Chapter 23
Stealth Mode
Alexa
The next day, Jack drives us to Silver Moon’s border in his van. It takes six hours to get here. The Rider modification isn’t perfect, but it strikes a solid balance between speed and comfort. I don’t feel nauseous, and it’s still faster than any human-made van.
“Here we are!” Jack says excitedly from behind the wheel.
We stop at the nearest bus stop along the western border of Silver Moon. To avoid the tighter security on the eastern side, we take the only remaining land route that’s considered relatively safe.
“Thank you, Jack,” I say with a wide smile.
I mean it. He’s willing to take us all this way in his old Rider van, driving nonstop from the Rogue settlement to Silver Moon’s border.
For the entire journey, Jack keeps eating some Snickers or protein bar to replenish his energy.
He refuses to switch drivers, insisting Harlow needs to stay in peak condition in case he has to carry me out of Silver Moon later.
They argue briefly about it. In the end, Harlow gives in, letting Jack burn through his strength to get us here before the full moon rises.
“Thanks, Jack. Really appreciate it,” Harlow tells him.
“No problem. Come on now, don’t waste time,” Jack says, waving us on.
Harlow and I step out of the van and prepare our scent blockers. The crystal necklace Mr. Moris gave me hangs beneath my flannel shirt, hidden against my skin. Harlow downs a potion to strengthen his ability to suppress his natural scent.
“Good luck, buddy. I’ll be right here waiting,” Jack says, offering a fist bump.
Harlow returns it. “Stay sharp.”
Then he turns to me. “You ready?”
I take a deep breath, trying to settle the tension coiled in my chest. My hands swing loosely at my sides, like I’m about to step into a ring.
“Relax. You’ve got this, Alexa.” Mythril sends a warm pulse of encouragement through me.
“Ready,” I say.
Our steps fall into sync as we walk away from the van. The cool spring night breeze cuts through me, raising goosebumps along my arms. We pick up our pace, heading deeper into the forest.
The western border is the weakest point of the Silver Moon Pack, largely ignored for generations. Past Alphas never saw the need to guard it closely, including my father. According to Mrs. Geeny, Alpha Gabriel hasn’t changed that approach.
I walk beside Harlow and tilt my head back to take in the land ahead. A massive cliff stretches along the western coastline, steep and towering, like a wall carved straight from stone.
No one could climb it to sneak into Silver Moon. Not humans. Not wolves.
“Come on. Keep moving,” Harlow says, patting my shoulder.
Instead of attempting the cliff, we veer farther west. Our footsteps crunch softly against the forest floor, blending with the chirping of crickets. Darkness surrounds us, but the moonlight grows brighter, full and luminous, as if guiding us toward the only entrance left.
We stop at the mouth of a large cave. It’s only slightly taller than Harlow, maybe six foot four. The cave yawns open, dark and abandoned, its depth impossible to gauge. Each gust of wind that rushes inside creates a sharp, eerie whistle that sends a chill through me.
“Do you hear that?” I ask, shivering.
“Yeah. It’s just the wind,” Harlow says calmly, meeting my eyes. “Our hearing’s just too sharp. You ready?”
I straighten, bracing myself for the tunnel ahead. As a kid, I never took this route. I was too fragile back then. Stronger kids, Harlow included, used the tunnel as a test of courage. It was also used as a part of the Alpha trial grounds.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
With a nod, we step into the cave, swallowed by darkness. My eyes adjust quickly as Mythril sharpens my vision and sense of space, staying alert.
I follow close behind Harlow’s steady, agile steps. He moves like he knows this place by heart. At every fork, he turns without hesitation. I don’t know how he remembers it all, but for now, I trust him completely.
I stay silent, focusing on keeping up, even though curiosity gnaws at me. I’ll ask him later. When we’re safe.
The tunnel grows steeper as we climb. Eventually, we reach an opening that leads back into open air.
“Careful,” Harlow says. “The path ahead’s a dead end. We’ll need to hug the cliff. Just stick close to me.”
At the end of the tunnel, instead of stepping forward, he shifts right, moving cautiously. He’s right. Just beyond the entrance, the ground drops away. There’s barely enough space for one foot. I press my body flat against the cliff and inch along.
My heart hammers, adrenaline flooding my veins. What if I slip and fall, like in some action movie? No. In movies, the hero always survives cliffs like this.
I glance down anyway and instantly regret it. The drop is dizzying. A fall from here would shatter more than a few bones.
“Oh no, Goddess.” I snap my head up and squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, I focus on the dark, clouded sky instead of the abyss below. Anything is better than looking down.
