Mag-log inCHAPTER 95NOVA'S POVBy breakfast, every corridor in the compound carries whispers. By lunch, those whispers have divided into sides. By sunset, the pack no longer feels like one family.It feels like a cracked mirror. But to be honest, I have seen this coming. No one argues openly.Hell, that would have been easier.Instead, conversations stop when certain people enter the room. Wolves who have supposedly trained together since childhood suddenly choose different sparring partners. Long tables that once echoed with laughter develop invisible borders.Some sit together, some deliberately do not. I watch one young scout carry his tray toward a familiar group, hesitate halfway, and quietly turn to eat alone.Across the room, an older warrior notices me looking and lowers his gaze to the floor.He isn't angry. I wish he is. He looks guilty instead. As if my existence has become a question he doesn't know how to answer."They're talking about a vote," Jason murmurs beside me. I don't ask
CHAPTER 94KILLIAN'S POVPeople like to imagine guilt as a sharp thing. A knife, a bullet or single wound that changes everything. They are wrong. Real guilt is quieter. It is a pebble slipped into your boot by someone you trusted. You keep walking because you have no choice, and with every mile the stone rubs the skin raw until pain becomes so familiar that you mistake it for part of yourself.I have been walking with mine for twenty-three years. The abandoned watchtower overlooks the entire valley, its upper platform open to the wind and the fading light of evening. Once, scouts had stood here to warn of invading armies.Now only crows keep watch.I climb the worn spiral staircase carrying a small wooden box tucked beneath one arm.No one knows about the box. Not Cassian, not Jason, not even Beatrice.Some burdens become so old that sharing them feels impossible. At the top, I set it on the cracked stone ledge and open the lid. Inside lie a bundle of letters tied with faded blue th
CHAPTER 93 BEATRICE'S POVThe eastern cliffs have always concealed more than stone. Most wolves know them only as jagged walls overlooking the sea, battered by relentless wind and salt spray. Hunters avoid the area because the paths are narrow and treacherous. Children are warned away with stories of collapsing ledges and wandering spirits.The stories serve their purpose. They keep curious people from finding what lies beneath.I carry the lantern ahead of me, its warm glow painting shifting patterns across the tunnel walls.Nova follows in silence.She has not asked where I am taking her. After what we hear about the coalition going into the pack, this is what is best for her. To prick her curiosity. Perhaps she has grown accustomed to discovering that every answer in her life lives underground. Behind us, the hidden entrance seals with a muted click.Stone meets stone. The world outside vanishes. For several minutes, the only sounds are our footsteps and the distant rush of waves
CHAPTER 92CASSIAN'S POV As dawn creeps over the road leading away from the riverside shrine, the woods seem to hold their breath.Then riders emerge. Not dozens. They are in hundreds.Gray cloaks drape over armor bearing the crests of allied packs, their banners furled but unmistakable. They advance in disciplined columns until the narrow forest road disappears beneath a wall of horses, motorcycles, and armed escorts.No battle cry announces them.No arrows fly. Their confidence is its own weapon. They believe they will not need to fight.Jason exhales slowly. "This is coordinated."Killian's hand rests near the hilt of his blade but does not draw it. "They're here to negotiate."Beatrice says nothing. She simply counts.One envoy, three scribes, twelve elite guards, forty outriders hidden among the trees.She is always counting and calculating The lead envoy dismounts and approaches with measured dignity, carrying a scroll bound in crimson ribbon.He bows. He doesn't bow deeply th
CHAPTER 91NOVA'S POVHundreds of motorcycles stand in perfect formation beneath the silver wash of the moon. Their engines are silent. Their headlights remain dark.Not a single rider shifts in the saddle or turns to whisper to the person beside them. They look less like soldiers waiting for orders and more like statues carved from patience itself.Rows upon rows of black leather jackets stretch across the riverbank, each marked with the same silver insignia over the heart.No banners or campfires. No unnecessary movement. The silence unsettles me more than shouting ever could.Beside me, Jason mutters, "I've seen armies with less discipline."Beatrice's gaze narrows. "They're not trying to intimidate us.""No," Cassian replies quietly."They're trying to show us they don't need to."The woman still has her eyes fixed on me. Moonlight spills across pale hair touched with silver and eyes that reflect the river like polished steel.I brace myself for hatred or accusation. Instead, I fi
CHAPTER 90CASSIAN'S POVThe first thing to disappear is certainty. The second is air.At first, the change is subtle enough to dismiss. The lantern flames grow sluggish, their edges soft instead of sharp. My breaths come a fraction deeper than before, as if my lungs have begun bargaining for something they have always received freely. Within minutes, bargaining becomes desperation.Jason has already stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around one fist to cushion repeated blows against the stone wall. The impacts echo uselessly through the vault, accomplishing nothing except bruised knuckles and rising frustration."There has to be another passage," he mutters."There usually is," Killian replies while examining a row of ancient shelves. "The people who build places like this believe in escape routes.""They also believe in keeping secrets." Beatrice backs him. I can see why they are perfect for each other. "Which is exactly why there should be one."Beatrice nods. She has dropped
CHAPTER FOUR.Nova’s POVI should have ran when I had the chance.Cassian hasn’t said it, but I can feel it in the way he won’t meet my eyes, the way his jaw works like he’s chewing down on something. Every step he takes toward the clubhouse feels final. Heavy. Like he is dragging me into the kind
CHAPTER THREE.Nova’s POVThe night feels wrong.I don’t know how else to describe it. The desert is supposed to have noise crickets, wind skimming over dry brush, the occasional things. Instead, it’s dead quiet, the kind of silence that prickles my skin and gives me goosebumps.Cassian walks ahea
CHAPTER TWO.Nova’s POVCassian had taken me in while his men worked on my car.Kept me in a room that I haven’t had the privilege of exploring. I had assignments to do. Things to take pictures of. Documentary to film.That was what brought me to the dessert.I held my camera tightly with my elbow
CHAPTER ONE.Nova’s POVThis evening has a cruel sense of humor. I realize that just as my car starts moving slowly, pushing me forward with every gallop.I watch as my car dies the way every bad relationship I’ve ever had does—loud, dramatic, and right when I need it least.Steam curls from the ho







