“You’re not useless,” he says.
“I know,” I reply. “That’s not what I meant.”
Silence. Then?—
“I just don’t want you to get pulled into something you can’t get out of,” he says.
I look at him directly.
“I think I already am in something I can’t get out of,” I say quietly.
His expression shifts slightly. Because he knows exactly what I mean. Not just the town.
Not just the rogues. The bond. Everything between us. It sits there now. Always present. Always aware. He steps closer, lowering his voice.
“They’re gathering,” he says.
I nod. “I heard.”
“No,” he says. “I meanreallygathering. Movement outside the ridge line increased this morning.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But enough that Magnus is preparing for escalation protocols.”
That word again. Escalation. Always escalation. I exhale slowly.
“So this is the part where it gets worse,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies.
Honesty. No sugarcoating. I appreciate that more than I should. I look around the bookstore. At the shelves. At the windows. At the people coming and going like everything is still normal. Then back to him.
“Then we make sure we’re ready,” I say.
His gaze holds mine. Longer than necessary. Then he nods once.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “We do.”
It doesn’t feel like I’m being pulled into his world. It feels like I’m standing in it with him.
30
ARCHER
The forest doesn’t feel like ours anymore. That thought hits me before anything else.
Not the patrol routes. Not the scent markers. Not even the usual territorial awareness that runs under my skin like a second heartbeat. Just that simple realization: Something has changed.
And not in our favor.
We move in silence along the eastern ridge, the patrol tighter than usual. No chatter. No wasted movement. Everyone feels it. The air is wrong. Not empty. Not quiet.
Occupied.
Eli signals ahead. Two short taps. Then a fist. Stop. We freeze instantly. I crouch slightly, scanning the undergrowth. There’s a scent marker here. Fresh. But not just one. Multiple overlapping signatures layered too close together, like someone is deliberately muddying the trail. My jaw tightens.
“This isn’t scouting,” I murmur.
