24. Archer
ARCHER
Ispot them before they see me. That’s the advantage of knowing your own territory—every trail, every turn, every place someone might think they’re being subtle when they’re not. They’re near the trailhead just outside town. Close enough to pass as hikers. Far enough to think they won’t be noticed.
Wrong.
I lean against the trunk of a pine just off the path, arms crossed, watching as three of them pretend to study a posted map. Their movements are too controlled, too deliberate—like they’re acting out a role instead of living it.
Tourists. Right. My tiger stirs beneath my skin, low and irritated.
They don’t belong.
I know. And I’m done letting them think they can walk in here unnoticed. I step out from the trees. They go still. Not dramatically. Not obviously. But enough. They feel me. Good.
“Trail’s closed,” I say, my voice carrying easily across the small clearing.
One of them—a tall man with dark hair and a too-casual stance—turns slowly, his expression neutral.
“Didn’t see any signs,” he replies.
His tone is calm. Measured. Careful. I take a few steps closer.
“You wouldn’t,” I say. “Because you’re not actually looking for hiking routes.”
A flicker of something passes through his eyes. There. Recognition. The other two shift slightly, spacing themselves out without making it obvious. Positioning. Preparing.
“Not sure what you mean,” the man says.
I stop just outside striking distance. Close enough to make a point. Far enough to avoid triggering something I don’t want—yet.
“You’re not tourists,” I say. “You’re not locals. And you’re definitely not here for the view.”
Silence stretches. Then—
The man smiles. Slow. Sharp.
“Well,” he says. “Guess we’ve been made.”
No denial. No attempt to keep the act going. Just honesty. I respect that. Doesn’t mean I like it.
“You’re in the wrong place,” I say.
“Depends on who you ask.”
“It doesn’t,” I reply. “This territory is claimed.”
“By you,” he says.
“Yes.”
His smile widens just a fraction.
“That’s the problem.”
My jaw tightens. Behind him, the other two shift again—subtle, but enough that I track it. They’re not going to attack. Not here. Not now. This isn’t about winning a fight. It’s about sending a message. Same as Damon. Same as the markers in the forest. Same as the watchers in town.
“You don’t get to hold this forever,” the man continues. “Territory changes hands.”
“Not this one,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
There it is again. That same confidence. That same certainty. Like they already know how this ends.
“Tell Damon if he wants this town,” I say, my voice dropping, “he can come take it himself.”
The man’s eyes gleam.
“Oh, he will,” he says.
A beat of silence. Then—
“He’s just giving you time to understand what you’re up against.”
My tiger snarls.
We know exactly what we’re up against.
Do we? Because everything I’ve seen—
Everything I’ve felt—
Says this isn’t just another rogue group looking for easy territory. This is organized. Strategic. Relentless.
“Time’s up,” I say.
The man studies me. Then—
He steps back. Not retreating. Not afraid. Just… done.
“For you,” he says.
And then they’re gone. Slipping back into the trees like they were never there. I don’t follow. Not because I don’t want to. Because I know better. This isn’t a fight I win by chasing. This is a war I win by preparing.
By the time I get back to town, the weight of it has settled in fully. There’s no more ambiguity. No more waiting to see what happens. It’s happening. Now. The council hall fills faster than it did yesterday. Word spreads quickly here. Faster when there’s fear attached to it.
Magnus is already at the head of the table when I walk in, his expression carved from stone.
“Well?” he asks.
“They’re inside town,” I say without preamble. “Confirmed.”
A ripple moves through the room. Not surprise. Just tension tightening.
“I confronted three near the trailhead,” I continue. “They didn’t deny it.”
Magnus nods once. “Of course they didn’t.”
“They’re not hiding anymore,” I add. “Not really. They’re letting us see them.”
“Because they want us unsettled,” Delilah says.
“Yes.”
“And it’s working,” Brooke mutters.
Magnus leans forward, resting his hands on the table.
“Then we stop reacting,” he says. “And start controlling the board.”
Silence falls. Focused. Intent.
“Additional patrols,” he continues. “Double coverage inside and outside town.”
“Already in motion,” Conrad says.
“Good.”
Magnus’s gaze shifts to me.
“You’ll coordinate.”
Not a suggestion. A directive. I nod once.
“Understood.”
“You know the terrain better than anyone,” he adds. “You lead the response.”
The weight of that settles in immediately. Not unfamiliar. But heavier now. Because this isn’t just about defending borders anymore. This is about protecting everything inside them.
“Evacuation plans?” Brooke asks.
Magnus’s expression tightens slightly.
“We prepare them,” he says. “Quietly.”
A few heads turn at that.
“Civilians first,” he continues. “Anyone who can’t defend themselves gets moved to safer ground if this escalates.”
“When,” Conrad corrects.
Magnus nods once.
“When.”
The word lands heavy. Because we all know—
That’s the truth. There is no if anymore.
The meeting stretches longer than usual. Strategies. Assignments. Contingencies layered on top of contingencies. We map out patrol routes. Adjust timing. Close gaps. Every decision made with the understanding that one mistake—
One oversight—
Could cost us everything. By the time it ends, the room feels different. More focused.
More serious. Less like a council. More like a war room. People file out quickly, already moving to carry out orders.
I stay behind. Magnus doesn’t leave. Of course he doesn’t.
“You’re carrying too much,” he says without looking at me.
“I’m carrying what’s necessary,” I reply.
He huffs quietly.
“That’s what I said the last time we went to war.”
I glance at him.
“You think I can’t handle it?”
“I think you’re human enough to feel it,” he says. “And shifter enough to ignore it. That combination can get dangerous.”
My jaw tightens.
“I don’t have the luxury of stepping back.”
“No,” he agrees. “You don’t.”
Silence settles between us. Then—
“And your mate?” he asks.
There it is. Always there. Always part of this now.
“She’s not staying out of it,” I say.
Magnus nods slightly. “Good.”
I blink.
“Good?”
“She’s stronger than you think,” he says. “And smarter. That will matter.”
“I know,” I reply.
“And you don’t like it.”
That earns a faint, humorless smile.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
He chuckles quietly.
“You don’t have to like it,” he says. “You just have to accept it.”
Easy for him to say. Harder to do when every instinct I have is screaming to keep her out of this. To keep her safe. To keep her—
Mine.
I shove that thought down. Not helpful. Not now.
By the time I step outside, the town has shifted again. More patrols. More movement. More awareness in every glance, every step, every interaction. People feel it. Even the humans who don’t understand it. They know something’s off. They just don’t know what. Not yet.
I scan the street, my gaze landing on the bookstore. Lights on. Door open. Tessa inside.
Of course she is. My chest hurts slightly. Not fear. Not exactly. Something else. Something sharper. Because now—
Now I know she’s not just part of this. She’s central to it. Not just because of the bond. But because of how she thinks. How she sees things others miss. How she’s already adapting in ways most wouldn’t. And that makes her valuable. To us. To them. I exhale slowly.
“This is happening,” I mutter.
No more denial. No more delay. No more hoping it can be avoided. The rogues have made their move. We’ve responded. And now—
There’s only one direction left. Forward. Into whatever comes next.
I turn away from the street, already moving toward the edge of town again. There’s still work to do. More patrols to check. More weaknesses to find before they do. Because if we’re going to survive this—
If we’re going to hold Redwood Crossing—
We don’t just need to defend. We need to be ready to fight.
But I’m surprised that I’ve stopped thinking about how to prevent the war. And started thinking about how to win it.