I shove that thought down. Not helpful. Not now.
By the time I step outside, the town has shifted again. More patrols. More movement. More awareness in every glance, every step, every interaction. People feel it. Even the humans who don’t understand it. They know something’s off. They just don’t know what. Not yet.
I scan the street, my gaze landing on the bookstore. Lights on. Door open. Tessa inside.
Of course she is. My chest hurts slightly. Not fear. Not exactly. Something else. Something sharper. Because now?—
Now I know she’s not just part of this. She’s central to it. Not just because of the bond. But because of how she thinks. How she sees things others miss. How she’s already adapting in ways most wouldn’t. And that makes her valuable. To us. To them. I exhale slowly.
“This is happening,” I mutter.
No more denial. No more delay. No more hoping it can be avoided. The rogues have made their move. We’ve responded. And now?—
There’s only one direction left. Forward. Into whatever comes next.
I turn away from the street, already moving toward the edge of town again. There’s still work to do. More patrols to check. More weaknesses to find before they do. Because if we’re going to survive this?—
If we’re going to hold Redwood Crossing?—
We don’t just need to defend. We need to be ready to fight.
But I’m surprised that I’ve stopped thinking about how to prevent the war. And started thinking about how to win it.
25
TESSA
The basement is colder than I remember. Not physically colder—though it is that too—but quieter, like the house above has learned how to hold its breath. I shouldn’t be down here. Not really.
But ever since the rogues started watching the shop, I’ve found myself paying attention to spaces I used to ignore. Corners. Blind spots. Old storage rooms. And this basement? It has too many secrets for me to pretend I don’t care anymore.
I shine my phone light across the concrete floor, scanning the edges of stacked storage boxes and forgotten shelving. Most of it is exactly what you’d expect—old shop records, leftover supplies, a few dusty bins of seasonal décor I never bothered to throw out. Nothing unusual. Nothing that explains the knot of curiosity that’s been growing in me since I bought this place. Still?—
I keep looking. Because Archer’s name was on those records. Because this building wasn’t random. Because nothing in this town feels random anymore. I crouch near the far wall, running my hand along the lower edge of a built-in cabinet. It shifts slightly under my touch. Not loose. Not broken. Hidden. My pulse ticks faster.
“Well,” I murmur, “that’s new.”
I grip the edge and pull. A thin panel gives way with a soft scrape of wood against concrete. Behind it?—
A recessed space. Small. Intentional. Not storage. Hiding. My breath catches.
“No way,” I whisper.
Inside is a metal lockbox. Old. Worn. But still intact. I reach for it. Because of course I do. It takes a little effort to get it free, and when I finally set it on the floor, the weight of it feels… significant. Like it’s been waiting here longer than I’ve been part of this town.
The lock is simple. Too simple. I don’t even hesitate before forcing it open with a screwdriver I quickly retrieve from upstairs. It clicks. Loud in the quiet basement. The lid lifts. And everything changes.
Documents. Stacks of them. Old property records. Handwritten notes. Maps. I pull the top page free.
Property ownership — Redwood Crossing expansion district.
My eyes scan faster. Then stop. A name. Not mine. Not recent.
Archer Kade — Primary family ownership line.
My breath catches.
“No,” I whisper.
