"We don't know yet," I finally said. "Could be nothing. Could be everything."

  It was the kind of honest uncertainty that most Alphas wouldn't share with someone so young, the admission that leadership sometimes meant making decisions with incomplete information and hoping for the best.

  Maya nodded, her fingers unconsciously curling around the edge of her jacket sleeve. "I hope she's okay." Then, almost too quiet to hear: "Jewel sounded scared."

  "She did."

  The simple acknowledgment hung between us, creating a moment of shared understanding that felt both natural and dangerous.

  Maya shifted, biting her bottom lip. "You don't have to talk. I just… I was going to check on Naomi, see if she needed help with anything technical."

  Then she paused, her voice dropping to something softer, more hesitant. "You looked… upset. Just now."

  That stopped me, not because I was surprised she'd noticed, but because of the way she'd said it.

  Not the observation itself, but the way she'd delivered it, gentle rather than prying, offering comfort rather than demanding explanation.

  "Some days," I said, fighting to keep my voice level despite the emotions churning in my chest, "being Alpha is heavier than others."

  Maya tilted her head, it made her look far too knowing for someone her age. "Does it help? Talking about it?"

  I stared at her, caught between the urge to laugh and cry at the simple directness of the question. When was the last time someone had asked me what I needed rather than telling me what they expected?

  "Not usually."

  She nodded, accepting the answer without judgment. And then, in a moment that almost broke something fundamental in my chest, she smiled. It was small and genuine and carrying the kind of warmth that reminded me why I'd started building this place to begin with.

  "Yeah, mom says that too. If you ever want someone who doesn't expect answers… I'm not going anywhere. Mostly because I have nowhere to go.”

  The offer was simple, without conditions or expectations, the kind of gift that was rare enough to be precious.

  She turned and walked off, back straight, steps sure.

  And I stood there, watching her disappear around the corner and trying to understand why the air suddenly felt thinner, why breathing had become something that required conscious effort.

  Unsure why the hallway suddenly felt harder to breathe in, why a simple conversation with a teenager had managed to crack open places in my chest that I'd thought were safely sealed away.

  In offering me comfort without conditions, she'd reminded me of what I'd lost and what I might still have, if I was brave enough to reach for it.

  CHAPTER 6

  The whir of Naomi's drone buzzed back through the speaker system, a faint sound layered beneath static and the click of the joysticks as she made small adjustments for wind and terrain only she understood from this elevated angle. I didn't look up from the map, but I heard her mutter something under her breath, likely a string of curses aimed at the lag in our signal repeaters.

  We were crowded into my office again. I had heard a few of the younger Haven wolves calling it "The War Room" earlier, a name I would have taken pride in when I was younger, but that just felt like a weary burden now.

  Naomi tapped the monitor twice, hard. "There," she said, voice clipped. "Heat signature. Not steady, but moving."

  I crossed the room in three strides, the floorboards creaking under my urgency. The screen showed a jagged outline, too large for a fox, too slow for a deer. A red-gold smear on the outer edge of Sector Eleven. Moving this direction out of Sector Twelve.

  Alexis came up beside me, close enough that I caught the scent of pine soap and something uniquely her that made my wolf stir restlessly. There was a moment I had to pull my eyes away from how her crossed arms emphasized the curve of her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made my mouth go dry. I blinked, chiding myself for noticing, for wanting, for the way my body still responded to her like no time had passed at all. She didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything, just leaned forward slightly, her focus locked on the shifting dot.

  Jayne hovered near the table, her jaw set. "Could be a decoy."

  Naomi didn't look up. "Could be. But drones don't lie. This was picked up just inside range. And it wasn't there an hour ago. Something is there.”

  "That's closer than we expected," I murmured, the words tasting like copper and adrenaline.

  Alexis finally spoke. "Westward, just like Jewel said. If they're moving toward us, we might have a window."

  The weight in my chest shifted, not lighter, exactly. But sharper. Like hope sharpening itself into a blade, which was dangerous.

  "Do we have coordinates?"

  "Working on triangulation now." Naomi dragged two fingers across the tablet. The screen zoomed, flickered. "Signal's weak, but stable. It's moving slow. If it's Jess… she's hurt."

  Jayne cursed under her breath, pacing two tight circles before planting her hands on the back of a chair with enough force to make the wood creak. "We don't have eyes on who it is. We don't have time to send a scout and loop back if it's wrong."

  "We're not looping back," I said. "We're sending a team either way. If it's Jess, they fall back for support. If it's not, they meet with…" I glanced at Alexis, who raised her eyebrow in an almost imperceptible movement that I only caught because I knew every micro-expression that crossed her face. I took a deep breath. "Ghost pack and head towards the mountain anyway. We only had two weeks to stop this thing. We might as well consider this go.”

  Naomi nodded, already typing. "I can reroute power from the secondary rig and boost signal clarity. Give me twenty minutes."

  Jayne looked at me. "And who do you want to send?"

  I didn't answer right away.

  The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken calculations. Who could I afford to lose? Who was fast enough, smart enough, expendable enough?

