Chapter 28
Dane
Ipull on my boots, feeling the floorboards creak under my weight. Nova moves silently, gathering her jacket, sliding her knife back into its sheath. Her magic feels stable now, not crackling beneath her skin like it did last night. Just a steady, cool pulse that matches her movements.
She catches me watching, raises an eyebrow. “Ready?”
I nod once.
The door opens to hard morning light. Bright, unforgiving. The kind that exposes everything. Nova steps out first, her shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact. I follow, letting the door fall shut behind us without looking back.
The compound stretches before us; cabins to the left, training yard to the right, the lodge ahead. Too still. Too quiet.
Wyatt stands near the training ring, shirtless despite the chill, towel draped over his shoulders. His hands pause mid-wrap, the white strips of cloth hanging loose from his knuckles. He watches us pass with careful neutrality, straightening from casual to alert in the space of a breath.
Callum and Torres stand locked in conversation by the equipment shed. Torres’s mouth hangs open mid-sentence, whatever point he was making forgotten. Callum’s eyes narrow, calculating. He nods once, to me, not Nova, and turns back to Torres, resuming their argument in lowered tones.
We walk in step, not touching but close enough that her sleeve brushes mine. The dirt path crunches beneath our boots, each step sounding too loud in the unnatural quiet. Wolves pause in doorways. Conversations stop, then resume in whispers.
Rafe stands near the path to the outer perimeter, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he’s been there for hours. Or never left. His gaze tracks Nova, not me. Something in his expression sets my teeth on edge. Not judgment. Recognition.
Kari emerges from the armory, clipboard in hand. She freezes, eyes darting between us before locking onto Nova. Something passes between them, female to female, wolf to mostly-wolf, that I can’t read.
Nova doesn’t shrink under the attention. She walks like she belongs exactly where she is, at my side, in my territory, wearing yesterday’s clothes with my scent clinging to her skin.
Halfway across the clearing, she stops. Turns to me.
“I need coffee,” she says quietly. Her eyes hold mine for one beat, two.
Then she turns toward the lodge, steps smooth and unhurried. Walking away. Alone.
My wolf rises, bristling. Follow her. Track her. Keep her close.
I plant my feet. Stand taller. Fix my gaze on the command center ahead.
I don’t call her back. Don’t explain. Don’t acknowledge the eyes drilling into my spine as I walk the rest of the way alone, shoulders squared, jaw set.
I keep walking.
The pack’s silence hangs in the air like smoke.
I veer toward the command center entrance when movement catches my eye. The door to the storage building swings open—the structure that houses medical supplies and a small meeting room, set back from the main path.
Harper stumbles out, spine going rigid as she catches herself.
Her face cycles through shock, hurt, and then careful blankness in the space of a breath.
Her hands clench into fists before she forces them to relax.
She doesn’t look back at what she walked in on.
Doesn’t say a word. Just walks toward the outer trail with measured steps that speak louder than shouting would.
Through the open doorway, I catch a glimpse of Ben buttoning his jeans, belt hanging loose.
Lydia, a wolf from a northern pack, pulls her shirt down over her head, hair mussed, fingers smoothing the fabric into place.
They’d heard the door open. Seen Harper’s face before she fled.
Neither of them speak. The space between them already cooling.
Ben appears in the doorway, sensing eyes on him. Our gazes meet across the clearing. His eyes are hollow. Haunted in a way that has nothing to do with what just happened and everything to do with what’s been eating at him for months.
He turns and disappears in the opposite direction from Harper.
I let them both go.
There’s nothing I can say that won’t shatter what’s left of him. And nothing I can do to fix what just broke between them.
But something cracked in that building.
And both of them are walking away like it didn’t happen.
Fuck.
I push into the command center, jaw still tight, mind still half-locked on Nova walking away—and now on whatever the hell just happened between Ben and Harper. Maps cover the table. Reports stacked in neat piles. Morning light slices through the blinds, cutting lines across the room.
Kari slips in behind me, clipboard pressed to her chest. Her eyes stay on her notes, thumbing through pages with deliberate focus. I smell coffee on her breath, fresh dirt on her boots. She was up at dawn, checking perimeters.
