Chapter 23 - Sera
Two days later, the clinic's break room feels like a deathtrap. I saw this coming, but at the same time, I didn’t think it would be so soon.
Diane stands between me and the door, arms crossed over her starched uniform, mouth pinched into a bloodless line.
"Your behavior with the Mitchell boy was concerning," she says, voice clinically detached. "Dr. Sanders has questions about your... stability."
I arrange my face into appropriate confusion. "I'm not sure I understand."
"Contradicting established protocol. Questioning the sheriff. Following up with the family without authorization—you were seen near their house that night.” She ticks off each offense on bony fingers.
"These actions suggest someone who isn't fully committed to our community's safety, Sera. Frankly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”
Translation: You're not buying our bullshit, and that makes you dangerous.
"I was only trying to ensure proper medical care," I say, injecting just enough contrition into my voice. "Perhaps I overstepped."
"Perhaps." Her eyes narrow, assessing my performance.
"We've had other concerns as well. Your questions during the seminar. Your husband seems like a wonderful man. Sometimes, even men don’t know what their wives are getting up to.
" She steps closer. "People talk, Mrs. Winters. And they're talking about you."
My heart pounds a military cadence against my ribs, but I maintain my placid expression. "I'm sorry to hear that. We've only wanted to become part of the community."
"Have you?" Diane's thin smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Dr. Sanders is considering whether to continue your temporary position. He'll make his decision by Friday."
Three days. Coincidentally aligned with the full moon.
"I understand," I say, nodding with appropriate humility. "I appreciate the feedback."
She watches me a moment longer, clearly expecting more—perhaps a plea or justification. When none comes, she steps aside. "Your shift ended five minutes ago."
Dismissal delivered, I gather my belongings with measured movements, fighting the instinct to run. Outside, I wait until I'm safely in my car before letting out a shaky breath.
The facade is cracking. Our time is running out.
As I return home, the cottage windows glow amber against the gathering dusk.
I pause in the driveway, steadying myself before facing Dylan.
After what happened in the forest—his body hard against mine, hands urgent, mouth demanding things I gave willingly—we've maintained careful distance, professional courtesy masking the chaos beneath.
Inside, I find him at the kitchen table, surveillance equipment laid out in neat rows. Packing.
"They're onto us," I say instead of hello.
He nods without looking up. "Mike's been asking pointed questions. Testing my reactions to increasingly extreme statements."
"Diane practically threatened me today. Said they're 'talking' about us."
His hands still. "We're blown. Need to extract soon."
"How soon?"
"Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest." He finally meets my eyes. "James called. Hunter activity increasing near the northwest boundary. Six men spotted yesterday, armed with specialized equipment."
The news settles like ice in my stomach. "Silver ammunition?"
Dylan nods. “A lot of it.”
I sink into the chair opposite him. "They're accelerating."
"Full moon's in three days." His jaw tightens. "Perfect time for whatever they're planning, I bet."
We begin sorting our intelligence materials, placing photographs, maps, and notes into categorized files. Working together with mechanical efficiency, we maintain careful distance, professional focus.
Until our fingers brush over a satellite image, and we both freeze.
"Sorry," I murmur, withdrawing my hand.
His eyes lift to mine, something unspoken burning there. "Sera—"
His phone buzzes on the table between us, breaking the moment. Mike's name flashes on the screen.
Dylan reads the text, expression darkening. "They're moving up the timeline. Meeting tonight to finalize details of… whatever their next move is. Target is the nearest pack.” His eyes flash up to meet mine. “You know what that means.”
"We need to warn Nic," I say, already reaching for our secure phone.
"We will." Dylan stands, sliding his jacket on with decisive movements. "But I need to attend this meeting first. Get final details, routes, numbers. It might be the difference between winning and losing against them to get that kind of information—"
Fear grips me. "It's too dangerous. They already suspect—"
"One last push," he insists. "Complete intelligence before extraction. If we disappear right before their operation, they'll know we warned the pack."
"And if they've already figured us out? If it's a trap?"
"Then I don't show, and they're even more suspicious." His logic is frustratingly sound. "Four hours. In and out. We contact Silvercreek immediately after, then leave town before dawn."
I want to argue, to remind him of the forest—how close we came to discovery—but his expression leaves no room for debate. This is happening.
"Fine," I concede, hating the tremor in my voice. "Four hours. Not a minute more."
He nods, checking his weapon with practiced movements. I watch his hands, remembering how they felt against my skin, how they gripped my hips with desperate urgency while pine needles dug into my back and his mouth—
"I'll be careful," he says, misreading my expression as only concern.
"You'd better be." I move to the window, giving us both space. "These aren't sophisticated operatives, Dylan. They're terrified men with guns and hatred. That makes them unpredictable."
"I know exactly what they are." Something dark flashes across his face. "Saw it firsthand with the League."
I cross to him, unable to maintain distance when pain radiates from him in palpable waves. "Dylan—"
He steps back, shaking his head. "Don't. If you touch me right now, I won't go. And I need to go."
The admission hangs between us, charged with implications neither of us is ready to face.
"Four hours," I repeat. "Then we warn the pack, and we leave. Together."
He nods once, then he's gone—the door closing behind him with quiet finality.
I stand frozen in the kitchen, surrounded by evidence of our failed mission and impending danger, while outside, night falls like a verdict.