The forest beyond was green and still and completely indifferent to the fact that a war had just ended inside the building behind us.
Mira squinted against the light. Her hand came up to shade her eyes and I felt her inhale, deep and slow, the first breath she’d taken in hours that wasn’t laced with smoke or chemicals or fear.
The compound yard was organized chaos.
Freed lycans being triaged by field medics. Voss’s soldiers establishing a perimeter. Converted hunters coordinating with lycan troops on the evidence collection Lucian had ordered.
A stretcher crossed our path.
Wyatt on his back, shirt cut away, a pressure bandage on his abdomen already soaked through with red. His face was gray but his eyes were open, focused on the sky with the dazed concentration of a man who’d lost enough blood to make the clouds interesting.
“Stop,” Mira said.
“We should get you to the medical station,” Solomon said.
“Stop. Take me to him.”
The three of us exchanged a glance.
“To Wyatt,” she clarified. “The man who saved all of your lives by dragging himself across a with a bullet in his stomach to swap a chemical compound because I asked him to. That Wyatt. Take me to him.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. Solomon’s expression didn’t change, which was his version of the same reaction.
“Is now really...” I started.
“Percival. Walk.”
I walked.
The stretcher bearers paused when we approached. Wyatt turned his head and managed a smile that cost him visible effort.
“Hey,” Mira said from my arms.
“Hey yourself.” His voice was thin. “You look… terrible.”
“That compliment again. You’re the one with a hole in your stomach.”
“Cosmetic damage.” He winced as the stretcher shifted. “Is it done?”
“It’s done. The cure worked. Every wolf on that sublevel is coming back.”
His eyes closed for a second. When they opened, they were wet and he didn’t try to hide it.
“Thank you,” Mira said. “For playing your part.”
“You gave me a part worth playing.”
She reached down from my arms and squeezed his hand. Brief. Firm.
Now is not the time to be jealous of the‘friend’who helped us so I gritted my teeth and tried to be as mature as I could.
“So what now?” she asked. “The Order’s gone. Thiago’s gone. What does Wyatt do without a crusade?”
He stared at the sky for a long moment. “Maybe… guide them to a different path. It’s hard to unlearn this life now. We need a new identity. Not hunters but… watchers. For whatever’s actually out there, human or supernatural, that means genuine harm. Just... people who pay attention. All kinds of people.”
“That sounds dangerously reasonable for a man raised in this compound.”
“Almost dying gives you perspective.” He glanced at the three men surrounding his stretcher, all wearing expressions that ranged from grudging respect to active digestive discomfort. A weak laugh escaped him. “I doubt I’ll be calling for help though. Your security detail doesn’t seem thrilled with me.”
