13. Chapter 13 - Matt
Matt knew something had changed before they made it back to camp.
It wasn’t one thing he could name. Theron did not suddenly walk more easily, and the mountain had not magically lifted whatever ancient weight it had pressed into his bones.
He still moved with that same controlled awareness, every step measured, every sound registered before it reached anyone else.
But something in him had quieted.
Not softened exactly. Theron would probably object to that word on principle.
The sharpness remained, but it no longer seemed aimed inward with the same relentless force.
His shoulders still carried centuries, but they were no longer locked as though he expected the mountain to punish him for breathing.
Matt noticed because he couldn’t seem to stop watching him. That was becoming a problem. A very serious problem, if he wanted to keep pretending he had any kind of tactical awareness left.
Theron walked a few steps ahead through the lower tunnel wearing the clean thermals Baptiste had given him. They fit better than Matt expected, though the sleeves stretched across his forearms and the shirt did little to hide the breadth of his shoulders.
Matt was not proud of the amount of attention he paid to that. He was also not sorry.
The hyena, usually sharp and restless beneath his skin, had gone strangely quiet since the cave. Not asleep, never that. More like it had curled somewhere deep inside his chest, watching Theron through Matt’s eyes with patient certainty.
Mine was not the right word.
Matt knew that. He knew it with the rational part of his brain that had survived combat, bad decisions, and several years of pretending he was less lonely than he was. People were not possessions. Theron sure as hell was not anyone’s possession.
But the feeling inside him did not speak in civilized language. It felt like standing between Theron and anything that wanted to hurt him. It felt like teeth. It felt like devotion with claws. Matt exhaled and tried to get his head back in the game.
“The others are going to notice,” Matt said.
Theron glanced back at him. “Notice what?”
Matt gave him a look. “Really?”
“That is not an answer.”
“They’re going to notice you don’t look like you’re one bad day away from ripping the mountain in half.”
This time Theron slowed.
Matt almost wished he had kept his mouth shut. Then again, maybe not.
Theron turned just enough for the blue crystal light to cut across his face.
In the dimness, Matt could see the difference more clearly now.
The strange darkness that had once threaded beneath Theron’s skin had faded to little more than faint shadows, and although exhaustion still lingered in his ancient eyes, they seemed clearer than before.
More aware. More like the man Matt was beginning to know beneath all the damage.
Theron’s expression remained unreadable for a long moment. “Is that what I looked like?” he asked.
Matt stepped closer, his voice gentler when he answered. “Sometimes.”
Theron’s gaze drifted down the tunnel.
Matt let the silence stretch for a few steps before adding, “For what it’s worth, you look better now.”
Theron’s mouth moved faintly. “Better?”
“Less cursed.”
“That is your compliment?”
“I’m still workshopping it.”
Theron made a low sound that might have become a laugh under less miserable circumstances. Matt decided to count it as a victory anyway.
They continued toward camp, guided by the distant glow of lanterns and low voices filtering through the stone.
The closer they got, the more Matt felt the mood shifting ahead of them.
The camp was awake now. Not loudly, not chaotically, but with the controlled tension of trained people trying very hard not to panic.
That killed the warmth in his chest quickly.
Theron felt it too. His posture changed before they reached the final turn, all lingering ease narrowing back into focus.
Matt hated how quickly it disappeared. He understood it. He even respected it. But he hated it.
They stepped out from the tunnel into the main chamber where the Valker team had made camp beneath a row of broken arches. Gear had already been packed. Lanterns were being shuttered. Two agents studied routes on a tablet while another cinched down a weapons case.
Baptiste glanced up first.
His eyes flicked briefly from Theron to Matt, taking in the clean clothes, the damp hair, and the unmistakable ease that had settled between them. One corner of his mouth threatened to lift before he buried it beneath practiced professionalism.
Vale followed his gaze. Whatever she noticed, she kept it to herself.
“Enjoy your bath?” Baptiste asked mildly.
Matt cleared his throat. “Uh… surprisingly therapeutic.”
“I’m sure.”
Theron said nothing.
Baptiste’s expression remained perfectly neutral, though his eyes held just enough amusement to suggest he’d drawn his own conclusions.
After a beat, Vale's gaze shifted from Baptiste to Theron.
“You need to see this.”
