Chapter 27
Ina
Ina sprinted into the garden with nothing but her knife to defend her family and the certainty that she would use it.
Dawn mist clung low to the ground, cold and slick against her boots. The rising sun dragged long shadows across the grass, stretching them into something deceptive and dangerous. Every corner of the garden was a potential hiding place. Ina scanned them all without breaking stride.
If the boathouse had been a lie—if the Selkie had allies, another shoal waiting to finish what had been started—they wouldn’t leave Riverside alive.
Letting them live was a mistake. She’d known it the second Archie ordered her to lower her weapon. Tonight, monsters had learned they could kill and walk away.
Ina didn’t like bloodshed, but liking it had nothing to do with necessity. Sometimes violence was the cost of keeping families alive long enough to grow old. Archie clung to hope. Malachi reached for understanding. But Ina needed certainty. Time would tell which of them was right.
Her grip tightened on the knife as she moved deeper into the garden, breath even, steps light. Her muscles ached for a long, hot soak in a bath, but she was ready to fight.
If Archie’s choice had already come back to haunt them, if his mercy was about to send Ina to her grave, she would take as many as she could with her.
The thought of Daddy’s journal hit hard and sudden. She should’ve told Archie. Daddy was his father too. He had just as much right to that knowledge—about the Otherworld and their family—even if Ina had spent the last forty years being too afraid to read it.
The journal stayed hidden because as long as she didn’t open it, Daddy wasn’t truly gone. Reading it would mean accepting his death. And even after all this time, Ina wasn’t about to give up hope.
She slowed as mist rolled in from the river, thickening around her, swallowing sound and distance.
A chill crept down her spine. If she died here, in her own backyard, Archie and Malachi would be left to pick up the pieces without her. And they’d make a mess of it. Archie with his mercy. Malachi with his questions. They’d walk straight into trouble believing the world could be reasoned with.
And Tilly—
Ina’s chest tightened. She couldn’t leave Tilly.
They’d been friends all their lives—Ina couldn’t remember life without her.
They’d been there for each other through thick and thin.
They’d spend each Christmas clinging to each other, drinking far too many Bloody Marys, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist while they mourned their losses side by side.
The thought of Tilly alone at Christmas, truly alone, twisted something ugly and panicked in Ina’s gut.
She wouldn’t become another empty chair. Another absence no one knew how to talk about.
Ina exhaled slowly and pushed the thoughts aside with brutal efficiency. Her knife tilted slightly as she moved deeper into the shadows, panic finally locked down where it belonged. Nothing was taking her family tonight.
She crept through the garden, steps soundless, blade ready. Mist hugged the ground, blurring the edges of the world. Every instinct she possessed stretched tight, searching.
She breathed in. Tilly’s roses cut through the dampness in the air. Not fish or salt. Not Selkie. Ina’s pulse kicked harder. Whatever had knocked over the wheelie bins had weight—and enough sense to hide afterwards.
The bushes rustled.
Ina shifted back a step; blade angled for an upward strike. If it lunged low, she’d gut it. If it came high, she’d take the throat. No hesitation this time. Mercy had its limits, and she’d already stretched hers too far tonight.
The movement came again—closer. Ina’s breath caught in her throat.
Footsteps thundered behind her. Ina spun, fury flashing hot and sharp. The backdoor was wide open. Archie and Malachi were half-falling over each other in their rush outside. Malachi won, trainers pounding over the grass as he ran straight at her like he hadn’t learned a thing.
“Stop!” Ina threw up her hand, palm out.
“What is it?” Archie panted as he reached her side. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his leg. He couldn’t stay still for five minutes.
Ina didn’t answer. She pointed her knife into the rosebush. The branches shifted, right on cue.
“Jesus,” Archie breathed. “It can’t be.”
“What?” Malachi followed his gaze—and froze. “What is that?”
Two small eyes stared back at them from the leaves.
Ina lowered herself slowly, sliding the knife back into her waistband. She kept her hands visible, palms open, even though her pulse hammered.
The bush twitched.
A tiny black nose poked out, sniffing the air. Then the creature burst free in a blur of fur and motion.
Ina barely had time to register it before it launched straight at her.
“Oof!”
She went down hard, the breath knocked clean out of her lungs as four paws landed square on her chest.
The animal’s jet-black fur was damp with the mist, thick and coarse beneath her palms. It was smaller than a husky pup, but solid—dense muscle packed beneath all that fluff.
“Get off me, you silly thing!” Ina caught it gently by the sides of its face and pushed.
It growled, sharp little teeth flashing as instinct snapped awake.
Ina didn’t flinch. She rubbed behind its ears.
Just like that, the tension drained from it—like someone had turned a dial.
The growl softened into low, pleased huff.
The creature leaned into her hand, tail thudding against her ribs like it had known her all its life.
Ina lay there for a second longer, heart racing too fast. If that had been something else and she’d gone down…
“Is that what I think it is?” Archie limped closer, disbelief written across his face.
Malachi was there in an instant, grabbing Ina’s arm and hauling her upright. His hold was firm and steady. She clocked it automatically—stronger than he used to be.
She brushed damp grass and soil from her clothes and stared down at the animal. It sat between them now, calmly licking its paws, unconcerned by the chaos it had just caused.
“Is it a...?” Malachi trailed off.
The creature looked up at him, head tilted to one side, tongue lolling stupidly out of the corner of its mouth.
Then it started.
A sound lifted through the trees—thin at first, barely more than a breath. Ina’s spine locked.
Howling.
Ina’s fingers twitched towards her knife before she was fully aware of the movement. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs, old instincts roaring back to life.
“Where is it coming from?” She scanned the garden, the tree-line, the slope down towards the river.
Malachi turned slowly, eyes wide—not with fear, but recognition. That unsettled Ina more than the sound itself.
The howling rolled around Riverside now, no longer distant but hidden just out of sight. A chorus threading through the early grey light of dawn, lifting the hair along Ina’s arms.
“Wolves.” Archie’s voice was low.
He reached out to the cub. It padded over without hesitation. It sniffed Archie’s hand, sneezed, then gave his fingers a sloppy, unapologetic lick before turning and trotting straight back to Ina. It pressed its warm weight against her left like that was where it belonged.
She looked at Archie—injured, unyielding, still standing. Then Malachi, who wasn’t backing away, wasn’t frozen. He looked shaken, yes, but curious. Already stepping forward into a world Archie spent his life trying to hold at bay.
“After all this time…” Ina’s words trailed off as the cub pressed against her, its fur warm against her leg. She swallowed. “Wolves have come back to Latharna.”