THE FEVER

Dinner was usually the only time the Bone Yard felt like a home.

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‎As the sun dipped behind the western ridge, painting the sky in bruises of purple and red, the rogues gathered around the central fire pit. It was a time for stories, for laughter, for forgetting that we were hunted outcasts living on the edge of starvation.

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‎I sat on a log near the periphery, nursing a bowl of Olara’s rabbit stew. My body ached from Kaelen’s training—a good ache, the kind that meant I was getting stronger—and for the first time in my life, I felt… content.

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‎I looked around for Jinx. The kid usually bounded over to me the moment I sat down, eager to steal a piece of bread or tell me a tall tale about how he fought a badger.

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‎"Has anyone seen Jinx?" I asked Olara, who was dishing out seconds.

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‎"Probably hiding," Olara grunted. "He skipped chopping wood today. Said his stomach hurt."

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‎A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. Jinx never skipped chores. He was terrified of being labeled "useless."

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‎"I'm going to look for him," I said, setting my bowl down. 

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‎I stood up, wiping my hands on my trousers. I scanned the crowd. Kaelen was on the far side of the fire, talking to Torian in low tones. He caught my eye, his gaze lingering for a moment—a silent acknowledgment of our session in the mud—before turning back to his Beta.

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‎I walked toward the cluster of tents where the children slept.

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‎"Jinx?" I called out.

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‎"Here..."

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‎The voice was faint. Weak.

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‎I followed the sound to the back of a canvas tent. Jinx was sitting on the ground, leaning against a crate.

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‎My heart stopped.

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‎He looked terrible. His skin, usually tanned and dirty, was a translucent, waxen gray. Sweat plastered his brown hair to his forehead, but he was shivering so violently his teeth chattered.

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‎"Jinx!" I rushed to him, dropping to my knees. "What’s wrong?"

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‎"Cold," he whimpered. "Celeste... I'm so cold."

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‎I reached out to touch his forehead.

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‎I recoiled instantly. He wasn't cold. He was burning up. His skin radiated heat like an oven door. 

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‎"You're burning," I whispered. I grabbed his hand to check his pulse.

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‎That’s when I saw it.

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‎Starting at his fingertips and crawling up his wrist like living ivy were veins. But they weren't blue. They were black. Inky, terrifying lines that pulsed against his pale skin.

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‎"It hurts," Jinx gasped, clutching his chest. "My heart... it feels heavy."

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‎"Help!" I screamed, turning toward the fire. "Someone help! Kaelen!"

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‎The chatter at the fire pit died instantly. Kaelen’s head snapped up. He saw me, saw the panic in my face, and was moving before I could take another breath.

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‎He crossed the distance in seconds, Torian and Rhea close behind.

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‎"What is it?" Kaelen demanded, dropping to his knees beside me.

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‎"He’s sick," I said, my voice trembling. "Look at his arms."

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‎Kaelen pushed up Jinx’s sleeve. He hissed through his teeth. The black veins had already reached the boy’s elbow.

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‎"Rhea!" Kaelen barked.

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‎Rhea pushed past him, her face pale. She placed her hands on Jinx’s chest, closing her eyes. A soft, green light glowed from her palms—healer magic.

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‎"Calm, Jinx," she soothed. "Just a fever. I've got you."

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‎But the light flickered.

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‎Jinx screamed.

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‎It wasn't a normal cry of pain. It was a shriek of agony. He arched his back, his eyes rolling back in his head. Foam, tinged with pink, bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

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‎"Stop!" Kaelen grabbed Rhea’s wrists, pulling her hands away. "You're hurting him!"

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‎"I'm not trying to!" Rhea cried, tears springing to her eyes. "My magic... it’s bouncing off. I can't get inside. It's like his blood is fighting me."

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‎"Is it a plague?" Torian asked, stepping back, his hand on his knife. "If it's contagious..."

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‎"Back off, Torian!" Kaelen snarled. He scooped Jinx up into his arms. The boy was convulsing now, seizing violently. "Get him to the infirmary tent. Now!"

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‎The infirmary was chaos.

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‎Jinx lay on the central table, stripped to his waist. The black veins were visible on his chest now, spiderwebbing toward his heart. Every time they pulsed, he whimpered. 

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‎Rhea was frantic, crushing herbs into a bowl, mixing pastes, trying everything she knew.

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‎"It’s not responding to willow bark," she muttered, her hands shaking. "It’s not responding to silver. It’s... unnatural."

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‎Kaelen stood by the head of the bed, holding Jinx’s shoulders down as the seizures hit. His face was a mask of helpless rage. He looked at the boy like a son, and he was watching him die.

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‎"Think, Rhea!" Kaelen urged. "What causes necrosis like this? Snake bite? Spider?"

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‎"There are no puncture wounds!" Rhea yelled back. "It’s internal. It’s like his blood is turning into tar."

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‎I stood in the corner, pressing myself against the canvas wall. The smell in the tent was wrong. It didn't smell like sickness. Sickness smelled like sweat and sour milk.

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‎This smelled... chemical.