Callum storms in next, door swinging harder than necessary. He drags a chair out, drops into it. Tension radiates off him in waves.
“Torres wants to rotate the younger wolves to night patrol,” he says, voice clipped. “Says they need the experience.”
I move to the head of the table, scan the patrol logs. “And?”
“And it’s a shit idea. They’re not ready.”
Rafe stands motionless in the corner, arms crossed. He wasn’t invited, but here he stands anyway. His eyes never leave my face.
I set the logs down. “Keep them on daylight rounds. Double up with seniors for another week.”
Kari nods, makes a note without looking up.
“Fine.” Callum leans back, chair creaking. “As long as everyone’s focused on their duties. Seems some of us have been ... distracted lately.”
The air goes dense. Static. No one moves.
I meet his gaze directly. Don’t blink. Don’t shift. “You have something to say, Callum?”
He holds my stare for three seconds before his eyes drop to the table. “Just making an observation.”
“Make it somewhere else.”
Kari’s pen stops scratching. She slides a report across the table, still not looking at me. “Grant called. No new leads on the missing hikers. Search and rescue is scaling back.”
I take the report, scan it quickly. Eight people still unaccounted for. No bodies. No trails. Just absence.
Callum’s jaw tightens. “While we’ve been dealing with other priorities.”
My hand flattens on the table. The room goes still.
“Anything else?” My voice drops lower, edges rougher.
Callum’s jaw tightens, but he shakes his head.
Rafe catches my eye from his corner position. The look that passes between us needs no words—two Alphas who understand what it costs to hold a pack together.
“The eastern perimeter needs reinforcement,” I say, refocusing. “Breach signatures are getting stronger. “Kari, take Rafe and scout the coordinates from Nova’s last reading. Where she came back.”
Something flashes across Kari’s face: quick, cold anger, before she schools her expression back to neutral. Her grip tightens on the pen. “Yes, Alpha.”
“Callum, pull Torres off patrol rotation. I want him on fence duty with Marcus.”
“And the half-fae?” Callum asks, voice carefully neutral.
I don’t react. Don’t explain. “She’s handling her own assignments.”
Silence stretches between us, taut as wire.
“Anything else?” I ask, scanning each face.
No one speaks. They wait, watching for the crack. For the explanation. For something to break the surface tension.
“Meeting’s done,” I say, gathering the reports. “Check back at sundown.”
No one moves right away. The air feels thick enough to cut.
I turn my back, start organizing maps.
Chairs scrape. Boots shuffle. The door opens and closes.
When I look up, the room is empty. But the pressure remains, hanging like smoke that won’t clear.
I walk the narrow trail trying not to think about her. One foot in front of the other, just checking the perimeter like I do every day. The trees stand too straight, too watchful in the gray light. No birds call. No leaves rustle.
This place remembers.
I knew I’d come back here eventually. Had to. Some territory you need to mark even if just by walking it.
I spot the place without searching. Nothing dramatic—just a patch of disturbed pine needles, soil gouged where she hit. A broken branch snapped on impact. Most wouldn’t notice. Most wouldn’t see the faint shimmer that still clings to the air—magic residue that refuses to fade.
I crouch, palm hovering over the dirt. Not touching.
Not yet. My wolf rises to the surface, remembering how cold she was, skin like ice beneath my hands.
How light she felt when I lifted her. How much of her magic had been stripped clean, leaving nothing but bone and breath and the raw smell of pain.
I told myself I’d forget that smell.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Ben’s boots crunch pine needles behind me. I don’t turn, don’t acknowledge him. He doesn’t push, just stands a few feet back. Waiting. Another wolf who understands territory and scars.
“Perimeter check,” I say, words flat.
“Sure.” Ben doesn’t call the lie. His eyes scan the ground, taking in the details. He’s good at seeing what others miss. Always has been.
Silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable. Just there.
“Nova took Lyanna to the eastern boundary,” he says finally. “Something about tracing energy patterns.”
I nod once. Stand up, brush dirt from my hands.
“You know,” Ben says quietly, “Alphas don’t lose control like you did—not unless someone matters more than they’re admitting.”
His words hang in the air.
I meet his eyes.
“Callum’s been asking questions about Nova,” Ben adds. “Wants to know why she keeps coming back to this spot. Says her scent trail circles here three times this week.”
