32. Archer
ARCHER
Ifeel the shift in the air long before I reach the edge of Redwood Crossing.
The forest carries sound differently when something is wrong—subtle changes in rhythm, the absence of smaller creatures, the way the wind moves through branches without interruption. It isn’t silence.
It’s tension. And it’s everywhere.
I break through the last stretch of trees at a run, boots hitting the dirt road just outside town as my gaze snaps immediately to the perimeter.
Shifters are already mobilizing. Not scattered. Not reacting. Organizing. That alone tells me how serious this has become.
Conrad stands near the main junction, speaking sharply into a radio while two younger shifters wait for instructions. When he sees me, he doesn’t waste time.
“You’re back.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Multiple infiltration attempts along the northern and eastern edges,” he replies. “They’re not pushing in force yet. They’re testing entry points.”
My jaw tightens. “How many confirmed?”
“Enough to prove it’s coordinated.”
I exhale slowly, scanning the movement around me. Patrol teams are already forming along the roads leading into town. Vehicles are being repositioned to create controlled choke points. Civilians are being redirected toward central safe zones.
This isn’t panic. This is preparation.
“Where’s Magnus?” I ask.
“Town hall. He’s pulling leadership together.”
I don’t wait. I move through the center of Redwood Crossing with purpose, every step fueled by the growing certainty settling in my chest. Damon has arrived. Not just him. All of them. The doors to the town hall are already open when I reach them.
Inside, the room buzzes with controlled urgency. Maps are spread across tables. Radios crackle. Leaders from different parts of the town speak in clipped, efficient bursts of information.
And at the center of it all stands Magnus. He looks up the moment I enter.
“About time.”
I step forward. “Report.”
Magnus doesn’t hesitate. “Scattered rogue sightings along three primary approaches—north ridge, eastern road, and southern tree line. No full assault yet, but they’re pushing closer with each pass.”
“They’re mapping response times,” I say immediately.
Magnus nods once. “That’s our read as well.”
“Damon?” I ask.
A pause.
Then, “Confirmed.”
The word settles heavily in the room. Something cold and focused locks into place inside me.
“Then this isn’t a probe,” I say. “It’s the opening move.”
Magnus studies me, then gives a single, decisive nod.
“Which is why I’m assigning you to lead the primary combat group.”
The room stills slightly at that. Not surprise. Expectation.
I don’t hesitate. “Done.”
Magnus steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to keep the exchange between us.
“You’ll have full authority over defensive positioning outside the central zone,” he says. “Conrad will coordinate internal response and civilian safety.”
I incline my head. “Understood.”
Magnus holds my gaze for a beat longer. “End this before they gain ground.”
“I will.”
There’s no doubt in my voice. Because there can’t be. I turn and stride back out of the building, already shifting my focus from information to action. Conrad has assembled a group of fighters. Not volunteers. Not loosely trained.
These are Redwood Crossing’s strongest. Men and women who know what it means to defend territory. I step into the center of them without slowing.
“Listen up.”
The chatter stops instantly.
“We’ve got confirmed rogue presence along multiple entry points,” I continue. “They’re not attacking yet. They’re studying us. That means they’re looking for weaknesses.”
My gaze sweeps over the group.
“They don’t get to find any.”
A low murmur of agreement ripples through them.
I point toward the forest line. “We establish defensive lines along the north ridge, eastern access road, and southern perimeter. No gaps. No independent movement.”
One of the fighters speaks up. “What about the western side?”
“My terrain already limits access there,” I say. “We maintain patrol rotation, but primary pressure is coming from the other three points.”
Another voice cuts in. “How many are we facing?”
I don’t soften the answer.
“Damon’s entire pack.”
Silence follows. Not fear. Calculation. Good.
“That means this isn’t a skirmish,” I continue. “This is a full-scale territorial push. They’re going to test us until they find an opening, and then they’ll try to break through.”
I step closer, my voice dropping just enough to sharpen the edge of it.
“They don’t reach the town center.”
Agreement answers me. I nod once.
“Move.”
The group splits immediately, each team heading toward their assigned positions. I don’t follow right away. Conrad steps up beside me instead.
“You’re taking the outer lines.”