  Across the room, Alexis leaned back slightly, finally breaking her focus on the screen. "If it's a trap, they're close enough to bait us into the woods. We go, we need someone who's not going to get distracted and preferably knows the area."

  I looked at her then.

  Really looked.

  She was calm. Grounded. Like the war had burned off every ounce of doubt she used to carry. Or maybe just hidden it deeper than the rest of us could reach.

  Her stillness was predatory, contained. The kind of quiet that came before swift, decisive violence. It made something in my chest clench with recognition and old, foolish pride.

  She didn't volunteer, but she didn't need to. I could read it in the lines of her face.

  "I'm going," I said.

  Naomi's head snapped up. "Lydia⁠—"

  "No," Jayne interrupted, stepping between us. "That's not smart. You're the only one with enough pull to keep Mayfield from falling apart if this goes sideways."

  She was wrong. The pack was already fracturing at the edges, loyalty lines blurring like watercolors in rain. Plus, Naomi would be here. But either way, it was bad form for an Alpha to growl at her commanders, even former ones.

  "Then you're going," I said instead. "You and Sara."

  Jayne blinked. "Sara?"

  "She knows the territory," I said. "And she doesn't freeze when things go bad."

  I'd heard from Princess how Sara was in action: efficient, ruthless when necessary, with the kind of steady nerves that came from surviving worse than this.

  Jayne's mouth twisted, but she didn't argue.

  Alexis stepped forward. "I'll prep the fallback route."

  I nodded once, sharp. "Good."

  We stood in the glow of the flickering drone display, the tension held tight between us like a drawn bowstring.

  If Jess was still alive, she was out there bleeding for information we desperately needed. If she was dead, we were about to walk into whatever killed her.

  "Try to get as much info as you can," I said to Naomi, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. The contact was brief but warm. I wasn't sure if the physical touch was to ease her or myself, but it didn't really matter.

  She nodded. "Give me a few, I'll see what I can do." A handful of seconds later, she added, "Can you have Olivia bring me a coffee?"

  "Sure," I answered, striding to the door, my boots echoing against the floorboards with more confidence than I felt and wishing that coffee was the only thing I had to worry about.

  We gathered outside’s huddle mass of humans who would have been much warmer with fur. But wolves didn’t have thumbs, which meant they were terrible with drones.

  The air was sharp, a typically spring day that would later turn warm. But for now, the wind cut through jackets and settling in our lungs like glass. Tali had been sitting on the porch reading, and I sent her scurrying away to find Olivia and coffee. She moved with the quick, nervous energy of youth, grateful to have a task that mattered.

  When I turned back, Sara and Jayne were standing shoulder to shoulder, the wind tugging at the edges of their jackets like impatient fingers. Both women were coiled tight, ready to run. Alexis leaned against the porch railing with arms folded and jaw tight, watching the horizon like she expected it to blink first.

  Her profile was sharp against the pale sky, all angles and controlled tension. I remembered tracing those lines with my fingertips, memorizing the constellation of freckles across her cheekbones that only appeared in summer.

  I stepped up beside them, my voice low. "Naomi should be confirming soon, but right now, this is what we know. The drone picked up a heat trail west of Sector Twelve. Single figure. Upright. Moving slow."

  Sara gave a small nod, her expression unreadable. Her silence wasn't emptiness, it was the quiet of someone who'd learned that words were often wasted on things that required action.

  Jayne's hands flexed once, then stilled.

  "Could be Jess," I continued. "Could be bait. Either way, we need confirmation."

  I turned to Sara first. "You're the guide. Keep to terrain you know. If anything feels off, we pull back. No heroics."

  Sara nodded again. Still no words.

  "Jayne," I said, and her name landed heavier. There was history there, pack bonds that ran deeper than command structure. "If it's her, and she's in one piece, good. If she's hurt, you get her out. If it's not her…"

  "I know," Jayne said before I could finish. "We don't engage unless it's clean." There was a lingering low sound in the air, not quite a growl, but close enough to make the hair on my arms rise.

  She was pissed.

  Not at me, not really.

  At the situation.

  At the helplessness of it all.

  That made two of us.

  Alexis pushed off the post, stepping in. "I've laid three fallback points on the western path. If the route breaks, you drop smoke at the last one and wait. Someone from Ghost Pack will be there."

  Jayne looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Maybe even she knew better than to test Alexis when her voice went that flat.

  Sara finally spoke, voice low and even. "We running wolf?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Pack light. Stay fast."

  Jayne reached down, unzipping the pouch at her thigh and removing a small transceiver. "Backup relay. Set to the drone's band. If it goes to static, we're pulling back."

  "Good," I said. "Be safe."

  The words felt inadequate, too small for what I was asking them to do. But they were all I had.

  They nodded again, and I stepped back, giving them space.

  Jayne stripped first, rolling her shirt and boots into the bag before slinging it over her shoulder. Her movements were efficient, practiced, the ritual of preparing for a hunt or battle. Sara followed silently, her wolf already pulling at the edge of her skin. I could smell the change beginning, that wild, electric scent that preceded the shift.

