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“Everyone’s safe,” Roman said in that steady, low rumble that always made it easier to keep myself together.

Lucien grinned, all charisma and charm again.

“And now that that unpleasantness is behind us,” he declared, clapping his hands like he was starting a party rather than having just enforced pack law, “we simply must return to the matter at hand. The games! The bonding! The magic of union!” His eyes gleamed with a theatrical sparkle, as if the threat at the border hadn’t happened. “Come, come. Let the hunt continue!”

I barely heard him. Roman crossed the room in a few long strides, and before I could think better of it, I was in his arms. His warmth soaked through me, grounding, real. I gripped the back of his shirt, wanting to anchor myself to him.

“You’re okay?” I asked against his chest, my voice small, my heart still trying to slow down. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m okay,” he said, his hands smoothing down my back, his cheek brushing my hair. “Promise. It was handled. I’m here.”

I pulled back to look him over, scanning for scrapes, bruises—anything that might say otherwise. He let me fuss, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“You’d tell me, right? If something⁠—”

“I’d tell you, Mags,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over my cheek, his eyes steady on mine. “I swear.”

The world could’ve burned down, and I wouldn’t have noticed. He was here. That was all that mattered.

Lucien cleared his throat—loudly and dramatically as only Lucien could. “As touching as this is,” he said, spreading his arms toward the courtyard where the rest of the couples were regrouping, “true bonding happens in the crucible of competition! Off you go!”

Roman took my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was second nature. Maybe it was.

“Ready to take the city by storm?” he asked with a relaxed grin that made me want to believe everything was fine.

“Let’s do it,” I said, the weight of worry finally starting to lift as we stepped back into the night.

The first clue that came through Lucien’s app read like something out of a fantasy novel: Seek shelter in the city’s ancient heart. The letters shimmered gold across the screen, vines curling at the edges of the message. I could practically hear Lucien’s voice in my head.

Roman smirked as he slid behind the wheel of his car, the engine purring to life. “City’s ancient heart. Subtle.”

I groaned as I buckled my seatbelt. “Do you think he writes these clues with a quill pen by candlelight?”

“Absolutely,” Roman said, pulling onto the road. “Lucien loves theatrics.”

The estate disappeared behind us, the city lights calling in the distance. “Probably in a leather-bound journal with ‘Alpha Musings’ embossed on the cover.”

The drive out to Muir Woods was easy, the city fading into hills and trees, the night cool and clear. Roman kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting between us, close enough that the back of his knuckles brushed mine every now and then. We didn’t need to fill the space with words.

When we reached the park, the world changed. The air became cooler and damper, carrying the sharp green scent of moss and pine and earth that had never known concrete. The moonlight slipped through the canopy in silver threads, the towering redwoods casting ancient and watchful shadows on the ground.

We moved quietly, fallen needles crunching under our shoes. The forest felt alive in a way the city never could. Every breath tasted like rain. Every sound—our steps, the distant chatter of hikers somewhere along another trail, the soft hoot of an owl—seemed magnified in the stillness.

Roman found the hollow tree first, a massive redwood with an opening wide enough for us to slip inside. “There’s our ancient heart.”

We squeezed into the space together, the bark rough against my back, his chest brushing mine as he shifted to make room. No awkwardness. No tension. Only warmth. It made me feel safe.

I fumbled for my phone, trying to angle the camera in the tight space, and Roman laughed quietly, his breath stirring the loose strands of my hair. His lips brushed the top of my head.

“Hold still,” I muttered, trying to find the right angle.

“You’re the one who’s moving,” he teased, but he stayed still, patient as ever, one hand resting at my hip, steadying me without even thinking about it.

The flash of the camera caught the curve of the wood around us, our faces close, smiles real. For a moment, I forgot about the scavenger hunt, the games, the rest of the world. It was just us, tucked inside the heart of something older and stronger than either of us could ever be.

When we stepped back out into the night, the forest felt different. Or maybe I did. Either way, I wasn’t ready to let go of Roman’s hand.

We were grinning like idiots, flushed from laughing too hard and standing too close. My phone was still in my hand, the selfie on the screen—a little blurry, but perfect in the way that mattered. Roman’s arm looped around my shoulders, his cheek pressed lightly to mine, both of us framed by the curve of the ancient tree.