’s moving through water.
Phil doesn’t watch him go. Instead, his eyes shift—not quite toward me, but close enough. His mouth curves into a satisfied smile.
Then he disappears into the trees.
I wait a full minute before moving, my detection stone cooling in my palm.
Phil’s been meeting with Marcus. Multiple times. Building this fracture piece by careful piece.
And I’ve just watched him seal another crack.
I pocket the stone and refocus on what pulled me here in the first place.
But not here. Not in Ash Hollow territory.
The pull leads toward Silverwood.
I kneel, pressing my palms flat against the forest floor. The earth hums beneath my fingers—ancient pathways carved by water and root and time. My fae blood recognizes them the waymy wolf recognizes territory. Ley lines. Energy channels. The veins of the land itself.
I close my eyes and let my magic sink down, finding the current that flows toward Silverwood. The earth knows that town. Remembers the convergence building beneath its streets.
“Take me,” I whisper.
The ground softens beneath my knees. Not collapsing—accepting. The forest blurs at the edges of my vision, trees smearing into streaks of green and brown. I feel myself pulled along the ley line, my body dissolving into something between solid and light.
It’s not comfortable. My wolf howls in protest, hating the formlessness, the loss of muscle and bone. But my fae side drinks it in—the rush of earth magic, the intimate connection with the land.
Seconds stretch. Or compress. Time moves differently in the between-spaces.
When the world solidifies again, I’m kneeling in a different forest. The air smells wrong—charged, metallic. Silverwood’s energy signature pulses less than a mile ahead.
