The moment shattered the stillness. I heard Thalia’s boots as she joined me. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Something’s coming,” I told her, seeing Killian turn back to us. “I don’t know what. But Wolfe’s on his way back, and the bond—Killian, it feels wrong. Like he’s too far but too close all at once.”
He didn’t question me. Just squared his jaw and turned away. “Everyone, formation, stick to your patrol, no deviations. If in doubt, strike first.”
A low-level hum began vibrating in the pack’s center, the kind of buzz that came with too many wolves holding their breath at once. It spread fast—tension leaping from one pair of eyes to the next. Whispers carried.
“Rogues?”
“No alarm yet.”
“Is the alpha back?”
“Where’s Rowen going?”
I walked fast through the heart of the Hollow, scanning every face. A few met my eyes. Most didn’t.
Some didn’t belong. There were wolves here I didn’t recognize.
Not that unusual—Stonefang and Blueridge were still integrating, and with Wolfe gone, a lot of the Stonefang wolves kept to themselves.
But that wasn’t it. I wasn’t imagining the stiffness in their movements. The way a few lingered just outside the communal ring like they were waiting.
Or watching.
My wolf prowled just beneath my skin. Restless. Agitated.
I stopped cold.
Two younger wolves near the storage shed—they stiffened when they saw me looking. One glanced over his shoulder toward the tree line. Not toward an exit. Toward a signal.
I stepped forward, and they vanished into the shadows before I could say a word.
I didn’t need to say anything. I’d seen it in their eyes. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t from the forest. Not from beyond the Hollow.
It was already here.
“Rowen?” Killian was behind me.
“Why are you following me?” I asked him. “I need you on?—”
“I don’t leave your side, Rowen.”
I looked up at the big beta, ready to protest. With his short brown hair, muscles bulging, pale blue eyes hard like chips of ice, and his face stoic. I didn’t even bother arguing. He could ignore me better than anyone.
We found Brand near the eastern watchpoint, pacing like a caged animal.
He turned before Killian could call his name. His eyes swept over me once, and whatever he saw there—whatever tension lined my face—snapped him to attention.
“Wolfe?” he asked, already walking toward us.
“He’s coming back,” I confirmed, “but something’s wrong. I can feel it through the bond.”
Brand didn’t ask for proof. Didn’t question. That was the difference between a soldier and a leader—he was both, and he trusted instinct over comfort.
“Where?” he asked Killian. “Where’s the weakness?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.
