Chapter 29
ELIZA
The map doesn’t look like much at first glance. Just lines. Contours.
Elevations marked in careful ink across aging paper that smells faintly of dust and cedar. I’ve spread three different versions across the table in the library—one modern, one older, and one hand-drawn copy tucked into a folder of town records that probably hasn’t been opened in decades.
They don’t match perfectly. But that’s exactly what makes them useful. Because where they differ— That’s where the terrain has changed. And where it hasn’t changed… that’s where it matters most.
“You’ve been staring at that for an hour.”
I don’t look up immediately.
“Closer to two,” I reply.
Nolan steps closer, glancing down at the spread of maps.
“Find something?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
That gets his attention.
“Maybe,” he repeats.
“I need to be sure before I say it out loud,” I say.
He huffs out a quiet laugh.
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“No,” I admit. “It doesn’t.”
But this isn’t speculation. This isn’t theory pulled from incomplete data and guesswork.
This— This could decide how we survive what’s coming. So I take another moment, tracing one of the canyon lines with my finger. There.
“That’s it,” I say quietly.
“What is?” Nolan asks.
I finally look up at him.
“The canyon,” I say.
He nods slowly.
“Yeah. What about it?”
I shift the maps slightly, aligning the edges so the elevation lines overlap more clearly.
“This section here,” I say, pointing. “It narrows—more than the rest. Steep drop on one side, sheer rock on the other.”
Nolan leans in, studying it.
“That’s a choke point,” he says.
“Yes.”
He glances at me.
“And?”
“And if something larger than the others is moving through this area,” I continue, “it won’t have the same maneuverability.”
His expression sharpens.
“You’re thinking trap.”
“I’m thinking limitation,” I correct. “If we can’t match it in open ground, we force it into terrain where it can’t use its full strength.”
Nolan straightens slightly.
“That’s… not bad.”
“Not bad isn’t good enough,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
I gather the maps quickly, stacking them together.
“Where’s Cade?” I ask.
“Training grounds, last I saw him.”
“Good.”
I’m already moving before Nolan says anything else.
Cade is exactly where Nolan said he’d be. He’s running through positioning drills with a small group of wolves. His movements are precise, controlled, every command sharp and immediate. He doesn’t notice me at first. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t show it.
“Shift your line,” he says to the group. “You’re too exposed on the left flank.”
They adjust instantly.
“Again.”
They move. Faster this time. Better. I wait until the sequence finishes before stepping closer.
“Cade.”
He turns immediately. The shift in his focus is instant—training replaced by something more personal, more direct.
“Eliza,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “But I think I found something.”
That gets his full attention.
“What kind of something?”
“Something that might give us an advantage.”
He glances briefly at the others.
“Take five,” he tells them.
They disperse without question. Cade steps closer to me.
“Show me.”
I spread the maps across a nearby surface, anchoring the corners with small stones to keep them from shifting in the breeze.
“This is the canyon system,” I begin.
He leans in, his gaze tracking where I point.
“I know it,” he says.
“Then you know this section,” I reply, tapping the narrowest point.
He studies it for a second longer.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s tight. Not much room to move.”
“Exactly.”
I shift slightly, angling the map so he can see the elevation lines more clearly.
“If the Prime Hybrid is as large as you think it is,” I continue, “it won’t be able to turn easily here. It won’t be able to circle or flank.”
Cade’s expression sharpens.
“You’re suggesting we draw it in.”
“Yes.”
He straightens slowly, his gaze moving from the map to me.
“That’s risky.”
“I know.”
“If it breaks through—”
“It won’t,” I interrupt.
That comes out more certain than I expect. But I don’t take it back.
“Not if we position correctly,” I add.
He studies me carefully.
“Walk me through it.”
I nod once.
“We use the terrain to control its movement,” I say. “Force it into a forward approach. Limit its ability to react.”
“And the rest of the hybrids?” he asks.
“We keep them occupied outside the choke point,” I reply. “Split their attention. Reduce the number that can follow it in.”
Cade’s jaw tightens slightly as he considers that.
“That means dividing our forces.”
“Yes.”
“Which makes us vulnerable.”
“Only if we don’t plan the timing correctly,” I counter.
Silence stretches between us. Then—
“Call Nolan,” Cade says.
I don’t hesitate.
A short time later, the three of us are back at the table, the maps spread out again. Nolan leans over them, his expression more serious now than it was earlier.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m listening.”
I go through it again. The terrain. The choke point. The limitations it creates. The way it could neutralize the Prime Hybrid’s size advantage. When I finish, Nolan doesn’t speak right away. He just studies the map. Then—
“It could work,” he says.
Cade looks at him.
“Could?”
Nolan shrugs slightly.