“Yeah.”
“And leaving the center to me.”
I glance at him. “You’ve got it covered?”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I’ve been handling this town longer than you’ve been pretending you don’t care about it.”
A faint smirk tugs at my mouth.
“Fair enough.”
But then his expression shifts, something more serious settling in.
“And Tessa.”
I still.
“What about her?”
“She’s coordinating communications,” Conrad says. “Businesses, patrol teams, evacuation routes—she’s tied into all of it.”
Of course she is.
“She shouldn’t be that exposed,” I say.
“She’s not exposed,” Conrad replies. “She’s central.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. It raises the stakes.
I exhale slowly. “Keep someone near her at all times.”
“Already done.”
I nod once. Then I turn toward the forest. Time to move.
The shift hits me fast and clean, muscle and bone realigning as instinct takes over. The world sharpens—scents layering over each other, sound carrying farther, every movement in the trees registering with precision.
Rogue presence is everywhere. Faint. Scattered. But unmistakable. I move along the northern ridge first, checking positioning. Two of my fighters hold the line there, their stances alert but controlled.
“Any contact?” I ask.
“Visual only. They’re keeping distance.”
“They won’t for long.”
I move on. The eastern access road shows similar patterns—movement just beyond sightlines, pressure without commitment. Testing. Always testing. The pattern is undeniable. They’re surrounding the town. Not closing in yet.
Just tightening.
I stand at the tree line, my gaze fixed on the forest beyond.
The wind shifts again, carrying a sharper edge this time.
Not just presence. Movement. I lower my stance slightly, letting instinct take over as I track the change in scent patterns along the southern line.
It isn’t random. Nothing about this is random.
They’re rotating positions. Testing response speed. Measuring how quickly we adjust.
A shadow flickers between the trees to my left—too fast for a human eye to catch, but not fast enough to disappear completely. I move. Silent. Direct. By the time I reach the spot, there’s nothing there but disturbed leaves and the faint echo of scent. Rogue. Recent. Watching.
I crouch, brushing my fingers against the ground before straightening again, scanning the tree line.
“You’re getting closer,” I mutter.
Another shift. This time from the opposite direction. They’re triangulating. A low growl builds in my chest before I force it back down. That’s what they want—reaction without control.
Not happening.
I tap into the patrol channel again. “All units, tighten formation by five percent. Maintain visual overlap. No blind zones.”
Acknowledgments come back immediately. Good. They’re listening. They’re adapting.
But so are the rogues.
I step back toward the tree line, pushing past the immediate perimeter and deeper into the forest. That’s when I feel it. Not movement. Not sound.
Presence. Heavy. Focused. Intent locked in one direction. Me. A slow, dangerous smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“Finally,” I say quietly.
Damon isn’t just watching anymore. He’s engaging. And that means this is about to stop being a waiting game. Good. I’ve had enough of those.
“Come on, Damon,” I mutter. “Stop hiding behind your pack.”
As if summoned by the thought, a deeper scent cuts through the others. Stronger. Sharper.
Predatory. My head lifts slightly. There. Not close. But present. Damon isn’t leading from the front. He’s watching. Waiting. Good.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders once before stepping back from the tree line. If Damon wants a drawn-out approach, he’s not going to get it. I key into the patrol channel.
“All units, hold positions and maintain defensive lines. Do not pursue beyond designated boundaries.”
Confirmations come back immediately. Then I switch to a private channel.
“Conrad.”
“I’m here.”
“This ends before they reach the center,” I say. “I’m not letting it get that far.”
A brief pause.
“I figured.”
I keep my gaze on the forest.
“They want territory,” I say. “They’re not getting it.”
“Then end it.”
I nod once, even though he can’t see it.
“I will.”
I lower the radio and take one last look at the defensive lines stretching around Redwood Crossing. Strong. Organized. Ready. But this isn’t a fight that will be won by holding ground alone. It needs to be finished. And I know exactly who that means facing.
I turn toward the forest, every instinct in me sharpening toward a single objective.
Damon.
“Stay away from the town center,” I murmur.
Not a hope. A promise. Then I step into the trees, disappearing into the shadows as the first true movements of battle begin to stir around Redwood Crossing.