14. Cade
CADE
The mountain feels like it’s waiting. Not in the quiet, familiar way I’ve known my entire life—but something heavier. Tighter. Like the land itself is bracing for impact.
I stand on the ridge overlooking Silver Ridge, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the tree line stretching endlessly into the distance.
Somewhere out there— They’re moving. Watching. Closing in. Behind me, boots crunch against gravel. Gideon.
“You’ve been up here a while,” he says.
I don’t turn.
“Not long enough.”
A beat of silence. Then—
“You’re thinking about them,” he says.
“Yes.”
“That’s not all you’re thinking about.”
I finally glance over my shoulder. His expression is sharp. Knowing. I don’t answer. I don’t need to. Gideon exhales and steps up beside me, following my line of sight out toward the forest.
“They hit the west boundary again this morning,” he says. “Closer than before.”
“How close?”
“Half a mile from the outer cabins.”
My jaw tightens. Too close.
“Pattern?”
“Same as before. Quick strike. No hesitation. No attempt to hide it.”
I nod once.
“They’re pushing.”
“They’re testing,” Gideon counters.
“Both.”
Silence stretches between us. Wind cuts across the ridge, sharp and cold.
“They’re not afraid of us,” he adds.
“No.”
That much is obvious. Fear would make them cautious. This— This is confidence. Or worse. Programming. Gideon shifts slightly, his voice lowering.
“There’s something else.”
I turn fully now.
“What?”
He hesitates. That alone puts every instinct on edge.
“I found tracks deeper in the north pass,” he says. “Bigger than the others.”
My wolf stirs immediately.
“How much bigger?”
Gideon meets my gaze.
“Big enough that it doesn’t make sense.”
My whole body goes cold.
“Describe it.”
“Longer stride,” he says. “Deeper impact. Like it’s carrying more mass—but moving just as fast.”
That’s not possible. Not naturally.
“And the others?” I ask.
“They were there,” he says. “But they weren’t leading.”
A beat.
“They were following.”
The word lands like a strike. I turn back to the forest slowly. There it is.The missing piece.
“They have a leader,” I say.
Gideon nods.
“Yeah.”
Silence falls again. He doesn’t say it.He doesn’t have to. If the smaller ones are already dangerous— Then whatever is leading them— Is worse. Much worse.
Garrett calls the meeting at dusk. The pack gathers in the open clearing near the edge of town, the fading light casting long shadows across the ground. Everyone is here. Warriors. Scouts. Even the older members who don’t usually attend tactical discussions.
They can feel it. This isn’t routine. This is survival. Garrett stands at the center, his presence commanding immediate silence.
“We’ve confirmed increased activity along all boundaries,” he says. “Multiple coordinated strikes. Escalating aggression.”
Murmurs ripple through the group.
“They’re not acting like natural predators,” Nolan adds from my right. “They’re moving with purpose.”
“They are,” I say.
Garrett’s gaze shifts to me.
“Report.”
I step forward. Every eye in the clearing locks onto me.
“Gideon confirmed tracks in the north pass,” I say. “Larger than anything we’ve encountered so far.”
The murmurs grow louder.
“How large?” someone calls.
“Large enough to lead the others,” I reply.
Silence drops like a stone. Because they understand what that means.
“A dominant,” Gideon says.
“Or something close to it,” I correct.
Because we don’t know if the same rules apply. And that uncertainty is dangerous. Garrett’s expression hardens.
“If they’ve developed a command structure, then this isn’t just a containment issue anymore.”
“No,” I say.
“It’s an invasion.”
The word echoes through the clearing. Heavy. Final. A shift moves through the pack.
Instinct. Readiness. Somewhere between fear and resolve. Garrett lifts his hand, silencing the noise again.
“Then we treat it like one,” he says.
He looks at me.
“Cade.”
I step forward again.
“Expand patrol rotations,” I say. “Double coverage on all boundary lines. No one moves alone beyond the inner perimeter.”
A few wolves exchange uneasy looks.
“We can’t cover everything at once,” one of them says.
“We don’t need to,” I reply.
That draws attention. Focus.
“We need to control where they hit,” I continue.
Garrett’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Explain.”
“They’re testing us,” I say. “Probing for weaknesses. So we give them one.”
A pause. Then Nolan grins slightly.
“Oh, I like where this is going.”
Gideon folds his arms.