I breathe in and out, forcing calm into my lungs. My back scrapes against moss-covered stone as I cling to the cliff. My fingers slide along the wall, tearing away bits of moss and vines. The damp, earthy smell mixes with the wild forest air, grounding me in the danger of what we’re doing.
Finally, the narrow path widens into a rocky incline. I no longer have to cling to the cliff. Taking long steps, I climb upward. Harlow reaches back several times, pulling me over higher ledges. After nearly an exhausting hour, we reach another entrance inside the cave.
I gasp for air as we finally pause. We drink from the water bottles Harlow carries in his backpack. Sweat soaks my tank top beneath the flannel, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. I wipe my face and press the cool bottle to my cheek, letting the chill calm me.
“Oof, what a ride. You feel that adrenaline still buzzing?” Mythril says, sounding relieved inside my head.
“Are we still far from the end?” I ask between breaths.
“Not much farther,” Harlow says. “Once we pass through the tunnel again, we’ll be inside Silver Moon territory.” He hooks his thumb toward the narrow passage ahead.
I remember the plan. This tunnel leads into the inner forest, where Alpha trials are held. From there, I know the land well enough to reach Mrs. Geeny’s house near the western border.
“How do you remember all these cliff paths?” I ask, still catching my breath as I wipe water from the corner of my mouth.
I’ve held the question back for too long. This time, I let it out. Harlow doesn’t answer. He looks away instead, his jaw tightening slightly.
“This is Alpha trial ground,” Eldritch’s voice answers in my mind.
“And that means…?”
“We trained here once a week.”
My eyes widen as everything clicks into place.
Harlow, an Omega and servant of the Scott family, training in Alpha trial grounds. That alone would have made him a target for mockery and punishment. But knowing what lies beneath his flannel now, the silver glow hidden there, it isn’t funny. Not even close.
I reach out and take his hand. “Hey.”
“Hm?” He avoids my eyes, his face faintly flushed.
“You did great,” I say softly. “We’ll find out more about your parents once we’re back at the tent.”
He never tells me anything about it, but I can tell he is putting me first right now. That alone makes me want to stand by him after this, no matter what.
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. His fingers tighten around mine briefly, like he’s drawing strength from the contact.
“Come on,” he says, tucking the water bottle away. “The moon’s climbing.”
We pack the bottles and head back into the tunnel. It doesn’t take long before a foul stench hits me hard.
“Ugh, that smell. Rotten meat,” Mythril groans.
Harlow slows and leans forward, alert. “You smell that too?”
“Yes. Is there a dead animal nearby?”
“No,” Eldritch answers before Harlow can speak. “That’s dried wolf shifter blood.”
A chill runs through me. The deeper we go, the stronger the stench becomes, mixing with the sound of faint, sluggish water. Harlow stops at the edge of a dried streambed.
“What is it?” I whisper.
I lean to peek past his shoulder and see it. A body lies crumpled on the ground, surrounded by blood on his—
“Don’t look.” Harlow’s hand covers my eyes.
“I already saw it,” I protest quietly.
“Yeah, but you don’t need to keep looking,” he mutters, gently turning me so my back faces the scene. “Stay here. I’ll check it first.”
He’s trying to protect me. But the truth is blood spatters don’t scare me anymore. I’ve seen enough fights, enough violence. Still, I obey. If he’s insisting, there’s a reason.
Something feels wrong. The stench thickens, making my head spin. My stomach twists as the image I caught earlier refuses to fade, imprinting itself deep in my mind. Harlow’s footsteps echo faintly through the cave as he moves closer to the body.
“What happened to him?” I ask, forcing my voice steady, trying to distract myself from the smell racing my pulse.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Mythril mutters.
“Good thing I’m not a cat,” I shoot back silently.
“Someone practiced dark magic here,” Harlow says after a moment. “Judging by the condition, it happened about a week ago.”
My body goes rigid. Dark magic.
The manipulation of magical energy driven by malicious intent is known as dark magic. Most magical beings fear it. Even without strict laws forbidding it, they avoid its rituals whenever they can. Not just because of what it does to the world, but because of what it does to them.
The cost of using dark magic is terrifying. It can drive a person mad. It can drain their life away. Or leave them bound to a curse they can never escape.
Not every magical being can even harness their own energy. That alone makes it dangerous. So, when someone chooses to wield it for something like this, it feels even more wrong.
Dark magic practices weaken the barrier between the human world and the realm of darkness, where the Dark Ruler is sealed away. That place holds the very source of evil. Locked. Restrained.