Zylia's POV

"Found this by the ridge," he said, his voice rough with nerves.

He tossed it into the dirt. The firelight caught on dark metal , blackened, cracked, stamped with a strange sigil. A crescent shape torn through by claws.

The murmurs began instantly.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's not pack work."

"It reeks of magic."

Mason crouched beside the emblem, his brow furrowing. "Where exactly did you find it?"

"Near the stream," the man said. "Half buried. Looked fresh."

I took a step closer, the smell of ash biting at my nose. Something about the symbol made my stomach twist. It felt... wrong. Not dangerous in the way blades were , dangerous like something older.

Like Something was watching.

Mason touched the edge of the emblem with his knife. "This isn't Howlborne's mark."

One of the older rogues spat. "Then whose is it?"

No one answered. The silence that followed was worse than the question.

A man behind me muttered, "It showed up the same week she did."

My heart skipped. "What?"

"She's the only new thing around here," another voice growled. "Maybe she brought it."

Mason straightened slowly. "You think she dropped a curse on her own camp?"

"Wouldn't be the first time a pack rat brought trouble," someone snapped.

Laughter followed, sharp and mean.

"I didn't bring anything!" I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I swear, I've never seen that before."

"Lies." The man who spoke stepped forward , tall, scarred, his yellow eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. "I can smell the pack on you still."

He grabbed my arm before I could move. His grip was firm, tight, like iron, crushing the flesh beneath his fingers. "Maybe we should cut the truth out of you."

"Let her go," Mason said, his voice even.

The rogue didn't move. "You're too soft, Mason. You keep taking in strays, and one day they'll gut you in your sleep."

Mason's knife was at the man's throat before I even saw him move. The blade glinted, reflecting the fire's thin light.

"Say that again," Mason murmured.

The man's jaw clenched. After a tense heartbeat, he released me and stepped back. Mason didn't lower the knife until the other rogues looked away.

I rubbed my arm where bruises were already forming. Mason noticed, his gaze flicking to my skin, then away. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied.

He turned back to the emblem in the dirt. "Whatever this is, it's not pack work. But it means someone's tracking these woods."

A low murmur spread again , quieter this time, edged with fear.

"Tracking us?" a rogue asked.

Mason nodded once. "Maybe. Or testing boundaries. Either way, it's a warning."

The fire crackled, spitting embers into the cold night. I could feel their stares on me , suspicion crawling like insects beneath my skin.

I took a step back. "You think it's me, don't you?"

No one answered.

Mason's voice was steady. "If someone's coming, we'll be ready. Get some rest."

The others hesitated before drifting off into the shadows, muttering under their breath. The only sound left was the wind tugging through the trees and the whisper of the knife sliding back into Mason's belt.

He kicked dirt over the emblem, burying it beneath ash and soil. "Don't leave camp tonight," he said without looking at me.

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. "Mason,"

"Just stay close to the fire."

He walked off into the dark, shoulders tense, leaving me alone with the faint glow of embers and the feeling that something unseen was crawling closer.

I sank down beside the dying fire, hugging my knees to my chest. The woods beyond flickered with shadows, and my thoughts wouldn't stop circling the mark , the torn crescent, the claws, the way the air around it had felt heavy.

Something about it called to me. Whispered.

A faint breeze brushed the hair from my face. For a second, I thought I heard it again , the whisper from my dream.

Not all prophecies speak truth. Some speak choice.

I shivered and pressed my hands to the ground, grounding myself in the dirt.

Then I heard the crunch of a twig behind me.

I froze. "Mason?"

No answer.

The sound came again, slow and deliberate.

I turned, but the dark behind me seemed to breathe.

Another step.  But this time, it was closer.

"Mason?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

A shadow moved between the trees , tall, deliberate, watching.

The air grew colder. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Then a voice, deep and calm, spoke from the dark.

"Running won't help you, little stray."

I couldn't breathe.

The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of smoke and blood.

"Who...who are you?" My voice shivered.

I didn't turn to look at who it was.

My pulse spiked.

"Touch her or you're wolf steak." A voice growled from behind me.

I turned and it was...

Killian's POV

The night refused to rest.

Even the wind sounded wrong. It blew, carrying too many echoes, too many ghosts.

