40. Cade
CADE
The mountains feel different now. Not quieter—Silver Ridge is never truly quiet—but steadier. Like something that was off-balance has finally settled back into place.
I move along the ridge line at a steady pace, my boots finding familiar paths through rock and frost. The air is crisp, sharp in my lungs, carrying the scent of pine, earth, and something else beneath it all.
Peace. It’s not perfect. It never will be. But it’s real.
Behind me, Nolan shifts back into human form, rolling his shoulders as he exhales.
“You know,” he says, glancing around, “this is the longest we’ve gone without something trying to kill us in a while.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Don’t jinx it.”
“Not jinxing,” he replies. “Just appreciating.”
I slow slightly, scanning the tree line out of habit. The patrol is routine now, almost automatic. We move, we check, we confirm. No hybrid scent. No unnatural disturbances. Just the forest doing what it’s supposed to do.
Living.
“Gideon and the others finished the eastern sweep,” Nolan adds. “Nothing out of place.”
“Good,” I say.
We fall into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that only comes after surviving something together. There’s no need to fill it. The understanding is already there.
After a few more minutes, Nolan claps me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m heading back. Clara said something about reorganizing supplies, and apparently I’ve been volunteered.”
I smirk faintly. “Good luck with that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he is already turning back toward the main trail. “Don’t stay out too long. You’ve got someone waiting for you.”
That earns him a look, but he’s already gone. I don’t deny it. Because he’s right.
I linger on the ridge for a moment longer, letting my senses stretch outward. The forest answers in kind—calm, balanced, ours. The pack is scattered through the territory, moving through their own routines. I can feel them, not individually, but as a whole.
Strong.
Then there’s her. Even from here, I can feel the pull of Eliza’s presence. Not as a sharp tug like it used to be, but something steadier. Constant. Like a second heartbeat.
I turn and head back toward town.
Silver Ridge comes into view slowly as I descend, the buildings nestled against the forest like they’ve always belonged there. And now… they do. The humans move through their routines openly again—repairing fences, hauling supplies, talking in low voices that no longer carry fear.
They don’t know everything. They don’t need to. What matters is that they’re safe. Garrett stands near the center of town, speaking quietly with a few of the older residents. When he sees me, he gives a single nod.
“All clear?” he asks.
“All clear,” I confirm.
He glances toward the library. “She’s inside.”
Of course she is. I don’t say anything else. I just nod and keep moving. The library door creaks softly as I push it open. The scent hits me immediately—paper, dust, and beneath it all, her.
Eliza stands near one of the long tables, stacks of books spread out around her. She’s focused, completely absorbed, a pencil tucked behind her ear as she flips through a worn journal.
For a second, I just watch her.
This is her world. Knowledge. Patterns. Truth hidden in quiet places. And she fits here just as much as she fits with the pack.
“You planning to read every book in here?” I ask.
She startles slightly, then looks up, her expression softening instantly when she sees me.
“Maybe,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Someone has to figure out what this place has been hiding all these years.”
I step further inside, letting the door fall shut behind me. “Find anything interesting?”
“Actually… yes,” she says, turning the journal toward me. “There are references to the pack going back decades. Not explicit, but enough to suggest people knew something was here. They just didn’t understand it.”
I glance down at the page, then back at her. “And now you do.”
“Now I do,” she agrees quietly.
There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just… full. She studies me, her gaze soft but searching.
“You’re back early.”
“Nothing to report,” I say. “Territory’s clear.”
Relief flickers across her face, subtle but real.
“Good.”
I step closer, resting a hand on the edge of the table.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I like it,” she admits. “It feels like I’m… putting things together. Making sense of everything.”
“You already make sense of it,” I say.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s debatable.”
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. “Not to me.”
Her expression shifts, softening further.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says after a moment.
“That’s usually dangerous,” I reply.
She rolls her eyes slightly, but there’s a smile there. “I mean it. About everything. The town. The pack. Us.”
My focus sharpens slightly. “And?”
She exhales slowly after the words leave her, like she’s bracing for something—but it isn’t doubt this time. It’s clarity.
“I’ve been thinking about what comes next,” she continues, her voice steadier now. “Not just surviving. Not just reacting to whatever gets thrown at us.”
I tilt my head slightly. “What do you mean?”
Her fingers trace absently along the table, grounding herself.
“This place… Silver Ridge… it’s been living in the shadows for so long. Hiding. Covering things up. Even from the people who live here.”
I don’t interrupt. I let her talk.
