“The festival needs healers on standby,” I say instead. “Drunk humans and open flames. What could go wrong?”
That earns me a genuine laugh, brief but real.
“We can set up a first aid station near the main square,” she suggests, visibly refocusing on the practical task. “Nyxiana and I could rotate shifts.”
Across the room, Serena is enthusiastically describing Silverwood’s previous festivals to a group of newer pack members. Her heterochromatic eyes—one violet, one green—are alive with excitement as she gestures animatedly.
“It’s the most magical night of the year—after Christmas, of course,” she tells them. “The entire town square transforms with lights and music.”
The planning continues as food and drinks flow freely. The political tension from our earlier briefing gradually fades into the background as pack members dive into festival preparations with characteristic enthusiasm. This is what we do—we face threats, we adapt, we celebrate our survival.
But I don’t miss how Lyanna’s gaze occasionally drifts toward the window, or how her shoulders are tense. Some shadows can’t be banished by firelight and laughter.
Chapter 10
Lyanna
Islip into Silverwood town hall, purposefully early for the final festival coordination meeting. The room is already buzzing with community organizers arranging chairs and spreading large maps across folding tables. Mayor Wilson nods as I enter, her silver-streaked hair caught in the morning light.
“Lyanna! Perfect timing. We’re finalizing the last-minute assignments.”
I smile and move toward the central table, where colorful sticky notes mark different festival zones across the town map. The Spring Equinox Festival is only a week away, and the energy in the room reflects both excitement and mild panic about final preparations.
“The pack is ready to help wherever needed,” I say, scanning the map. “We’ve got everyone confirmed and on standby—they’ll rotate through between patrol shifts.”
“Wonderful!” The mayor beams as more townspeople file in, including several pack members. Harper slips in beside me, followed by Cassie and Nova—they’d stopped to pick up supplies from the hardware store while I came ahead for the meeting.
Callum enters last, scanning the room with that tactical sweep I’ve come to recognize—exits, threats, positioning. Then his eyes find mine, and the hard vigilance softens into something private. Something just for me. My breath stutters. I look away first, but the warmth lingers in my chest long after.
The meeting moves efficiently through confirmations—fire department safety protocols, food stall arrangements, children’s activity schedules. When we reach the ski-joring competition, the mayor’s expression becomes more serious.
“This is our signature event, and we still need lead coordinators,” she says. “The previous team had to withdraw due to a family emergency. We need two people who can take over immediately, handle course redesign for the expanded finish area, manage all safety protocols, coordinate equipment and registration, and work seamlessly under pressure. With only a week left, this is our most critical gap.”
Mrs. Holloway leans forward. “What about Callum and Lyanna? They showed remarkable coordination during the search and rescue operation a couple of months ago.”
The mayor’s face brightens. “That’s exactly the kind of partnership we need. You two would be taking over an event already in motion—all the groundwork is done, but the final execution requires excellent communication and quick decision-making.”
Callum steps forward, his expression carefully neutral, though there’s a notable twinkle in his eyes. “We can handle it.”
“Excellent!” The mayor hands us a thick folder. “Here’s everything from the previous coordinators—participant list, equipment inventory, preliminary course design. You’ll need to finalize everything and be ready to execute in four days.”
I take the folder, acutely aware of Callum’s proximity as our fingers brush.
“You two make such a natural team,” Mrs. Holloway says warmly. “I have complete confidence you’ll pull this together.”
“We’ll start immediately,” I say, feeling both the pressure of the compressed timeline and the anticipation of working closely with Callum.
As the meeting wraps up with final assignments confirmed, Callum moves beside me, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
“Looks like we’re partners on a tight deadline,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I’ll clear my afternoon.”
The next afternoon, I spread the revised course map across the table at the town hall’s planning room. Safety Coordinator Deputy Grant Callahan stands beside me while Callum leans over the opposite side, marker in hand. Grant is Liam’s brother—Liam’s the Beta of Shadow Peak—and his expertise with crowd safety protocols is proving invaluable.
“The previous coordinators did solid groundwork,” Grant says, tapping the marked route along Main Street, “but with the warm weather forecast, we need to adjust for potential slush conditions in the sun-exposed sections.”
Grant’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, frowns. “Weather service just updated.” He turns the screen toward us. “Fifty-five degrees on festival day.”
My stomach drops. “That’s fifteen degrees warmer than predicted.”
