He looked at Victoria, then back at me. He’d never hesitated with me before.
“Just say it,” I said, keeping my voice level.
“I was on patrol in the northern route, and I felt it again. That hollow feeling we’ve been talking about.” He paused, his jaw working. “But it went further this time.”
Cold spread through my chest, as inevitable as winter.
“Describe it,” I said.
Kirk’s hands flexed at his sides. “It was like reaching for my wolf and finding the connection there but muffled. Distant.” He swallowed hard. “Then it changed. It wasn’t muffled anymore. It felt un-anchoring, like the wolf part of me was detaching from my soul instead of just being blocked.”
Victoria stepped forward, her notebook already out, her pen hovering. Her face had shifted into that focused expression I recognized.
“When did it start?” she asked.
“An hour ago.”
“And what was the specific location?”
“Near the eastern seal site. The one by the old oak grove.”
“How long did it last?”
“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.” He looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. “It eased when I moved awayfrom the site, but it hasn’t gone completely. I can still feel it. Something that should be tight inside me is loose.”
Acorn had gone absolutely still on the ground beside Victoria.
She tilted her head, listening to something I couldn’t hear.
The silence stretched.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“Acorn says when anchors fail and old roots break loose from the deep ground, the soul drifts around.” She met my eyes. “He’s not usually this serious.”
No. He wasn’t. And that made it worse.
If it could reach Kirk, it could reach anyone. He was my best guard, one of the strongest wolves in the pack. I trusted this male with my life and my territory and everything in between. If Kirk was vulnerable, none of us were safe.
“We’re taking you to the healers,” I said. “Now.”
I was already moving, Victoria’s hand still in mine. Kirk fell into step beside us.
My mind raced through possibilities, discarding most of them as quickly as they formed. None of the patterns held. None of the theories fit. This was something new or something we’d missed entirely.
Either way, we were running out of time.
The healer’s area occupied the third floor of a smaller residence tree near the eastern edge. We climbed in silence, our footsteps echoing off the carved wood. Victoria kept pace beside me without complaint. Kirk’s breathing came heavier than it should behind us.
We stepped inside, and Francine rose from her desk near the far-right wall. She was one of the oldest wolves in the pack. Her hands could set broken bones, and her eyes missed nothing. She took one look at Kirk’s face and gestured us inside.
I quickly explained as she led Kirk over to one of the beds, tugging a curtain closed between his bed and the empty one beside it.
He laid down, and her examination took a long time. Francine asked questions in her calm voice while her hands moved over Kirk’s chest and throat and temples. Testing reflexes. Checking responses. Building a picture I couldn’t see yet but knew I wouldn’t like.
Victoria stood beside me, her pen moving across a notebook page in quick, careful strokes, recording everything. I was grateful for her presence even as my wolf paced and snarled inside me, demanding action I couldn’t take yet.
Finally Francine stepped back. “His wolf is present but destabilized. It’s not blocked the way the earlier cases were. The connection is there, but it’s fraying. Picture a rope coming apart strand by strand.”
