“Damon!” I snarl, already after him.
Behind me, I hear shouting—our defenders pushing in, rogues scattering as their leader runs. The hollow destabilizes instantly. The pack fractures just like I thought it would. Some run deeper into the woods. Some surrender. Some vanish entirely. But I don’t stop to deal with any of them. I follow Damon.
The forest tightens again as I chase him downhill, branches whipping my face, roots grabbing at my boots. He’s fast—faster than he should be for someone already injured—but I’m faster. Always have been. The distance between us shrinks. Ten meters. Five.
He cuts sharply toward a ravine split—river gorge territory. I recognize it late. The ground drops fast ahead, stone and rushing water below. He’s trying to force terrain advantage. Smart. Desperate. I don’t slow.
I hit the slope and let gravity take me down faster than he expects. My boots dig in, sliding, controlling descent. I close the gap again just as he reaches the edge. And then I see it.
No hesitation in him now. Only intent. He wanted me here. That realization lands a fraction too late.
Damon spins at the cliff’s edge, shifting fully again, and slams into me with everything he has left. We crash together andgo over the drop. We fall. Stone flashes past. Wind tears through my ears. The roar of the river rises fast below. I twist midair, catching him, forcing him beneath me. We hit the water like a hammer strike. Cold explodes through every nerve. The river takes us.
We surface hard, fighting current, slamming into rocks half-submerged. Damon drags me under again, but I break free and drive him into a boulder at the edge of a whirl. He gasps—real pain now. Good. This ends here.
I haul him out of the water by the scruff of his neck and slam him against the stone bank. He tries to claw at my face, but I catch his wrist and twist until something snaps. His roar echoes off the gorge walls. For the first time, I feel him falter. Not physically. Strategically.
“You don’t understand,” he spits, water and blood mixing in his mouth.
“I understand enough,” I say.
His eyes sharpen.
“No,” he says, breath ragged. “You don’t.”
And then he says it. Not what I expect. Not surrender. A truth.
“The rogues weren’t the invasion.”
That makes me pause. Just slightly. Enough for him to see it. His lips curl.
“They were the distraction,” he says. “While something else moves into your territory. Something worse. Something you won’t see coming until it’s already inside your walls.”
My grip tightens.
“What are you talking about?”
But he’s already fading. Strength bleeding out of him now, not just from injury but from realization that he’s run out of time.
“I was sent to pull you out,” he says. “Away from Redwood Crossing. Away from them.”
“Who?”
But he only smiles.
A final, broken thing.
“You’ll find out,” he whispers.
I don’t wait. I end it. The final clash is brutal, instinctive, no hesitation left between us. Stone cracks again. Water sprays up around us. His strength surges one last time?—
—and then stops.
Silence follows. Only the river remains. I stand over him for a moment, breathing hard, rainwater and river spray dripping off my fur. The rogues are gone. I can feel it even from here—the pack’s collapse already underway upstream.
Damon’s warning lingers. Something else. Something coming. I don’t stay to think about it.
I turn and climb out of the gorge, forcing my body back up the steep stone edge. Every muscle burns. Every instinct tells me to rest. I ignore it. Redwood Crossing is still exposed.
