22. Archer
ARCHER
The forest doesn’t lie. That’s the first thing I learned when I started leading patrols, and it’s the one rule that’s never failed me. Tracks fade. Scent shifts. But the forest always tells you when something doesn’t belong. Right now—
It’s screaming. I crouch at the edge of the logging road, fingers brushing the disturbed earth where tire tracks cut too deep into the dirt. Fresh. Within the last twelve hours. Not local.
Not ours.
“They came through here,” I say quietly.
Behind me, three of the younger shifters spread out, their attention sharp, movements careful. They’ve improved since yesterday. But this? This is different. This isn’t training. This is real.
“How many?” one of them—Eli—asks.
I inhale slowly. The scent is faint. Masked. But not enough.
“More than a scouting pair,” I answer. “At least four. Maybe six.”
Eli swears under his breath.
“Rogues?” another asks.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No doubt. I rise slowly, scanning the tree line.
“Spread out,” I order. “Check for markers. Don’t stray too far.”
They move immediately, fanning out with ease.
I step off the road and into the underbrush, following the pull of instinct more than anything visible.
That’s when I find it. A claw mark. Deep.
Intentional. Carved into the bark of a low-hanging tree.
My jaw tightens. Cougar. Not subtle. Not accidental. A message.
I step closer, running my fingers just above the mark without touching it. Fresh. Deliberate. And placed at eye level. They want us to see it.
“Archer,” Eli calls quietly from my left.
“I see it,” I reply.
“No—this,” he says.
I move toward him quickly, pushing through a line of brush until I reach a small clearing.
He points to the ground. At first glance, it looks like nothing. Just disturbed leaves. Scattered dirt. But when I focus—
I see it. Patterns. Paths. Movement lines.
“They mapped it,” I say.
Eli frowns. “Mapped what?”
“Our patrol routes.”
The realization lands heavy. Because this isn’t random. It’s not chaotic. It’s not even aggressive—yet. It’s calculated.
“They’ve been watching longer than we thought,” I continue, scanning the area again with sharper focus. “Tracking where we move. When we move.”
“How?” the other shifter asks, stepping closer.
“Distance,” I say. “Timing. Patterns. They don’t need to be close if they’re patient.”
And rogues—
Rogues can be very patient when there’s something worth taking. My tiger stirs, restless.
Uneasy.
This is wrong.
I know. This isn’t intimidation. This is preparation.
“They’re not just testing us,” I say slowly.
Eli’s expression tightens. “Then what are they doing?”
I meet his gaze.
“They’re planning.”
Silence. Heavy. Because we all know what that means.
“They’re going to hit us,” he says.
“Yes.”
“But we pushed them back yesterday—”
“That wasn’t a real attack,” I cut in. “That was a probe.”
Understanding flickers across his face.
“And this…” he gestures around us.
“This is the setup,” I finish.
For something bigger. Something coordinated. Something designed to break us. I straighten, scanning the forest again. Everything feels different now. Sharper. More dangerous.
Because now I know—
This isn’t a question of if. It’s a question of when.
We move deeper into the tree line, following the signs. More markers. More subtle this time. Broken branches. Displaced stones. Small indicators that wouldn’t mean anything to a human eye—but to us? They’re a map. And we’ve been walking through it without realizing.
My frustration builds with every step. Not at the patrol. Not at the town. At myself.
I should’ve seen this sooner. Should’ve anticipated it. But I didn’t. Because I was focused on two fronts—
The town. And Tessa. And now they’re not separate anymore. They’re the same battle.
The same vulnerability. The same target.
“Archer,” Eli calls again.
I turn. He’s holding something small between his fingers. A strip of fabric. Dark. Worn.
“Found it near the edge of the path,” he says.
I take it, bringing it closer. It smells faintly—
Not human. Not fully shifter either. Something in between. Rogue.
“They’re getting closer,” I mutter.
“How close?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth—
The truth isn’t something I want to say out loud. But I don’t get the chance. Because a sharp pulse cuts through the bond. Not fear. Not panic. But urgency. And it’s not from Tessa. It’s from the town. A messenger signal. I turn sharply, already moving.
“What is it?” Eli asks.
“Town alert,” I say. “Go back. Now.”
They don’t question it. We move fast, cutting through the forest with practiced speed. But even as we run—
Something feels off. The timing. The distance. The way everything seems to be happening at once. Like we’re being pulled in two different directions. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
By the time we hit the edge of town, the energy has shifted. People are moving. Quickly. Purposefully. Not panic. But close. Conrad meets me halfway down the main street, his expression tight.
“You felt it,” he says.
