Chapter 3
MARY
Dawn isn't here yet, but I’ve already been awake for hours.
The stronghold is quieter in the blue hour before sunrise, before anyone else is up rattling dishes or sharpening knives, before anyone says anything that might force me to talk back.
I move down the hallway with a practiced stillness, the kind that comes from years of learning how to disappear in rooms full of noise.
I carry my boots in one hand, the other tugging a wool-lined jacket over my shoulders as I head toward the kitchen, where the fire is still low and the air smells like burned coffee.
He’s there. Of course he is.
Darius sits hunched over the kitchen table with one hand curled around a chipped mug, shoulders drawn tight like the weight he used to carry hasn’t let him go, even now.
Even with Tessa upstairs and the Pact gathering like a long-lost storm finally coming home.
The wolf in him still doesn’t rest. I guess mine doesn’t either.
I step past the counter and pour myself what’s left of the coffee in the pot, knowing without looking that it’s probably bitter enough to peel paint. I don’t make a sound, but Darius still glances up like he’s been expecting me all along.
“You going out?” he asks, nodding toward my boots.
“Perimeter check,” I answer, taking a long sip and wincing at the taste. “The southern line. Wards have been flickering on the edge since the last storm.”
“They held last night.”
“Doesn’t mean they’ll hold tonight.”
He studies me for a beat. His eyes are too tired for someone who just got the love of his life back. There’s too much history behind them. Too much loss.
“You could let Cassian handle the patrol,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Cassian’s about as subtle as a moose in a glass shop.”
That earns me a quiet snort, the closest Darius gets to a laugh most mornings. He takes another sip of his drink, then sets the mug down with a quiet clink.
“You know you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
“I’m not doing anything alone,” I reply, turning toward the window where the darkness outside is starting to soften at the edges. “I’m just doing what I’ve always done.”
“Exactly.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I can feel the weight of his gaze even as I stare out at the snow-laced tree line beyond the hill.
The forest looks like it’s been dipped in frost, every branch lined with white, the world still enough to make me uneasy.
Darius has always known when to press and when to let things lie.
Right now, he’s doing neither. He’s just sitting there, watching me like he’s wondering how much longer I’ll keep running on fumes before something cracks.
He finally speaks again, voice lower this time. “You’ve been dreaming again.”
I don’t ask how he knows. It’s in my face, I’m sure. It always is.
“Foxfire,” I say, barely above a whisper. “Chains. Cold.”
His expression hardens just enough to show through the surface. “Roman?”
“Maybe. Could just be my brain reminding me I haven’t been sleeping more than two hours a night.”
“Mary—”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back, folding his arms across his chest, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “You’ve been saying that since I was seventeen and you punched that bear shifter in the throat for calling me soft.”
“He was out of line.”
“He was also twice your size.”
“He stayed down.”
Darius lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, but it fades quick, like everything does these days.
“I don’t need you to be the one holding the line all the time,” he says after a moment. “We’re not what we used to be. We’ve got people now. People who would bleed for us. You don’t have to keep fighting like we’re still alone.”
“I know that,” I say softly. “Doesn’t change the fact that I still feel like I am.”
He doesn't argue. He just gives me that look again—like he’s trying to hold onto something he knows is already halfway out the door. I set my mug down, grab my boots, and head for the exit before he can ask me not to go.
The air outside hits like a knife the second I step through the reinforced door.
The wind cuts through the trees in bursts, scattering powder across the frozen ground like tiny ghosts.
The sun hasn’t quite broken the horizon, but there’s enough light to make out the path, the rough outlines of ward stones half-buried under snow, the familiar bend where the forest curves toward the ridge.
The patrol route takes just under an hour if I move quick. I don’t.
The quiet out here isn’t peaceful. It’s too still. Too muffled. I don’t trust it.
Birds aren’t singing. Nothing moves in the branches. Even the squirrels that usually scurry between roots have gone silent. My wolf is pacing under my skin, not frantic but alert. She’s wary, ears turned to something I can’t quite hear yet.
I stop near the southern watchpoint, kneeling beside a rune stone half-covered in frost. The ward pulses faintly when I touch it, magic tugging at my fingertips like breath held just beneath the surface. It’s functional, but flickering. Like something’s interfering with the current.
I draw my blade, just in case, and press my hand into the dirt beside the stone, feeling for anything beneath the surface. The magic buzzes faintly against my skin—then stutters. And in that split second of disruption, I hear it.
A breath behind me.
I twist on instinct, blade flashing through the air. It strikes something solid—a figure just outside the ward radius, dressed in winter black with a mask tight against his face. He stumbles back, surprised but not down. Fox scent floods the air.
He comes at me fast.
I duck under the first swing, lunge with a kick that sends him reeling into a tree.
Snow crashes down from the branches above as I follow, blade arcing toward his shoulder, but he’s faster than he looks.
He deflects, counters, grabs my wrist and yanks.
I hit the ground hard, shoulder screaming, but roll and slash at his thigh, catching fabric, maybe skin.
His mask shifts as he grunts, and that’s when I see them.
Amber eyes.
I freeze for half a breath too long.
He stuns me.
The charge bites through my ribs like lightning, locking every nerve in my body until I can’t even scream. I feel myself fall. Snow against my cheek. The world going sideways. My limbs won’t move.
He leans close.
His voice is a whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
And then the world goes black.