“Exactly,” I say. “If the rogue moved through here at speed, the impressions would be deeper and more directional. This is a lure trail.”
Ciaran studies the ground another second, then exhales slowly. “He is trying to pull us off the primary track.”
Jace straightens, tension easing slightly. Tomas’s expression shifts from frustration to reluctant understanding.
“Well,” Tomas mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “That would have been embarrassing.”
I stand and brush dirt from my gloves. “It would have been inefficient.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, then looks at me properly for the first time since we left the estate. “Good catch, Ellis.”
The open approval hits warmer than it should. For some reason, the respect of the people loyal to Alden matters to me.
A minute later, the underbrush parts again.
Alden emerges from the trees in wolf form first, massive shoulders rolling with controlled power as he steps onto the open ground. His dark coat is dusted with pine needles and streaked faintly with dirt from the ravine walls. When his gaze sweeps the patrol, it pauses on me for half a heartbeat longer than necessary with his bright wolf eyes.
Heat prickles under my skin before I know what’s happening.
Then he shifts.
The transformation back is just as fast, muscle and bone folding inward until the man stands where the wolf had been. Ciaran is already moving, pulling a pair of dark sweatpants from his pack and tossing them over without comment.
Alden catches them easily.
I absolutely try not to stare. I fail immediately.
He is cut along the outer line of his thigh, a shallow slice from brush or rock, the skin flushed and bright against the cold morning air. My gaze snags there for half a second too long before I force it away, heat rising into my cheeks like my body has decided humiliation is the appropriate response.
Professional, I remind myself. Be professional.
By the time I look back, the sweatpants are in place and Alden steps toward me.
Up close, his expression is sharper than before, eyes narrowed slightly like he is tracking something beyond the visible world. Without preamble, he holds out a small strip of dark fur.
“From the rogue,” he says.
I take it carefully, pulling a sample bag from my pack. The fur is coarse and dense between my fingers, darker even than Alden’s wolf coat.
“I can run fiber and genetic comparison,” I say. “If he belongs to your… population, I might be able to isolate lineage markers.”
Alden’s gaze stays fixed on the treeline behind me.
“What’s wrong,” I ask quietly.
His eyes flick to mine, then past me again. The tension in his posture is subtle but unmistakable.
“We are being watched,” he says.
Ciaran goes still. “Direction,” he asks.
Alden’s jaw tightens. “Distant. Whoever it is knows how to stay downwind.”
A chill slides down my spine despite the thin morning sun. “Human?” I ask.
“Unclear,” he replies.
The lack of certainty is worse than a clean answer.