“It depends on how well we control the approach,” he says. “If it comes in clean, yeah. We’ve got a shot.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Cade asks.
“Then we’ve got a problem,” Nolan replies.
I fold my arms slightly.
“We’re going to have a problem either way,” I say. “At least this gives us a controlled environment.”
Cade exhales slowly, his wolf visibly pacing just beneath his skin. "It’s too fast, Eliza. Even if you get it to the mouth of that canyon, you can’t outrun it to the choke point. Not with your ribs still healing."
I don’t flinch. "I’m not running a race, Cade.
I’m running a gauntlet. Look at these contour lines.
There’s a secondary deer trail—too narrow for a creature twice the size of a grizzly—that runs parallel to the main floor.
It’s a steep, jagged climb, but it’s the only path that leads to the trigger point for the rockslide. "
I look him dead in the eye. "My journalist brain spent three years studying how these things are built. They are designed for power and forward momentum, not lateral agility in tight spaces. If I stay on the floor, I’m dead.
But if I use the crevices where its 'reinforced physical structure' becomes a liability, I’m the one with the advantage. "
Nolan whistles low, tracing the narrow line she indicated. "She’s right. The Prime is built for a war zone, not a needle's eye. It’ll be so focused on her scent that it won't realize it's wedging itself into a dead end until the mountain comes down
“We’d need to prepare the area,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Reinforce positions.”
“Already thought of that.”
Nolan glances at me.
“You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
I ignore that.
“We mark entry points,” I continue. “Set fallback positions. Make sure no one gets trapped if it goes wrong.”
Cade nods once.
“And we control the timing,” he adds.
“Yes.”
Silence settles again, but this time it feels different. More solid. More… decided. Cade straightens.
“We take it to Garrett,” he says.
The plan doesn’t stay on paper for long. Once Garrett approves it—and he does, after a shorter discussion than I expected—the entire pack shifts into motion. The canyon becomes a focal point. Not just a location. A strategy.
I find myself moving between groups, relaying details, helping coordinate positioning based on the maps. It’s strange. A few days ago, I was cataloging town records. Now— I’m helping plan a battlefield.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Nolan says at one point as we walk toward the canyon perimeter.
“See what day?” I ask.
“You telling wolves how to use their own territory,” he says.
“I’m not telling,” I reply. “I’m suggesting.”
He smirks slightly.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I shake my head, but there’s no real heat behind it. Because the truth is— They’re listening. Not blindly. Not without question. But enough. And that matters.
By late afternoon, the first defensive positions are set. Wolves move through the canyon edges with purpose, marking key points, testing footing, mapping out lines of movement in real time.
Cade moves among them, adjusting, refining, making calls when necessary. I stay near the upper ridge, watching how it all comes together. It’s not perfect. It can’t be. But it’s something. Something structured. Something intentional.
“You did good,” a voice says behind me.
I turn to find Gideon standing there, arms crossed.
“That wasn’t an accident,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It wasn’t.”
He steps closer, looking out over the canyon.
“You found something we could use,” he adds.
“That’s the idea.”
He nods once.
“Still dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Still might fail.”
“I know that too.”
Gideon studies me.
“And you’re still standing here anyway.”
I meet his gaze.
“Yes.”
A beat passes. Then—
“Good,” he says.
It’s not praise. Not exactly. But it’s close enough.
By the time the sun begins to set, everything is in place. Or as in place as it’s going to be.
The canyon waits. Silent. Still. Like it’s holding its breath. I find Cade again near the lower ridge, his attention fixed on the terrain ahead.
“It’s ready,” I say.
He glances at me.
“As ready as we can make it.”
I step beside him, looking out over the same stretch of land.
“You think they’ll come this way?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the most direct path,” he replies. “And they’ve been learning our patterns.”
I nod slowly.
“Then we’re counting on that.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settles between us.
Then—
“You don’t have to be here when it happens,” he says.
I look at him.
“We’ve been through this.”
“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I won’t say it again.”
I exhale softly.
“I’m not leaving,” I reply.
“I didn’t think you would.”
A faint pause. Then—
“Just stay where you’re supposed to,” he adds.
I raise a brow slightly.
“I always do.”
He gives me a look. We both know that’s not entirely true. But neither of us pushes it further. Instead, we turn our attention back to the canyon. To the narrow stretch of land that might determine everything.
“They’ll come,” Cade says quietly.
“Yes,” I agree.
“And when they do—”
“We’ll be ready.”
That’s the plan. That’s the hope. That’s everything we’ve built toward in the last few days. Now— All that’s left is to see if it holds.
Because when the Prime Hybrid steps into that canyon— There won’t be any more adjustments. No more second chances. Just the moment where everything either works—
Or falls apart.