Chapter 19
ELIZA
The town feels different. It’s subtle at first—something you could almost miss if you weren’t paying attention—but once I notice it, I can’t unsee it.
Doors close a little faster when the sun starts to dip. Conversations drop when certain people walk by. Even the air feels tighter somehow, like Silver Ridge is holding its breath and waiting for something to break it.
I feel it when I step out onto the street that morning, the weight of eyes following me in a way that isn’t entirely hostile—but isn’t welcoming either.
Measured. Watchful. Careful.
I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder and keep walking, refusing to shrink under it. I’ve spent too many years chasing down people who didn’t want to be found to be intimidated by a few guarded looks.
Still… this isn’t the same. These people aren’t hiding secrets from me anymore. They’re protecting something from me. Or maybe— From what I bring with me.
The thought settles uncomfortably as I make my way toward the clinic.
Clara’s place has become something like a second home over the past few days, though “home” might not be the right word.
It’s more like a place where things make sense.
Where I can ask questions and get real answers, even if they aren’t always the ones I want.
The door creaks softly when I push it open, and the familiar scent of antiseptic and herbs greets me. Clara looks up from where she’s organizing supplies, her expression softening when she sees me.
“Eliza,” she says warmly. “You’re early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admit.
“That seems to be going around.”
There’s a quiet understanding in her tone that makes me pause.
“You feel it too?” I ask.
Clara sets down what she’s holding, her movements unhurried.
“I’ve lived through enough of these moments to recognize them,” she says. “The pack is restless. The land is restless.”
“And that’s not normal.”
“No,” she says gently. “It isn’t.”
Something tightens in my chest. Because hearing it confirmed like that makes everything feel more real. More immediate.
“What can I do?” I ask.
Clara studies me, as if weighing something.
“Help me,” she says finally. “We’re going to need every set of capable hands before this is over.”
Relief flickers through me.
“Tell me what you need.”
By midday, the clinic is no longer quiet. The first injured wolf comes in just after noon, supported on either side by two others, his weight sagging between them as they guide him through the door.
I’m already moving before Clara says a word, clearing space on the examination table and grabbing the supplies she gestures toward.
“What happened?” she asks calmly as they lower him down.
“Patrol near the eastern boundary,” one of the wolves says, breath still uneven. “They came out of nowhere.”
Hybrids. Even if no one says the word out loud. Clara works quickly, her hands steady as she assesses the damage. The wounds aren’t clean. They’re jagged, torn in a way that makes my stomach twist if I look too closely.
“Hold this,” she tells me, pressing a cloth into my hand.
I do, applying pressure where she indicates, focusing on the task instead of the blood, the smell, the reality of what this means.
“You’re doing fine,” she murmurs, not looking at me but somehow knowing exactly what I need to hear.
“I’ve seen worse,” I say automatically.
It’s not entirely a lie. Just… different. This isn’t a crime scene. This is someone we’re trying to save. And that changes everything.
The door opens again before we’re finished, another wolf stepping in—this one on his own, but limping heavily.
“More?” Clara asks.
He nods once.
“Scattered attacks,” he says. “Not full engagement. Just enough to draw us out.”
Testing. The word echoes in my mind. I glance at Clara, and I can tell she’s thinking the same thing.
“They’re probing the perimeter,” she says quietly.
The wolf nods grimly.
“They’re getting closer.”
A chill moves through me. Because I know what that means. Or at least— Who that means.
By late afternoon, I’ve lost track of how many bandages I’ve wrapped, how many times I’ve cleaned wounds, how many quiet reassurances I’ve offered to wolves who don’t seem entirely sure what to make of me.
At first, they barely acknowledge me. I’m just there.
A human in a place that isn’t meant for humans.
But that shifts. Slowly. Subtly. One of them thanks me under his breath as I secure a bandage around his arm.
Another doesn’t pull away when I check the stitching Clara just finished.
It’s not acceptance. Not fully. But it’s a start.
Gideon shows up just before sunset, pushing through the door with his usual blunt presence, though there’s something more tired in the set of his shoulders today.