“But it doesn’t have to stay that way,” she says. “Not completely. I’m not saying we expose everything—but there’s a history here. A real one. And it deserves to be understood. Documented. Protected in a different way.”
My brow furrows slightly. “You want to write it down.”
“Yes,” she says, meeting my gaze. “Not for the world. Not like that. But for the people here. For the ones who come after. So they don’t walk in blind like I did.”
Something about that settles deep in my chest. Not just acceptance. Purpose.
“You’d be good at that,” I say.
She huffs a small, surprised laugh. “That’s your big response?”
I step closer, my voice lowering. “It’s not small, Eliza. What you’re talking about… it matters. Memory matters. Knowing what we are, what we’ve faced—it makes us stronger.”
Her expression softens, something warm and certain taking root behind her eyes.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “You’re not just part of this pack,” I tell her. “You’re shaping what it becomes.”
She goes quiet at that, her grip tightening slightly.
“Then I guess we both have work to do,” she says after a moment.
I nod once. “Yeah. We do.”
But this time, it doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like a future. Not tentative. Not uncertain.Certain.
Silence settles between us again, but this time it’s different. Final. In the best way.
“I want this to be my home,” she continues. “Not just because of the bond. Not just because of you. But because I choose it.”
Something in my chest tightens—not painfully, but with weight. With meaning.
“Then it is,” I say.
No hesitation. No conditions. Just truth.
She steps closer, her hand finding mine naturally. “And you’re okay with that?”
I let out a quiet breath, pulling her closer. “Eliza… this is everything I wanted.”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s making sure I mean it. I do.
Outside, the light shifts as the sun begins to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the town. The forest hums softly in the distance, alive and watchful. Normal.
As normal as this place ever gets.
“Come on,” I say after a moment. “Walk with me.”
She nods, gathering herself quickly before following me outside. We move through town side by side, not rushing. People nod as we pass. Some greet her directly now, and she returns it easily. She belongs here. Outside of town, the forest waits. We step into it together.
The path is familiar, winding upward toward the ridge where I started the day. The air cools slightly as we climb, the scent of pine growing stronger. When we reach the overlook, she stops. The view stretches endlessly—trees, mountains, sky bleeding into the horizon.
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly.
“It’s ours,” I correct.
She glances at me, a small smile forming. “Ours.”
I step closer, my hand settling at her waist as we look out over the territory.
“This is what we protect,” I say. “Every inch of it. The pack. The town. You.”
She leans into me slightly. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
“I know,” I reply.
And I do. That’s the difference. For the first time, it’s not just responsibility. It’s partnership. I turn slightly, drawing her closer until she’s facing me fully.
“Anyone who comes here,” I say quietly, my voice steady, certain, “anyone who threatens this place… threatens you…”
My grip tightens just slightly.
“They face all of us.”
Her eyes soften, but there’s strength there too now.
“Good,” she says.
I lean down, pressing a slow, certain kiss to her lips. No urgency. No fear. Just promise. When I pull back, the last light of the sun dips below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with fading gold.
The forest settles into night. The pack moves in the distance. Silver Ridge stands.
And beside me— She stays. Exactly where she belongs.
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in, letting the quiet settle between us. The world feels… steady. For once, there’s no immediate threat waiting in the shadows, no tension coiled beneath the surface. Just this. Just us.
“So what else comes next?” she asks softly, her voice barely louder than the wind moving through the trees.
I glance out over the forest again, the darkness settling in fully now, stars beginning to break through the sky above the ridge.
“More patrols. More work. Keeping the territory safe.” I pause, then look back at her. “But not just that.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “No?”
I shake my head. “We build something. Stronger than what was here before. Something no one can break into or manipulate again. Not Strayer. Not anyone.”
She nods slowly. “I like that.”
“And you?” I ask. “What do you see?”
She leans back against me, her gaze drifting out across Silver Ridge below. Lights flicker in the town, warm and steady, like a heartbeat.
“I see a library full of answers,” she says. “Stories that haven’t been told yet. A town that doesn’t have to live in fear of what’s out there.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “And a life that’s… mine.”
I tighten my arm around her. “It is yours.”
She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me. “Ours.”
The word settles deep. Permanent. I nod once. “Ours.”
We stand there a while longer, neither of us rushing to leave, the night wrapping around us like something protective instead of threatening. I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the next fight. I feel like I’m standing at the beginning of something.
Something worth protecting. Something worth living for. I press one last kiss to her temple, my voice low but certain.
“Anyone who comes for you… comes for all of us.”
And there’s no doubt in my mind. They won’t survive it.