  Within moments, the shift swept through both of them, fluid, practiced, a flash of bone and fur and breath. The sound was wet and organic, like snapping, burning kindling mixed with tearing silk. Two wolves: one sleek, large, and dark, the other paler, built for speed, turned their eyes to me.

  In wolf form, their instinct sharpened, became something more primal and focused. Jayne's dark coat gleamed like oil in the afternoon light, while Sara's lighter fur caught the wind.

  "Bring her home," I said.

  They didn't need to answer. They were already gone, paws whispering across the grass as they darted past the tree line.

  I watched until they disappeared completely, two shadows melting into the forest with barely a sound. My chest felt hollow, like I'd just released something vital into the dark.

  Beside me, Alexis exhaled slowly. "You picked the right ones."

  I didn't look at her.

  Not yet.

  "I hope so."

  Because if I hadn't, I'd just sent two wolves into a trap, and I wasn't sure how many more I could afford to lose.

  "If Jayne doesn't come back, Princess will kill me," I muttered.

  "She might kill you anyway. I don't think Jayne said goodbye." There was a hint of teasing in Alexis's voice, warm and familiar in a way that made my throat tight.

  I closed my eyes, not trusting myself to face her. Not when her voice carried echoes of lazy morning conversations and shared laughter.

  I didn't go back inside right away.

  The wind had shifted. I could smell more rain coming, maybe even snow, light, maybe, but real. The kind that would dust pine needles and make the world look clean and new, even as it made everything harder to track and more dangerous to navigate.

  Alexis moved until she stood next to me. Not touching. Just close enough that I could feel the heat of her body and the steady presence she carried like armor.

  Her scent wrapped around me, pine, leather, and something warm. It made my wolf pace restlessly under my skin, recognizing home in a way that had nothing to do with territory.

  "I meant what I said," she said softly, eyes still on the trees. "You picked right. Jayne's one of the best. And Sara's sharp. No fear left in her."

  "I know," I said.

  But knowing didn't ease the feeling clawing at my chest. Knowing didn't stop the silence from creeping in around the edges.

  Alexis looked at me then, not trying to hide the fact that she was watching me closely.

  Her gaze was thorough, cataloging the tension in my shoulders, the way my hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. She'd always been able to read me like that, parsing my moods from the smallest details.

  "You always hated waiting without a plan."

  I huffed. "Still do."

  She tilted her head slightly. "Then stop pretending you're content to just sit and watch everything slide sideways."

  I turned away from her and started down the steps of the porch. My boots crunched through a patch of frost-brittle grass as I walked a few paces into the field. The horizon was already going orange again, daylight fighting its way past spring’s early grip.

  "You're choking on inaction," Alexis said from behind me. Her footsteps followed, deliberate and sure. "You're not breaking because you're doing too much. You're breaking because you're doing nothing when everything inside you is screaming to move."

  "Don't," I said quietly. "Don't pretend like you know me."

  She followed me down, slow and steady, her voice lower now. "Are you trying to say I don't? It's always been about you, Lydia. About what you hold back. What you bury. That's always been the problem. With you and with us."

  I turned toward her, jaw tight. "And you think charging forward, teeth bared, is the only answer?"

  "No," she said. "But standing still while the world burns isn't either."

  I stared at her, my breath fogging in the cold air between us.

  She was close enough now that I could see the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her pupils had dilated slightly in the coming light. Close enough to count the small scars on her hands, new ones I didn't recognize mixed with old ones I'd traced with my tongue.

  "And what would you have had me do?" I asked, quieter now. "Leave the pack? Abandon the wolves who trusted me to keep them safe? Run off with you to chase vengeance and ghosts? You call it Ghost Pack… really, Alexis?"

  She didn't flinch.

  "No. I would've had you stand with me. Just once. Just once, I wanted to look behind me and see that you chose me, Lydia. Not your duty. Not your precious discipline. Not safety. Me."

  The words landed hard, too close to the ache I'd been nursing for years. I took a step back, the old grief crackling under my ribs like kindling catching fire.

  "I couldn't," I said, throat tight. "You know I couldn't. They needed me. They still need me."

  "And I didn't?" Her voice cracked on the end of the sentence, and she blinked, jaw tightening. "Goddess, Lydia, I was pregnant!"

  The word hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. Pregnant. She'd been carrying what would have been our child when everything fell apart, when I chose the pack over her, when I let duty win over love.

  I looked away.

  Because the truth was, I’d thought she was stronger than me. Always had. I thought she could survive the fire on her own. Would emerge from it forged into something even more magnificent.

  And she had.

  But I hadn't counted on what it cost her to crawl out of it.

  "I didn't know," I said finally. "Not then."

  "You did know." Her voice dropped to a near whisper, a bitter softness that cut deeper than any shout. "You just didn't want to look too closely at what it meant. At what had really happened back then. Because if you did, you'd have to feel something. And you've never been good at that."

  I felt something rise in my chest then, raw and furious. "I feel plenty, Alexis."

  "Yeah?" she shot back. "When it's safe. When no one's looking. But when it's real? When it matters? You shut it down and bury it so deep, not even your wolf can find it."

  I opened my mouth—to defend myself, to lash out, I didn't even know—but the words caught on something sharp and unspoken.

 

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