Chapter 17
ELIZA
The first time Gideon tells me to track something, I’m pretty sure he expects me to fail.
He doesn’t say it outright. Gideon doesn’t waste words like that.
But it’s there—in the way he stands with his arms crossed, weight shifted slightly back like he’s already bracing for disappointment. In the way his eyes follow every move I make, sharp and measuring. Waiting. For me to prove him right.
“Start there,” he says, jerking his chin toward a patch of disturbed earth.
I glance down at it. At first, it looks like nothing. Just dirt. Leaves. A scuffed patch where something might have passed through. But I’ve been paying attention. Watching. Learning.
So instead of rushing in, I crouch slowly, letting my gaze adjust, taking in the details instead of just the shape.
“Something came through here,” I say.
“Obviously,” Gideon says.
I ignore him.
“The soil’s compressed more on one side,” I continue, brushing my fingers lightly along the ground. “Like it shifted its weight when it stepped.”
Nolan emits a low, impressed whistle from somewhere behind me.
“Look at that,” he says. “She’s already making you redundant, Gideon.”
Gideon doesn’t even glance at him.
“Direction?” he presses.
I follow the faint impressions, moving a step forward, then another, letting my eyes adjust to the subtle pattern. Broken twigs. A slight bend in the grass. A disturbance that doesn’t belong.
“That way,” I say, pointing toward a narrow break in the trees.
Gideon studies the line I’ve indicated for a long moment. Then— He nods once.
“Keep going.”
Something warm flickers in my chest. Not pride. Not exactly. But close.
We move deeper into the forest, the three of us falling into an uneven rhythm—Gideon slightly ahead, Nolan hanging back, and me somewhere in between. Learning. Adjusting. Trying not to trip over roots or second-guess every step I take.
“Relax,” Nolan says at one point, his voice easy. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“That’s literally what tracking is,” I shoot back.
He grins.
“Yeah, but you’re doing it like it’s a test.”
“It is a test.”
“Not the kind you’re used to.”
I glance at him.
“And what kind is that?”
“The kind where overthinking gets you lost,” he says. “Or worse.”
Gideon doesn’t turn, but I hear him huff under his breath.
“He’s right,” he says.
I blink.
“Did you just agree with him?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
I smile despite myself. The tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction. Enough to breathe a little easier. Enough to notice more. We follow the trail for another fifteen minutes before Gideon finally stops.
“Lost it,” he says.
I frown, stepping forward to where he’s standing.
“No, it’s still here,” I say, scanning the ground.
“Barely,” he replies.
I crouch again, studying the faint impressions. They’re lighter now. More spread out.
“It changed its pace,” I say slowly.
Gideon glances down.
“Or?”
“Or it realized it was being followed.”
Silence. Nolan steps closer.
“That’s comforting.”
I ignore him, shifting my position slightly, looking at the surrounding trees instead of just the ground.
“There,” I say, pointing to a low branch that’s been brushed aside.
“Good,” Gideon says.
Just one word. But it lands. I glance at him. He’s watching me differently now. Not like I’m going to fail. Like I might not.
By the time we make it back to the edge of town, my legs ache and my brain feels like it’s been stretched in ways I didn’t know were possible. But there’s something else too. Something steadier. I’m not just reacting anymore. I’m learning how to exist here. On their terms. In their world.
“Not bad,” Gideon says as we step out of the tree line.
I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s high praise coming from you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Nolan claps me lightly on the shoulder.
“He’s basically writing you a love letter.”
“I will leave both of you in the woods next time,” Gideon says flatly.
I laugh. And for a moment— It feels normal.
Later, I find Cade near the edge of town, standing where the trees start to thin into open ground. He turns the second I approach. Of course he does.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I was training.”
His gaze sweeps over me quickly, like he’s checking for injuries even though I’m clearly fine.
“I can see that.”
I cross my arms.
“You don’t sound thrilled about it.”
“I’m not.”
I sigh.
“Cade—”
“You shouldn’t be out there without me.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Frustration sparks again, quick and familiar.
“I can’t just sit inside and wait for things to happen,” I say. “I need to be able to handle myself.”
“You won’t have to.”
I stare at him.
“That’s not realistic.”
“It is if I’m there.”
“And if you’re not?”
That stops him. Just for a second. But I see it. That flicker of something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“I will be,” he says.
“You can’t guarantee that.”
Silence stretches between us. Because we both know I’m right. I take a step closer, lowering my voice slightly.
“I’m not trying to make your job harder,” I say. “I’m trying to survive this.”
His gaze softens—just a little.
“I know.”
“Then let me learn.”
Another pause. Longer this time. Then—
“What did you do today?” he asks.
It’s not agreement. Not exactly. But it’s not refusal either. I take it.
“Tracking,” I say. “Basic movement. Reading signs.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t completely embarrass myself.”
A faint shift at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But close.
“That’s something.”
“Gideon even admitted I might be useful.”
That gets his attention.
“He said that?”
“Don’t make me repeat it. He might sense it and revoke the statement.”
