I worked through the implications.
“This is what?” he asked.
“A botany disaster.” I pulled out my notebook, and my pen flew across the page. “Whoever planted it doesn’t know what they’re doing. This looks like it was handled by someone who heard about duskburst planting but got it wrong.”
Feral went quiet beside me.
I kept writing, my observations spilling out faster than my pen could keep up.
“Assuming Bastian is involved, he’s either working with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Feral said, his voice flat. “Or Bastian is the someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“Or it’s someone else, a person poorly covering their tracks.”
My pen scratched rapidly across the page, recording every detail.
Acorn appeared on a nearby rock, watching us with unusual stillness.A plan half-learned is still a plan. The danger lies in half a hand.
I relayed this one word for word.
Feral’s expression darkened. He brushed mud from his knees and turned toward the tree line.
I capped my last vial and tucked my notebook away, following his gaze, sensing something was wrong. “Feral?”
He didn’t answer. Just moved into the trees, his steps careful.
I followed, the mop still tucked under my arm, leaning it against a tree when we stopped.
He crouched at the base of a large tree, studying the ground.
I stopped beside him and looked down, finding fresh bear tracks. The edges of the prints appeared crisp.
Feral’s expression took on the kind of anger that didn’t shout but made him look like he wanted to rip off someone’s head.
I’d suspect the bear’s.
“The bear isn’t wandering.” He pointed to the tracks. “Look at the spacing. This isn’t a wild bear’s foraging deviation. They zigzag to investigate scents. This is purposeful movement.”
“You’re suggesting the bear in Bastian’s pack is involved in whatever’s going on here.”
He shrugged.
I knelt beside him, studying the tracks with the same attention I gave my samples. He was right. The pattern appeared too regular.
“If the bear is a scout,” I said, “someone may have sent him. And if someone sent him toward this specific location, they may know about the seal sites.”
Feral stood. “We need to go.”
I looked at the mop leaning against a nearby tree, where I’d left it. Then in the direction of Bastian’s territory. When I collected the mop, I didn’t say anything about it being faster.The argument felt hollow now, trivial compared to what we’d discovered.
Feral gathered our things and handed them to me before shifting into his wolf form.
I secured our bags across my back and settled with them, tucking the mop along my side.
Acorn climbed into my lap.
I held on as Feral turned north and ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