“You’re still in one piece,” he says, glancing at me.
“High praise again,” I reply.
He snorts, but there’s less bite to it than before.
“Clara needs you?” he asks.
“She always needs me,” Clara answers from across the room.
Gideon’s gaze shifts back to me, more assessing than skeptical now.
“You kept up today?” he asks.
“I didn’t slow anyone down.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I meet his gaze evenly.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t.”
He just looks at me. Then nods once.
“Good.”
It’s a small thing. But it matters. More than I expect it to.
The clinic finally quiets as the sun dips below the horizon, the last of the injured settled and resting. I step outside, the cool air hitting my skin like a reset. For a moment, I just stand there, breathing. Letting the weight of the day settle into something manageable.
“You did well.”
Cade’s voice comes from behind me, low and steady. I don’t turn right away.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say.
“I’m not.”
I glance back at him then, leaning lightly against the doorframe. He’s watching me the way he always does—focused, intent—but there’s something else there too. Approval.
“You heard?” I ask.
“I always hear,” he says.
That should feel invasive. Instead— It feels grounding.
“I helped,” I say quietly. “Not just… stood there. Not just reacted. I actually helped.”
“I know.”
I turn fully to face him now.
“They’re getting closer,” I add. “The attacks. The injuries. It’s not random.”
“No,” he says. “It’s not.”
I study him, the tension in his posture, the way his attention keeps shifting toward the tree line even while he’s talking to me.
“You’ve seen something,” I say.
His gaze snaps back to mine.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re already preparing for something worse than what we’ve seen so far.”
A pause. Then—
“Yes,” he says.
I take a step closer.
“How bad?”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Bad enough that we don’t let our guard down for a second.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you need right now.”
Frustration flickers, but I push it down. Because I can see it. Whatever he saw— It changed something.
“I heard them talking inside,” I say. “About evacuating the human residents if things escalate.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“That’s a possibility.”
My chest tightens.
“Because of me.”
It’s not a question. He steps closer immediately, closing the space between us.
“This isn’t on you.”
“It is,” I insist. “They’re coming here because of me. Because of something tied to me.”
“They’re coming because they’re a threat,” he says, his voice firm. “And this is our territory.”
“That’s not the whole truth.”
“No,” he admits. “It’s not.”
Silence stretches between us. Then—
“I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me,” I say quietly.
His gaze softens, just slightly.
“People are getting hurt because something dangerous exists,” he says. “Not because you do.”
“That’s a nice way of looking at it.”
“It’s the correct way of looking at it.”
I huff a small breath.
“You’re very sure of that.”
“Yes.”
Of course he is. I meet his gaze again.
“Then let me help,” I say. “For real. Not just patching people up after the fact.”
“You are helping.”
“You know what I mean.”
His expression shifts, something more serious settling in.
“This isn’t a situation you can control,” he says.
“I’m not trying to control it,” I reply. “I’m trying to be ready for it.”
Another pause. Then—
“I made a decision,” I add.
His attention sharpens.
“What kind of decision?”
“If this turns into a full attack,” I say, holding his gaze, “I’m not leaving.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Sharp. Immediate.
“Eliza—”
“I’m not running,” I cut in. “Not this time. Not from this.”
His jaw tightens.
“This isn’t the same as the city,” he says. “You can’t outthink your way through everything out there.”
“Then I’ll learn what I need to.”
“And if that’s not enough?”
I don’t answer right away. Because I don’t have one. Not a good one. But I don’t look away either.
“Then I’ll still be here,” I say finally.
The words hang between us, heavier than anything we’ve said so far. Because this—
This isn’t about fear anymore. It’s about choice. And I’ve made mine. Cade studies me, something conflicted moving behind his eyes. Then he exhales slowly.
“I don’t like it,” he says.
“I didn’t expect you to.”
“But I understand it.”
That— That matters more than I expected.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say.
His gaze steadies on mine.
“Yes,” he says.
“We will.”
And this time— When I look out toward the dark line of the forest— I don’t just see danger. I see something coming. Something I’m no longer running from. Something I’m getting ready to face.