I growl, my fingers clenching into fists. “He’s tracking her now?”
“You know Callum. Doesn’t trust anything fae-touched.” Ben shrugs. “Said her interest in this place seems convenient. Wanted to know if we should post someone here full-time.”
“He needs to back off,” I say, voice dropping low. “Nova’s not his concern.”
Ben studies my face. Doesn’t comment on the edge in my tone.
“Just thought you should know,” he says. “Callum gets fixated when he thinks there’s a threat.”
I take one last look at the disturbed ground. Feel the weight of memory—her body in my arms, breath shallow against my neck. The way her fingers curled into my shirt even in her unconscious state.
Something shifts in the air. I glance back at the trees, scanning the shadows. Nothing moves. Nothing watches. Just silence. Yet something feels off—a pressure that wasn’t there before.
“Let’s go,” I say, turning away from the spot where the Fade keeps trying to claim her.
Ben and I follow the worn path back toward camp, our boots crunching dead pine needles. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable; just the quiet of two wolves who’ve said all they need to.
“Perimeter’s clear,” he says finally, voice rough. “But that shimmer—“
“I know.”
He nods, falling silent again. We reach the edge of the treeline where the forest gives way to the outer clearing. The compound stretches before us: cabins, training rings, the mess tent with its tin roof catching the weak sunlight.
Harper stands near the lodge with Mateo, her copper-brown hair twisted into a loose braid that catches the light.
She’s reviewing supply lists with him, pointing to different items on the clipboard.
Already settling into her new role as Pack Coordinator; the supply runs she used to make from Shadow Peak now managed from here.
Beside me, Ben goes rigid. His steps falter, then reset with military precision. His shoulders pull back, spine straightening. His breathing pattern changes—slower, controlled. He glances that way but doesn’t speak.
Harper looks up, seemingly sensing our presence. Her eyes find Ben’s immediately, as if pulled by gravity. A small, hesitant smile crosses her face. “Hey, Benji.”
The reaction is immediate and jarring. Ben’s head snaps up, eyes flashing from warm brown to something cold and sharp. “Don’t.” The word cuts through the air like a blade. “Don’t call me that.”
She freezes, color draining from her face. The silence stretches, thick with old pain and newer wounds.
Ben’s jaw works for a moment before he forces his expression back to neutral. “Ben. It’s just Ben.” But the damage is done.
Harper flinches like he’d slapped her. “I—sorry, I didn’t ...” She swallows hard, the words catching in her throat. “I forgot. It won’t happen again.”
The moment falls into uncomfortable silence. Mateo suddenly finds something else to look at—the clipboard, his hands, anywhere but the space between Harper and Ben where something just shattered.
Ben mutters something that sounds like “Patrol duty” and veers sharply toward the command center. He doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t look back.
I watch the space he leaves behind. Note how Harper’s shoulders drop a fraction. How her voice carries on without wavering, but her fingers press harder against the clipboard until her knuckles go white.
How she doesn’t follow him with her eyes, but her body remains angled in his direction like a compass finding north.
Fuck. That will have to be dealt with, eventually. I stifle a sigh.
Across the clearing, Nova crouches with Lyanna near the eastern boundary marker. Both women have their hands in the dirt, tracing patterns, heads bent close together. They move in quiet synchronicity, reading the land together.
Rafe watches them from the treeline, motionless as carved stone. Always watching. Always calculating. I still can’t decide if I trust him or if I should put him down before he becomes a problem. But he’s proven useful, and useful trumps comfortable in times like these.
Nova looks composed. Steady. Nothing like the woman who phased in and out of reality in my arms.
I stand still at the edge of camp, letting the truth settle into my bones.
This is what leadership costs. This is what being Alpha means.
All these fractured bonds—Ben and Harper’s unhealed wounds, Nova’s precarious stability, the pack’s shifting loyalty—and I’m meant to hold them together. Keep the perimeter. Guard the borders. Track the threat.
Without breaking.
My shoulders square. My jaw sets. I plant my feet and feel the territory beneath me—solid despite the fractures running through it.
I don’t chase Nova. Don’t fix Ben. Don’t interfere with Harper’s obvious pain.
I just watch. And hold.