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‎It smelled like burnt almonds and ozone.

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‎I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to place the scent. Trying to place the image of the black veins.

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‎Black veins. Burning fever. Magic resistance.

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‎I had seen this before.

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‎Not in real life. In a book.

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‎My father had a library. Most of it was standard pack history, but he kept a locked cabinet of old texts—books my grandfather saved from my mother's pack, the Crescent Moon. He had caught me reading one once when I was twelve and had grounded me for a month.

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‎The Journal of Arcane Botany.

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‎I opened my eyes.

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‎"It's not a virus," I said.

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‎The room went silent. Kaelen, Rhea, and Torian all turned to look at me.

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‎"Get out, blood-bag," Torian snapped. "We don't need an audience."

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‎"Shut up," I said, stepping forward. I pointed at Jinx’s arm. "Look at the pattern. It’s not random. It’s following the lymphatic system. It’s targeting his wolf."

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‎Rhea frowned. "What?"

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‎"Is he a shifter yet?" I asked Kaelen. "Has he presented?"

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‎"No," Kaelen said, his eyes intense. "He’s twelve. He’s close, but no wolf yet."

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‎"That’s why he’s still alive," I said, my brain racing. "If he had a wolf, he’d be dead already. This poison... it feeds on the Wolf Spirit. It eats the magic in the blood." 

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‎I walked to the table. I looked at the black lines.

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‎"It’s Wolfsbane," I whispered. "But not the natural kind. Natural Wolfsbane causes paralysis. This... this is a mutation. It was theoretical. I read about it in an old text from the Crescent Moon scholars."

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‎"The Crescent Moon?" Kaelen stiffened. "Your mother's pack?"

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‎"Yes," I nodded. "They called it The Midnight Wither. It was designed to suppress an Alpha’s power during a challenge. But someone... someone has tweaked it. They made it lethal."

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‎"How do you cure it?" Kaelen demanded, grabbing my arm. "Celeste, how do we stop it?"

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‎"I... I don't know the antidote recipe," I stammered. "I only saw the drawing of the flower. It’s a purple wolfsbane grafted with Nightshade."

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‎"A hybrid," Rhea breathed. "That requires a laboratory. A centrifuge. You can't make that in the woods."

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‎Kaelen’s face went deadly pale. He looked at Jinx, then at me.

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‎"Magnus," he whispered.

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‎The name hung in the air like a curse. 

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‎"Torian said the convoys were carrying medical supplies," Kaelen said, his voice rising. "We thought they were stealing medicine from the hospitals. But they weren't stealing it. They were making it."

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‎"He’s testing it," I realized, horror washing over me. "so he’s not just trafficking wolves. Is he poisoning the water supply. Or the food.”

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‎"A weapon to kill Alphas," Kaelen finished.

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‎Jinx let out a choked gasp. His back arched off the table.

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‎"He’s stopping breathing!" Rhea screamed. "His lungs are seizing!"

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‎"Do something!" Kaelen roared.

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‎"I can't!" Rhea cried. "If I use magic, the poison feeds on it!"

‎"Blood," I blurted out.

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‎They looked at me again.

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‎"The book," I said frantically. "It said the poison binds to the magic. To dilute it... you need blood that has magic but no wolf. Blood that is... dormant."

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‎I looked at my own arm.

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‎"Like mine."

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‎"Celeste, no," Kaelen said, understanding immediately. "We don't know if that will work. It could kill you."

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‎"He’s dying!" I yelled. "Look at him!"

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‎Jinx was turning blue. The veins were at his neck.

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‎I grabbed a scalpel from Rhea’s tray. I didn't hesitate. I slashed it across my own palm.

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‎"Drink," I commanded, pressing my bleeding hand to Jinx’s mouth.

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‎"Celeste!" Kaelen lunged, but I shoved him back with surprising strength.

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‎"Let him drink!"

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‎I forced the blood past Jinx’s lips.

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‎For a second, nothing happened.

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‎Then, Jinx convulsed. He swallowed.

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‎The effect was instantaneous.

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‎Where my blood touched his lips, the black veins seemed to recoil. The color rushed back into his cheeks. He gasped, taking a huge, ragged breath of air.

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‎The black lines on his arms stopped advancing. They didn't disappear, but they stopped.

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‎Jinx slumped back onto the table, breathing normally. Sleeping. 

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‎The tent was silent.

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‎Rhea stared at me. Torian stared at me.

‎But Kaelen... Kaelen looked at me as if I had just grown wings.

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‎He looked at my bleeding hand, then at my face.

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‎"You saved him," he whispered.

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‎"I bought him time," I said, clutching my hand to my chest. I felt dizzy. "But Kaelen... if Magnus is making this... Jinx isn't the only one. He’s going to infect everyone."

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‎Kaelen’s expression hardened into pure diamond. The fear was gone. The Butcher was back. 

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‎"Then we have to stop him," he growled.

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‎He looked at me, and for the first time, there was no barrier between us. No enemy. No prisoner.

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‎"And you," he said, "are the only one who knows how."