Cade exhales quietly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.
“Still not safe,” he says.
“I know.”
“Still dangerous.”
“I know.”
A beat.
“But I’m not helpless.”
His gaze locks onto mine.
“I never said you were.”
“You act like it.”
“That’s different.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“How?”
He steps closer, his voice lowering.
“Because I know exactly what’s out there.”
The weight behind that settles into me. He’s not just being overprotective. He’s reacting to something real. Something I’ve only seen pieces of.
“I’m learning,” I say softly. “So I can understand that too.”
His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to decide something. Then his hand lifts, brushing lightly against my arm. The contact is immediate. Stronger than it was before. The bond. I feel it again—that pull, that quiet, steady connection that hums just beneath the surface.
“You’re getting stronger,” he says.
“So are you.”
A small pause. Then—
“That’s how this works,” he murmurs.
I don’t fully understand what that means. Not yet. But I feel it. The way being near him settles something in me. The way the fear doesn’t disappear—but shifts. Becomes manageable.
“We’re going to be ready,” I say.
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“For what’s coming.”
A flicker of something darker moves through his expression.
“We have to be.”
Because there’s no other option.
That night, I lie awake longer than I should. Not because I’m afraid. Not exactly.
But because my mind won’t stop moving. Tracking patterns. Connecting pieces. The creatures.
The experiments. The way they move like they’re being directed. And now— The way I’m learning to move too. To see. To adapt. I turn onto my side, staring at the faint outline of the window.
This isn’t my old life. Not even close. But for the first time since I got here— I don’t feel completely out of place in it. I’m not just the outsider anymore. Not just the human who stumbled into something bigger than she understands. I’m part of it now. Whether I planned to be or not.
And somewhere out there— Something is coming. Something that knows my scent. That was trained to find me. A chill moves through me. But it doesn’t take hold the way it did before. Because now— I’m not running blindly through the dark. I’m learning how to fight back.
And when the time comes— I won’t be the one being hunted.
Not anymore. The thought should settle. It should feel solid.
Instead, it lingers—half confidence, half something sharper.
Because even as I tell myself I’m not the same woman who stumbled into the forest days ago, I can’t ignore the truth sitting just beneath it. Something out there still knows me.
Not just my face. Not just my name. My scent. The idea sends a quiet unease through me, different from the blind panic I felt before. This isn’t fear of the unknown. This is fear of being known too well.
I push myself up from the bed, restless, and move toward the window. The glass is cool beneath my fingertips as I stare out into the dark, the tree line barely visible under the thin wash of moonlight. Somewhere out there, beyond what I can see, those things are moving. Hunting.
Waiting. And somehow, I’m part of the pattern they’re following.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from the thought. I tense instinctively before forcing myself to relax.
“It’s me,” Cade’s voice says from the other side.
Of course it is. I cross the room and open the door just enough to see him standing there, broad shoulders filling the frame, his expression shadowed but focused.
“You’re not asleep,” he says.
“Neither are you.”
A faint exhale leaves him, almost like agreement.
“Couldn’t,” he admits.
I step back, letting him in. The moment he crosses the threshold, that familiar awareness settles again—subtle but unmistakable. Like something in me recognizes him before I even look.
He notices it too. I can tell by the way his gaze sharpens slightly.
“You feel it,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” I admit. “It’s… stronger at night.”
His jaw tightens just a fraction.
“That’s normal.”
“Normal,” I echo, a little wry. “Right.”
A brief silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable—but full.
“I was thinking,” I say finally. “About what you said earlier. About knowing what’s out there.”
His attention shifts fully to me.
“And?”
“I want you to show me more,” I say. “Not just basic training. Everything you can.”
His expression hardens instantly.
“Eliza—”
“I’m serious,” I press. “If I’m part of this—if they’re coming because of me—then I need to understand it at your level. Not just survive it.”
I see something conflicted moving behind his eyes.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says quietly.
“Then teach me.”
The words hang there, steady and deliberate. A challenge. A choice. Something shifts in him again—subtle, but real. Not resistance. Consideration.
“We’ll start slow,” he says finally.
Relief loosens something tight in my chest.
“Okay.”
“But you don’t go anywhere alone,” he adds.
I open my mouth to argue—then stop. Because this time, it doesn’t feel like control.
It feels like strategy.
“Fine,” I say.
His gaze lingers on me for another moment before he nods once, like a decision has been made.
“Get some rest,” he says. “Tomorrow will be harder.”
I huff a quiet breath.
“I’m starting to notice a pattern.”
A faint hint of something almost like amusement flickers across his face.
“Good,” he says. “That means you’re learning.”
He turns toward the door, but pauses before stepping out, glancing back at me one last time. And in that look— There’s something steady. Certain. Like whatever’s coming, he’s already decided how it ends. With me still standing.
The door closes softly behind him, and I stand there for a moment longer, staring at the space he left behind. Then I turn to the window. Toward the dark. And this time—
I don’t feel like I’m looking into something unknown. I feel like I’m looking at something I’m getting ready to face.