I sat on the balcony outside my chambers, staring at the training grounds below. The torches had burned out hours ago, but I could still feel the weight of the pack moving beneath the silence, restless, brittle.

It used to hum with strength. With unity. Now it pulsed like a wounded thing.

The bond that tied us, Alpha to pack, trembled at the edges. I felt it every time I reached for their energy and found only emptiness in return.

Zylia's name pressed against my thoughts before I could stop it.

Her scent had faded from the halls, but the memory of her eyes... that stayed. That quiet defiance. The way she looked at me when I said the words that broke her.

The rejection had burned like silver through both of us. I'd told myself it was the right thing , that the prophecy left me no choice. That letting her go was mercy.

But the hollow in my chest didn't feel like mercy.

The door creaked open behind me. I didn't have to turn to know it was Lucien. He'd never been good at hiding his footsteps.

"You're still awake," he said quietly.

"Apparently so are you."

He came to stand beside me, folding his arms over the railing. "Half the warriors can't sleep either. The whole pack feels... off."

"Off?"

Lucien exhaled, his breath fogging the cold air. "Like something's missing. Or breaking."

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

Lucien's gaze flicked to me. "You feel it too."

I stayed silent.

"Killian," he said, voice softer now. "It started the day you cast her out."

The words hit harder than I wanted them to.

"She was a threat," I said, though the sentence felt like a lie even as I spoke it. "The prophecy,"

",says a lot of things," Lucien cut in. "But it never said she'd destroy us."

My hands tightened on the railing. "You weren't there that night. You didn't see the flames. You didn't hear the Goddess's voice."

"And maybe you didn't understand it."

His tone wasn't defiance , it was worry. That made it worse.

"The pack depends on me to protect them," I said. "If the Goddess warns that claiming her brings ruin, then I don't question it."

Lucien studied me for a long moment. "Maybe the ruin isn't what happens if you claim her... but what happens because you didn't."

His words landed like a blow. The air between us thickened.

I turned away, staring into the forest that stretched beyond the walls. Somewhere past those trees, she was out there , alone.

The bond I'd tried to sever still pulsed faintly at the edge of my consciousness. Not strong enough to follow, but enough to ache. Enough to remind me that no matter what I said, some part of me would always know if she stopped breathing.

Lucien sighed. "You need rest."

"I don't sleep much anymore."

He hesitated before nodding once and leaving me to the night.

When the door closed, I let the silence press in again. The wind had changed. It carried the scent of rain , and something darker beneath it.

Guilt. Or maybe warning.

I stayed there until exhaustion dragged me under.

But exhaustion wasn't mercy,  it was punishment.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way she looked back before the guards dragged her through the gates. There hadn't been fear in her eyes, only something far worse. Disappointment.

The moon hung low above the forest, pale and watchful, like it was waiting for me to make another mistake.

I told myself again that I'd done the right thing, reminding myself  that strength demanded sacrifice.

But the bond pulsed once, faint and stubborn, like a heartbeat that refused to die.

And I hated myself for feeling it.

***

I didn't know when I drifted into sleep. That didn't matter though.

Flames devoured the training yard , silver flames, too bright, too pure to be natural. They climbed the walls, swallowing the banners, twisting the symbol of the pack into ash. Wolves ran, their howls melting into screams. I tried to command the fire to stop, but it only grew.

And in the center of it stood Zylia , untouched, her eyes glowing silver.

Her voice carried over the roar of the blaze.

"You can't outrun what you're bound to, Killian." Her voice echoed.

The ground cracked beneath my feet. The emblem of our pack split apart, molten light bleeding through the fractures.

When I reached for her, she turned to ash.

I woke with a jolt , breath ragged, palms burning like I'd actually touched the fire.

The room was silent again, but the scent of smoke lingered, faint and unreal.

I looked down at my hands. Silver dust clung to my skin.

And for the first time since her exile, I couldn't tell if the nightmare had ended , or just begun.

Whatever was coming was dangerous....it was violent.

It was something I never prepared for.

Zylia's POV

I turned and it was her.

Tall. Sharp-eyed. Hair braided tight against her skull so the moon caught every cruel angle of her face. A silver ring glinted in her ear as she stepped out of the trees , calm, deliberate, like someone who belonged to the dark.

