Ezra was mid-sentence when Papa Jake's voice slammed into his head.
Ezra Now.
The link cut off so abruptly that it left a sharp ache in his skull.
He didn't bother with the door. One clean jump carried him out the office window; his boots hit the ground without a stumble. Behind him, Finn, Trent, and Nyra followed, their shadows moving in sync with his as they tore through the trees. Branches whipped past, the earth pounding under their feet.
What's happened? Ezra pushed through the link as they ran.
Papa Jake's voice came back ragged. Her room. Smashed to hell. Glass everywhere. Message on the wall in blood. She's with me now.
Is she hurt? Ezra demanded.
Not a drop of her blood, Papa Jake said, the rush of a truck engine bleeding into his thoughts, but there was a dead cat. The person who did this wanted her to see it.
The growl tore from Ezra's chest before he could stop it. Where are you taking her?
Hospital. Just to be safe.
They broke the treeline, the house snapping into view. Papa Jake's truck was already gone, his scent and Summer's trailing away with the fading hum of the engine.
Ezra slowed only when his boots hit the porch. There was no smell of blood. He stepped inside. That was different. The smell was erounced and disgusting, like stale, old food that had gone bad, but worse. The smell thickened down the hallway, pulling him to her room.
Finn, Trent, and Nyra were already there. The glass was everywhere, glinting in the low light. Clothes were scattered like someone had ripped through them without care. And on the wardrobe door—crimson words, uneven and wet enough to still shine: LEAVE THIS ISLAND, MURDERER.
Jesse stood frozen near the doorway, pale, eyes locked on the wall.
Ezra faced him, voice low but cutting through the room like a blade. "Explain."
Jesse swallowed, flicking his gaze toward the message before speaking. "I… heard nothing. One minute I was out, the next Papa Jake was linking to me. By the time I got here, she was holding the cat. It was still breathing. Papa Jake told me to get the truck."
Ezra's jaw worked, the weight of the words settling like a stone in his chest. Through the link, Papa Jake's voice brushed his mind one last time. She's in shock.
Ezra's eyes didn't leave Jesse. "I'm heading to the hospital. Find out who the hell did this and how we didn't pick up on any scent NOW!!" He growled.
****
"What do you think?" Finn's voice was low as he turned to Kael, who was crouched just outside the porch, nose working the air.
Kael inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "Outside? It smells… normal. Vanilla, maybe. But inside…" He glanced toward the open door. "Inside smells of death."
Finn's jaw tightened. "Rogue?"
Kael shook his head once. "I can't tell. The blood on the wardrobe it's not normal. There's a scent to it. Sulphur. Ashwood."
Finn frowned. "There's none of that on the island."
"Exactly. Which means whoever did this isn't from here."
Finn's gaze swept the treeline. "Then where the hell would they have come from?"
Inside, Nyra knelt by Summer's bed, methodically gathering clothes that had been slashed and tossed across the room. The blood smeared on a blouse in her hand caught the light.
"This blood…" Nyra spoke without looking up. "It's metallic, sharp. We should've smelled it from a mile out. Even Ezra should've. But from the outside? Nothing. Whoever did this masked it until we crossed the threshold."
"That's not possible," Finn muttered, stepping into the room.
"It shouldn't be," Nyra said, shoving the ruined clothes into a bag. "But here we are. Either way, she's going to need new clothes." Her tone was flat, but her hands worked fast and precisely.
Trent moved toward the shattered mirror, glass crunching under his boots. "She doesn't have enemies. She's not even a wolf. This isn't… normal targeting."
"They came through her window," Kael said, his voice sure now. "The latch is broken. Frame's splintered."
"That much is true," Trent agreed, crouching to examine the sill. "But how did they get past us? Past the perimeter?"
Finn stepped over to join him. "Unless they've been here all along."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Nyra stopped packing, looking toward the doorway. "That's a problem for another conversation. Right now, we follow the scent before it fades completely."
Kael straightened. "It's faint. Whoever it was, they didn't stay long. In and out."
"They didn't need to stay," Finn said, glancing back at the wardrobe and the blood message sprawled across it. "They made their point."
Trent's voice was hard when he spoke. "Then we make ours."
****
"Where is she?" Ezra pulled open the door, his eyes scanning the space until they landed on Papa Jake. The older wolf was pacing, his usual calm replaced by a restless energy.
"Inside," Papa Jake replied.
"Is she okay?" Around them, other pack members bent their heads in a silent greeting, which Ezra acknowledged with only a grunt. He didn't have time for formalities.
"Yes, she is, Ezra. She's with the vet now."
"Okay. I need you to go back to the pack and figure out whatever this is. I'll bring her back." Ezra placed a warm, firm hand on Papa Jake's shoulder, a silent promise of his intent.
Papa Jake nodded, a flash of relief in his eyes. As he walked away, a final thought, clear and concise, cut through the mind link between them: Take care of her.