“You want to bait them.”
“Yes.”
Murmurs again. Stronger this time.
“That’s risky,” someone says.
“Everything about this is risky,” I counter.
Garrett watches me carefully.
“What kind of bait?”
I don’t hesitate.
“Their target.”
Silence. Complete. Total. Every eye in the clearing sharpens. Garrett’s voice drops.
“You’re suggesting we use the human.”
“I’m suggesting we use what they’re already coming for.”
Tension spikes instantly.
“No,” a voice snaps. “Absolutely not.”
I don’t look at who said it. I don’t need to.
“I’m not putting her in danger,” I say evenly.
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Gideon counters.
“No,” I repeat. “I’m controlling the danger.”
Garrett studies me.
“You’d need complete control of the environment,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And full cooperation.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re certain she’d agree to that?”
I hold his gaze.
“She doesn’t need to know the details.”
That lands wrong. I feel it immediately. The shift in the air. The tension. Garrett’s expression hardens.
“That’s not how we operate,” he says.
I don’t back down.
“It’s how they operate.”
Silence crashes down again. Because that’s the truth. And we all know it. But knowing it doesn’t make it easier to accept. Garrett steps closer.
“We don’t use our own as bait,” he says.
“She’s not ‘our own,’” someone hollers.
My head snaps toward the voice. A low growl builds in my chest.
“She is under my protection,” I say.
The words convey their lethal intent. Stronger. Final. That ends the argument immediately. No one challenges that. Not openly. Garrett watches me. Then—
“We’ll consider all options,” he says.
Which means no. For now. The meeting continues, shifting into logistics—patrol routes, fallback positions, communication signals. But my mind isn’t on any of it. It’s already moving ahead. Planning. Adapting. Because reacting isn’t enough anymore. Not against something like this.
Later, I find myself back near the forest. Alone. The way I need to be to think. The way I need to be to listen. The night air is colder now, the moon rising high above the mountains. Everything feels sharper in the dark. Clearer. More dangerous. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless. Waiting.
“You’re doing it again.”
Her voice. I don’t turn immediately. I don’t have to. I can feel her. Eliza steps up beside me, arms wrapped loosely around herself against the cold.
“You disappear,” she says. “Mentally.”
“I’m here.”
“Physically,” she corrects.
A beat. Then—
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I don’t answer right away. Because there’s no way to soften it.
“They’re getting closer,” I say.
She nods slightly.
“I figured.”
I glance at her.
“You did?”
“I’m not blind,” she says. “People are on edge. You’re on edge.”
A pause.
“Something’s changed.”
“Yes.”
She studies me. Then—
“Tell me.”
Two simple words. Direct. Unflinching. I exhale slowly.
“They’re organized,” I say. “More than we thought.”
Her expression sharpens immediately.
“How?”
“They’re moving in patterns. Coordinating attacks.”
“And?”
I hesitate. Just for a second. Then—
“They have a leader.”
That lands. Hard.
“A leader,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
She looks out toward the forest, her jaw tightening slightly.
“That’s… not good.”
“No.”
Silence stretches between us.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
I turn to her fully now.
“End it.”
The answer is simple. Because it has to be. She studies me.
“Before it reaches town.”
“Yes.”
Another pause. Then—
“And me?” she asks quietly.
The question cuts deeper than anything else tonight. I step closer without thinking.
“You stay with me.”
Her expression shifts. Frustration. Understanding. Conflict.
“All the time?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“That’s not sustainable,” she says.
“It is if it keeps you alive.”
There it is again. That line between protection and control. I can see her pushing against it. Resisting.
“I’m not a strategy, Cade,” she says.
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
I step closer again. Close enough to feel the heat of her body in the cold air.
“You’re not a strategy,” I say quietly.
“Then what am I?”
The question is charged. Dangerous. Because the answer— The real answer— Isn’t simple. And once it’s said— It changes everything. My wolf surges forward, the word rising instinctively. Mine. I swallow it down. Hold it back. Not yet. Instead, I meet her gaze.
“You’re the reason I don’t lose this fight,” I say.
Her breath catches slightly. And for a moment— Everything else fades. The forest.
The threat. The coming war. All of it. Because standing here, with her— I realize something I should have seen sooner. This isn’t just about stopping them. It’s about protecting what comes after. Finally— I’m not fighting alone.