34. Archer
ARCHER
Ihit the street seconds after Felix disappears. The scent is still fresh. Sharp. Predatory.
Wrong. I don’t hesitate. I shift mid-stride, the world snapping into heightened clarity as muscle and instinct take over. The town blurs behind me as I follow the trail straight for the forest edge.
He doesn’t bother masking it. Not completely. That tells me everything I need to know. He wants to be followed. Good. I’m not in the mood to be cautious.
Branches snap under my weight as I push deeper into the trees, tracking the path he cuts through the undergrowth. He’s fast—faster than most—but he’s not trying to disappear. He’s drawing me out. My lips pull back in a low snarl.
“Not subtle,” I mutter.
The forest thickens as I move farther from town, the sounds of Redwood Crossing fading behind me until there’s nothing left but the hunt.
And the rage. He touched her. That thought burns hotter than anything else.
My pace increases. I close the distance.
I feel him before I see him. A shift in the air.
A presence just ahead. Then he stops. Just like that. Waiting.
I slow slightly, circling to the left instead of charging straight in. Not giving him the approach he expects. Felix Navarro stands in a small clearing, his posture loose, almost relaxed. He turns as I emerge from the trees, a faint smile playing at his mouth.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
I don’t answer. I don’t waste words on him. I circle once, measuring distance, terrain, movement. He mirrors me. Controlled. Confident.
“You’re angry,” he observes. “That’s good. Makes this easier.”
I lunge. No warning. No hesitation. We collide hard, the impact sending both of us crashing into the ground before rolling apart and coming up again just as fast. He’s strong.
Stronger than I expect. But not stronger than me.
He strikes first, fast and precise, aiming for my throat. I block, counter, drive my shoulder into his chest and slam him back against a tree hard enough to crack bark. He grunts, then twists, using the impact to shift momentum and throw me off balance. We separate again. Circle. Close.
Strike. The fight is brutal. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Claw, bone, muscle—every hit meant to disable, to dominate.
He comes in low this time, sweeping for my legs. I jump, pivot, bring my weight down hard across his back and drive him into the ground. He snarls, twisting beneath me, forcing space between us with raw strength before rolling clear.
“You fight like you’ve got something to lose,” he says, breathing harder now.
“I do,” I answer.
And then I hit him again. This time I don’t hold back. The impact snaps his head to the side, and I follow through with another strike, then another, driving him backward step by step.
He blocks some. Not all. Blood hits the ground. His. Good. But he doesn’t go down. He adapts.
Shifts. Finds openings. He lands a hit to my ribs that forces air from my lungs, then another across my shoulder that burns sharp and deep.
Pain registers. I ignore it. We clash again, closer this time, grappling for control instead of distance.
I get my hands on him—solid grip—and slam him down hard enough to shake the ground beneath us.
This time, I don’t let him up. I pin him.
Forearm across his throat. Weight locked. Control absolute.
“Where is he?” I growl.
Felix grins up at me, blood on his teeth.
“Closer than you think.”
I tighten my hold, cutting off his air.
“Where.”
He laughs. Actually laughs.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” he says, voice rough. “This isn’t about taking the town.”
My grip tightens further.
“Then talk.”
His eyes gleam.
“He wants you,” Felix says. “Pulled away. Distracted. Isolated.”
A cold realization starts to form.
“Why?” I demand.
Felix’s smile widens, even as the pressure on his throat increases.
“Because you’re the only one here who matters.”
I hit him. Hard. His head snaps to the side.
“Wrong answer.”
He coughs, then laughs again.
“You’re already playing his game,” he says. “Every step you take away from Redwood Crossing—every second you spend chasing me—you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”
My jaw tightens. Because there’s truth in that. I hate that there’s truth in that.
“Where is Damon?” I press.
Felix studies me. Then, finally—
“Deep forest,” he says. “Northwest ridge. He’s waiting.”
Waiting. For me. Of course he is. I hold his gaze for another second, searching for deception. I don’t find any. Not in the words. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a trap. It always means there’s a trap. I release just enough pressure to let him breathe.
“Why tell me?” I ask.
Felix exhales slowly, his expression shifting just slightly.
“Because I’m done playing distraction,” he says. “And because I want to see how this ends.”
Not loyalty. Not fear. Curiosity. That makes him more dangerous than I expected. I push off him and stand. He doesn’t move to follow. Doesn’t try to attack again. He stays where he is, watching me.
“You’re not getting back up,” I tell him.
He smirks faintly, already on his feet. “You’re welcome to try and stop me.”
I step forward once more. Fast. Decisive. I bring him down again before he can react, driving him into the ground and locking him there with enough force to keep him from rising.
Not dead. But not going anywhere anytime soon. That’s enough.
Felix strains once beneath me, testing the limits of the hold again, but I don’t give him room to build leverage. His breathing is uneven now, controlled slipping into forced. He studies me through narrowed eyes like he’s still evaluating the fight instead of losing it.
“You don’t get it,” he says finally, voice roughened by pressure.
“I get enough,” I snap back.
He exhales sharply, almost amused despite the blood at his lip.
“No,” he says. “You really don’t.”
That earns him another tightening of my grip. Not enough to kill. Enough to remind him I can.
“Talk,” I growl.
His gaze flickers—just briefly—to the treeline behind me. Not fear. Measurement. He’s checking distance. Timing. Backup.
“There’s no backup coming,” I tell him flatly.