The vet's voice was a soft, kind thing, an almost unbearable kindness. "The cat's in a lot of pain. Internal damage. Even with surgery, her chances are slim to none. It would be kinder to let her go."
Summer's hands tightened around the trembling bundle of fur in her lap. Her knuckles were white, her jaw set, and her eyes glistened with a desperate effort to hold back a storm of emotion. The small examination room, with its sterile scents and cold surfaces, felt suffocating.
Just then, the door swung open, and Ezra filled the frame. His presence was a solid, comforting weight, swallowing the tense silence of the room. His gaze swept from the tiny, suffering cat to the tear-streaked lines on Summer's face, and he felt a sharp, painful crack in his own chest.
He moved across the room in two long strides, kneeling in front of her. Without a word, he took her shaking hands, carefully holding the cat still nestled between them. "Shhh," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that felt like an anchor in a raging sea. "It's gonna be okay."
She shook her head, a choked, broken sound escaping her lips.
The vet and the nurse exchanged a silent, understanding look, and the nurse quietly excused herself, pulling the door shut behind her.
Ezra gently eased the cat from Summer's lap, laying the small body on the padded examination table. Summer stayed close, her hand clutching his as if she believed he might vanish if she let go. He looked at her, his heart aching. He knew there was nothing he could say to make this right, no words that could erase her pain.
He placed his free hand on the cat's tiny body, a silent plea for comfort, for peace. The trembling beneath his palm was a testament to the life that was fading, a frantic, desperate rhythm. He focused on that tiny warmth, that fragile heartbeat, and let the quiet resolve of his own presence be a shield against the pain. He held her, his other hand still tightly clasped in Summer's, and waited with her, their shared grief a silent language.
The vet nodded once, a signal that it was time. Summer's sob finally broke free, a raw, wrenching sound that shattered the stillness. Ezra pulled her close, her forehead pressed against his collarbone, his hand still wrapped around hers.
The nurse walked back into the room, a small syringe in her hand. "She won't feel a thing," she said softly, her eyes filled with gentle empathy.
Summer looked at the small form on the table, and her body began to shake with a silent sob. Ezra held her, his hand wrapped around hers.
The vet and the nurse stepped out, giving them a few painfully quiet minutes alone. He held her close, her forehead pressed against his collarbone, and murmured, "It's over." For the first time since he had walked into the room, she leaned on him completely, her body finally surrendering to the sorrow.
****
"It's okay to be sad," Ezra said, his voice a low rumble from the driver's seat. Outside, the sky hung low and gray, a solid sheet of slate.
"I want to bury the cat."
"Where?"
"Jesse showed me a waterfall across the valley."
"Crushwave Falls?"
"Yeah. I think that's where she should be."
"You know her?"
"The cat? No. She was just lying there in all that blood. Who would do something like that?" Her voice was small, edged with a quiet fury.
Ezra didn't answer, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He could think of a few reasons, none of them good. Someone with a grudge. Someone sending a message. He chose to say nothing. Instead, he turned the wheel sharply, the tires biting into the fresh snow as he headed for the valley.
"Can I ask you something?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Go ahead."
"Why are you here and not my brother? I mean… we don't really know each other. And you're going to be my boss on Monday." The words tumbled out, of her..
"I take care of my people," he said, cutting her off, the finality of the statement leaving no room for argument. "Your brother's my people. That makes you mine too."
She kept quiet, though a part of her rebelled against the idea. She didn't want to be his people; she wanted to be his. Instead, she turned to watch the snow-covered ground blur past the window, a white smear against the gray landscape.
"I used to have a pet," he said, the words breaking the silence.
She looked over, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Really?"
"Yeah. My parents got me one after I saw a turtle on TV."
"What was his name?"
"Cord."
"Cord?"
"I didn't know how to name things yet. Cord was easy." A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"What happened to him?"
"One day, while I wasn't looking, he crawled away. Never saw him again."
"Do you miss him?"
"I do," he said, pulling off the road where Jesse had parked before. The car rolled to a stop, its engine sighing into silence. "Hold on."
He got out, the cold air rushing in as he opened her door. "Thanks," she said, her voice thin. He didn't reply, just locked the car behind her.
"I'll carry the cat."
"She has a name," Summer said, her chin lifting slightly.
"Oh?"
"Yeah… I named her TV."
"TV?"
"Yeah."
He adjusted the small, still body in his arms. The cat's fur was cold and stiff. "TV's a good name."
"Thank you"
They walked until they reached a line of blooming flowers, their colors a vibrant surprise against the blanket of snow. She said a solemn prayer and then, together, they buried the cat. They laid her to rest between a bed of ocean-smooth rocks, with winter flowers placed gently underneath the snow.
"I think she would be okay," Summer said, her voice a soft, fragile whisper in the quiet air.