The man behind me stiffened, trying to hide the fear crawling up his neck. "Didn't know she had a guard dog," he said, his voice thin, trying for a laugh that didn't survive.

She didn't smile. The knife at her side caught the light as she shifted her weight. "I'm not her guard," she said, voice low and cold. "I'm the reason she's still breathing."

He bared his teeth , too wide, too eager. "Looks like she won't be for long if she keeps wandering at night."

"Try me." Her tone cut sharper than her blade.

For a breath, the forest froze. Then the man backed off, muttering, "Not worth the blood," before melting into the trees.

The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that pressed against your ribs. She didn't lower her weapon right away, only after she was sure he was gone. Then her eyes flicked to me , assessing, unimpressed.

"You've got guts walking out here alone."

"I, I needed air," I said, my voice catching.

"Air gets you killed. You stirred them up."

"I didn't mean to. I just,"

"Intent doesn't stop a blade." She slid her knife into her boot and turned. "Come."

"What?" I looked toward the camp, toward the faint glow of fire. "I should go back."

She didn't look over her shoulder. "Then die with the rest when the night gets hungry."

Something in her tone dared me to move. Against all reason, I followed.

She led me through the tents to a clearing where the moon sat high and white. "Take off your coat," she said.

"Why?"

A knife hissed past my ear and buried itself into a tree trunk.

My breath stuttered.

"Because I said so."

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Not from cold, but from the weight of her presence , sharp, unyielding, terrifyingly alive. She moved like she'd been carved out of night itself, and somehow, I wanted to understand what made her that way.

"You could've killed me."

"If I wanted you dead, you'd already be on the ground." She folded her arms. "Lesson one: don't argue with the hand that holds the knife.

There was something about her that didn't fit , too still, too certain, like the forest itself bent around her. I'd seen killers before. None of them carried silence like it was a weapon. She made fear look disciplined.

"Lesson two: don't wait for the attack."

She tossed a dull blade at my feet. "Pick it up."

The weight surprised me , solid, cold, heavier than I expected. The moon made the edge gleam like bone.

"Ready?" she asked.

"No," I admitted.

She smirked faintly. "Then bleed faster."

Her first strike came fast , too fast. I stumbled back, clumsy, the blade nearly slipping from my grip.

"You're thinking," she said, circling me. "That's how people die."

"I'm trying not to stab myself!"

"Better you stab yourself than let someone else."

She lunged. I dodged too late; her elbow caught my shoulder.

"You hesitate," she said. "You die."

I fell, dirt biting into my palms. My lungs burned. Above me, the moon stared blankly.

She waited, arms crossed. "Up."

I pushed to my feet, shaking. Picked up the knife again. This time, when she swung, I moved faster. Still sloppy , but not hopeless.

Each hit she delivered came with purpose: a bruise, a sting, a correction. "You drop your guard," she said. "You die. You flinch," she said. "You die."

The rhythm built until my body moved without thought , block, twist, breathe, swing.

When I fell again, she crouched close, breath warm against my cheek. "You've got fight," she said. "But you wait for permission. Out here, no one gives it. You want to live?"

"Yes."

"Then stop being prey."

The words sank deeper than the bruises. For the first time since exile, something sharp and fierce curled inside my ribs.

She stood. "Again."

We moved under the cold moon until my arms trembled, my breath came ragged, and the knife felt like part of me. When she struck one last time, I blocked. Our blades clashed, ringing like a heartbeat.

Her eyes flickered , something almost like approval. "Good."

I caught my breath. "You haven't told me your name."

"Raven."

It suited her , hard, untouchable, wild.

When she said enough, I could barely stand. My hands ached. My knees shook. Still, I didn't drop the blade.

"You learn fast," she said. "Not many do."

She started toward the trees, then stopped. "You could've left," she said softly. "You had the chance."

"I did," I whispered. "You found me anyway."

Something unreadable crossed her face before she turned away.

Mason stood at the edge of the clearing, silent as ever.

"He watches," Raven murmured as she passed.

"He doesn't trust her," Mason said.

"Same thing."

And she was gone.

I looked down at the blade in my hand. For a heartbeat, a faint silver light shimmered along its edge , a living pulse that made my skin crawl. Then it vanished.

My chest thudded in a strange rhythm. It wasn't hope.

It was power.

And it scared me.