“Yes. What happened?”
“Someone’s been watching the bookstore again,” he says.
Everything in me goes still.
“When?”
“This morning. Early. Didn’t approach—just observed.”
My jaw clenches.
“How long?”
“Long enough,” he replies.
That’s all I need to hear.
“I’m going to her,” I say.
“I figured,” he replies.
I don’t wait for anything else. I don’t check in. Don’t regroup. Because right now—
There’s only one priority.
I reach the bookstore faster than I should. Faster than is reasonable. But I don’t slow down. Don’t think. I push through the door hard enough that the bell slams against the frame.
“Tessa—”
She’s there. Behind the counter. Alive. Unhurt. Safe. Relief hits hard enough to make my knees weak for half a second. Then it’s gone. Replaced by something sharper. Something darker.
“You’re okay,” I say, crossing the room in two strides.
“I was never not okay,” she replies, brows lifting slightly. “What’s going on?”
I scan the space quickly. Doors. Windows. Sightlines. No immediate threat. But that doesn’t mean anything.
“Someone was watching this place,” I say.
Her expression shifts.
“I figured,” she says.
I stop.
“You figured?”
She gestures toward a notebook on the counter.
“I’ve been keeping track,” she says.
I follow her gaze. Flip it open. Notes. Descriptions. Times. Patterns. My frustration pauses. Just for a second. Because this—
This is useful.
“You’ve been doing this all morning?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Without hesitation. Without apology. Of course she has.
“She’s right,” Delilah says from near the window. “We’ve seen unfamiliar faces.”
I look up. Brooke’s near the door. Conrad just behind her. They’re all here. All watching.
All reinforcing. Good. But not enough.
“They’ve been mapping our patrols,” I say. “Planning something coordinated.”
Tessa’s grip tightens slightly on the counter.
“How bad?” she asks.
“Bad,” I reply.
No point softening it. Because she’s not someone who needs that.
“And now they’re watching the town itself,” I continue. “Not just from the outside.”
“Using the tourists,” she says immediately.
I meet her gaze.
“Yes.”
She nods once, like that confirms something she already suspected.
“Then we’re already behind,” she says.
The words hit harder than they should. Because she’s right. And I hate it.
“I should’ve seen it sooner,” I mutter.
“You’re not omniscient,” she shoots back. “You’re dealing with a lot.”
That doesn’t make it better.
“Protecting the town,” I say. “Protecting you—”
“Are the same problem,” she finishes.
I go still. Because that’s exactly it. Exactly what I’ve been circling without saying out loud.
“They’re not separate anymore,” I say.
“No,” she agrees. “They’re not.”
Silence falls. Heavy. Because now we all understand the stakes. Not just abstract. Not just potential. Immediate. Real.
“They’re going to hit us,” Brooke says quietly.
“Yes,” I reply.
“When?” Conrad asks.
I exhale slowly.
“Soon.”
Not precise. But accurate. Because everything we’ve seen—
Everything we’ve found—
Points to one thing. They’re ready. And once they move—
They won’t stop.
I look at Tessa again. Really look this time. She’s steady. Focused. Not afraid. Or at least not ruled by it. And that—
That makes this harder. Because protecting someone who refuses to be protected? Is a different kind of battle.
“I need you to be careful,” I say.
Her brow lifts slightly.
“I am being careful.”
“More careful,” I press.
“And I need you to trust me,” she counters.
There it is. The line we keep hitting. The one neither of us is willing to step back from.
“This isn’t just about trust,” I say.
“No,” she agrees. “It’s about control.”
My jaw tightens.
“It’s about keeping you alive.”
“And I’m helping with that,” she says, gesturing to the notebook. “Or would you rather I sit quietly and pretend none of this is happening?”
No. I wouldn’t. And that’s the problem. Because she’s right. And I hate that she’s right.
“Fine,” I say finally. “You help. But you don’t take unnecessary risks.”
Her lips twitch slightly.
“Define unnecessary.”
“Tessa—”
“I’m kidding,” she says quickly. “Mostly.”
I exhale slowly.
This—
This is what this is going to be. A constant push and pull. Between instinct and independence. Protection and autonomy. And I don’t know which one wins.
But one thing is clear. The rogues aren’t waiting anymore. They’re moving. And every second we spend reacting—
They’re getting closer to whatever endgame Damon has planned. I glance at the door, toward the street beyond it. Toward the forest just past that.
“We’re running out of time,” I say.
No one argues. Because they feel it too. The shift. The pressure. The inevitable pull toward something we can’t avoid. War isn’t coming. It’s already here. And now—
We either hold the line. Or lose everything.