Theron did not ask what she meant. That worried Matt more.
They followed Vale toward the far side of camp, where a stone wall had stood blank the night before. Matt remembered it clearly because he had sat across from it for nearly an hour while trying and failing not to replay Theron’s voice saying, I’m here.
Now the wall was no longer blank.
A narrow seam had split through the center of the stone from floor to archway. Pale blue light bled from the crack, faint but steady, pulsing in a rhythm that felt unpleasantly familiar.
Matt stopped beside Theron. “Was that there before?”
“No,” Baptiste said.
Matt glanced at him. “I was really hoping the answer would be yes.”
“One of the sentries saw it open about ten minutes ago,” Vale said. “No sound. No movement. Just light.”
Theron stepped closer to the seam. Matt caught his wrist before he could get too close, acting on instinct before his brain had any chance to intervene. Every wolf nearby went still.
Matt regretted every decision that had led to him having hands.
Theron lowered his gaze to Matt’s hand around his wrist, then looked back to him.
There was no anger in his expression. If anything, there was something quieter there.
Something that made Matt’s stomach turn over once before discipline grabbed him by the back of the neck and reminded him they had an audience.
Matt released him. “Maybe let’s not touch the glowing murder door yet,” he said.
One corner of Theron’s mouth shifted. Barely.
Unfortunately, Baptiste caught it.
Judging by the look on Baptiste’s face, he caught far more than that. The knowing glance he gave Matt afterward was deeply unhelpful.
Vale, thankfully, stayed focused on the problem. “The carvings around it appeared after the seam opened.”
Matt stepped closer then and saw what Vale meant.
The stone around the crack was covered in symbols that had not been there before, freshly illuminated beneath layers of dust. Some looked like claw marks arranged into a language.
Others curved in patterns that made his eyes ache if he stared too long.
Theron moved closer again, more carefully this time. Matt did not stop him, although every muscle in his body wanted to.
The moment Theron lifted his hand toward the wall, the light brightened.
Several agents raised their weapons.
Theron paused with his palm hovering inches from the stone.
“Stand down,” Baptiste ordered.
Nobody lowered their weapons, and Matt could not even blame them.
The light pulsed again, stronger this time, and a low vibration passed through the floor. Dust fell from the ruined arch overhead in a soft curtain. Somewhere deep beneath them, stone shifted with the slow groan of something enormous turning its attention toward them.
Matt’s hyena surged hard beneath his skin. Every instinct in him focused on Theron, not the wall, not the danger beyond it, only him. The need to move closer, to shield him from whatever was reaching through the mountain, hit with enough force to steal Matt’s breath.
Protect. The command pulsed through him like instinct older than language.
Theron’s head turned slightly, and Matt knew he felt it. Somehow, impossibly, he felt the hyena’s reaction through whatever had changed between them in the cave.
His gaze found Matt’s across the narrow space, and Matt knew Theron had felt the command as clearly as he had.
Then the seam opened.
Stone folded inward without grinding or breaking, retreating into itself like the mountain had been built from living bone. Cold air poured from the passage beyond, carrying the smell of old water, wet earth, and something metallic enough to make Matt’s mouth go dry.
The light revealed stairs descending into darkness.
Matt stared at them. “No,” he said sharply.
Vale’s attention shifted to him. “No?”
“No. Absolutely not. I am formally objecting to the ancient death stairs.”
Theron lowered his hand. “Your objection is noted.”
“That sounded suspiciously like ignored.”
“It was.”
Matt pointed at him. “This is why we need professional relationship boundaries.”
The entire chamber went silent. Matt realized what he had said approximately half a second too late. Baptiste’s eyebrows rose.
One of the younger Valker agents suddenly became fascinated by the strap on his rifle.
Vale had the expression of a woman trying very hard to remember she had survived enough warfare to endure one awkward comment from a hyena.
Theron, impossibly, seemed amused. Actually amused.
Matt felt heat climb his neck. “Operational boundaries. Tactical boundaries. Don’t make that weird.”
“I said nothing,” Theron replied.
“You said it with your face.”
“I was unaware my face had become so expressive.”
“It hasn’t. That’s what makes it worse.”
Theron’s expression settled, but the faint trace of humor remained in his eyes.
For one reckless second, Matt wanted to kiss him again.