Arthur grunted, setting another log on the stump. “Not today.”
Chase watched him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. If you won’t come to business, business will come to you.”
Arthur didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. Not really. Because whatever it was, he already had a good guess, and he was very tired of being right.
“We’ve been talking with some of the Volkhov scouts,” Chase said, “who in turn have managed to open a line of communication with the Severney. Reports are coming in. It’s getting worse.”
Arthur’s grip tightened. The next swing came down a fraction too hard; splinters flew, stinging his cheek. “And?”
“Three more disappearances in the last month,” Chase said. “One human hunting party, one vampire scout, and a witch traveling alone. All near the old mining roads.”
Arthur’s shoulders tensed. “Hybrids?”
“The tracks were messy. But the descriptions match what we’ve heard from Voskresen and beyond. Half-shifted forms, wrong scent, that…” Chase grimaced, searching for the right word. “That madness in their eyes. And according to Severney, they weren’t just wandering this time. They’d set something up. An ambush.”
Arthur set the axe down slowly, feeling the old, familiar ache creep into his chest. He could still see it if he shut his eyes: the dark cleft of the Voskresen mines, the way the smell of rot and cold metal had hit him like a wall. Hybrids sliding out of the dark, teeth gleaming, their movements wrong.
They’d thought they’d crippled the nest that day. Broken its spine.
They’d been wrong.
“They’re changing,” Chase went on, “getting smarter. More coordinated. Reports say it’s like they were being…directed.”
Arthur exhaled through his nose. “By what?”
“No one knows.” Chase shrugged one shoulder. “But he’s not the only one saying it. Julian Rook’s contacts in the north are all reporting similar patterns. Disappearances. Attacks. And—”
“You shouldn’t trust a word that comes out of Julian Rook’s mouth,” Arthur said with a dark scowl. “He’s not one of us.”
“He’s one of Dominic’s most trusted advisors. He…knows things.”
“Aye, he does. And Dominic never thinks to question him about it. Foolish.”
“It doesn’t mean the rumors are false.”
Arthur picked up the axe again, if only so he had something to hold that wasn’t his own temper. “Let Dominic chase shadows if he likes. Our borders are safe.”
“It won’t stay that way forever,” Chase said quietly.
Arthur didn’t answer. The truth of it sank like a stone.
They stood there for a moment, listening to the wind combing through the branches, the distant rumble of it over the Chilkat mountains.
“There’s more,” Chase said eventually.
“Of course there is.”
“It’s about Layla.”
Arthur’s grip slipped. The axe head thunked harmlessly into the snow at his feet.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the faint patter of frost falling from a branch.
“Leave it,” Arthur said, too quickly. “Pack gossip doesn’t interest me.”
“This isn’t just gossip,” Chase insisted, “you know that.”
Arthur did know. He’d known for a long time. He’d just chosen, quite deliberately, to look the other way.