That pulls a faint smile from him.
“You think I’m worried about backup?” he asks.
A pause. Then he laughs again, low and breathless.
“You’re still thinking in town rules,” he says. “Borders. Lines. Defense.”
My jaw tightens.
“Those are still standing,” I say.
“For now,” he corrects.
Something about the way he says it makes the forest feel colder. I adjust my grip slightly, forcing his attention back to me.
“Where is Damon really?” I demand again.
Felix’s expression shifts. Less amusement now. More focus.
“He’s not hiding,” he says.
“Then what is he doing?”
Felix swallows against my forearm but keeps speaking anyway.
“He’s letting you believe this is the fight,” he says. “Letting you think Redwood Crossing is the prize.”
My instincts flare harder. Because I’ve already felt that wasn’t true. I just haven’t had confirmation.
“You’re wasting time,” I say sharply.
Felix shakes his head slightly against the ground.
“No,” he says. “You are.”
A crack of anger pushes through me, but I force it down. Losing control here helps no one.
“Explain,” I order.
Felix’s breathing steadies just slightly, like he’s settling into something deliberate.
“He doesn’t need the town,” he says. “He needed your attention on it.”
My grip tightens instinctively.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say.
“It does if you stop thinking like a protector,” Felix replies. “And start thinking like prey.”
That word lands wrong. Sharp. Intentional. I press harder for a moment, forcing a reaction out of him. He coughs, but doesn’t stop talking.
“Every patrol you’ve moved,” he says. “Every line you’ve reinforced. Every second you’ve spent organizing defenses.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“You’ve been pulled exactly where he wants you.”
I don’t like how clean it sounds. Too structured. Too planned. My mind starts running through the perimeter reports again—north ridge, east road, southern line—
All holding. All stable. But stretched. Spread thin. Exactly like Tessa said earlier. My focus snaps back to Felix.
“Tell me what he’s actually after,” I say.
Felix exhales slowly, eyes half-lidded now, but still sharp.
“Displacement,” he says.
I stare at him.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he insists. “You just don’t like it.”
Wind moves through the trees above, shifting branches like something watching from above the canopy. Felix’s voice lowers slightly.
“He doesn’t want Redwood Crossing,” he repeats. “He wants what comes after you leave it exposed.”
That hits differently. Because it aligns too well with something I’ve been trying not to think about. I tighten my jaw.
“Who,” I say slowly, “is coming in behind him?”
Felix studies me. Not defiant now. Not amused. Just… measuring how much truth I can handle. Then he says it.
“You’re not the only pack moving in this territory.”
The words land heavy. Not a threat. A confirmation. My grip loosens just slightly—not in weakness, but in recalculation.
“Say that again,” I say quietly.
Felix watches me carefully now, like he’s deciding how far to go.
“There are other predators moving through the region,” he says. “Damon’s job wasn’t to win this town. It was to pull you, Magnus, and every defender you’ve got into one fixed point.”
My mind locks onto the implications instantly. A fixed point. A concentration. A distraction. A magnet.
“So while we’re here,” I say slowly, “something else moves in.”
Felix nods once.
“Exactly.”
A cold weight settles in my chest. Because that means this fight was never about control of Redwood Crossing. It was about timing. Spacing. Positioning. Felix coughs again, then shifts slightly under my hold.
“You’re good,” he admits. “Better than most would’ve been.”
“Save it,” I say.
A faint smirk returns to his face despite everything.
“You’re going to leave me here?” he asks.
I glance down at him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I release him just enough to reposition, locking his arm behind him instead so he can’t follow immediately.
“I’m done talking,” I say.
Felix laughs once, low.
“You’re already behind,” he says.
I don’t answer that. Because I don’t need to. I stand fully, releasing the final pressure of the hold but keeping him pinned where he is. He tries once more to shift, but I shove him back down hard enough that the effort stops immediately.
“Stay,” I say.
Then I turn. The forest feels different now. Heavier. Not because of Felix. Because of what he confirmed. Damon isn’t the end of this. He was never meant to be. I start moving back toward the treeline faster now, urgency sharpening every step. Behind me, Felix calls out once.
“You’re going the wrong way!”
I don’t slow.
“Doesn’t matter,” I call back.
Because I’ve already made my decision. Redwood Crossing doesn’t fall while I’m still breathing. But now I understand the second truth beneath that: Someone else is trying to make sure I’m not there when it matters. And that means this fight just changed. Completely.
I break into a run toward the deeper forest, cutting through branches and uneven ground as the shape of the battle reorganizes itself in my mind.
Damon isn’t the endpoint. He’s the anchor point.
The one keeping my attention fixed here.
While something else moves through the spaces I’ve just left exposed.
I don’t like how far ahead they might already be.
Northwest ridge. Damon. Waiting. Behind me, I hear Felix shift slightly, testing the pain I’ve left him in. He won’t get up. Not quickly. Not before I’m gone. Good.
I don’t spare him another glance. I don’t need to. He’s done his part. Now it’s time for me to do mine. I step away from the clearing, back into the trees, my focus narrowing to a single point.
End this. Not later. Not after another wave. Now.
The forest seems to close in around me as I move deeper, the path ahead darker, quieter. More dangerous. Good. That’s exactly where I need to be. Behind me, Redwood Crossing holds the line. In front of me, Damon waits. And this time—
I’m not turning back until one of us doesn’t walk away.