The morning after the river patrol felt longer than a day should.
Mist still clung to the trees when Elara reached the Pack House to deliver her report, boots damp from the dew. The courtyard, usually filled with chatter from warriors and scouts, felt subdued—like the entire pack was holding its breath.
Even the air smelled different lately. Thicker. Uneasy.
She paused near the front steps. The two guards at the entrance—wolves she'd known since childhood—barely glanced her way. One offered a polite nod; the other didn't bother hiding the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. Word of her rejection still followed her like a shadow she couldn't shake off.
"Elara Hale," one of them finally said. "Alpha Damon's in the meeting room."
She nodded once. "Thank you."
Her voice didn't waver, though her pulse did. She stepped through the open doors, her scent of pine and faint smoke swallowed by the stronger musk of dominant wolves.
The meeting room was half full—Damon at the head of the table, his Beta across from him, a handful of ranked wolves standing behind them. Their conversation quieted when she entered.
"Scout Hale," Damon said, not unkindly, but with the clipped tone he used for business. "Your patrol report?"
Elara placed the folder on the table. "The eastern river boundary is clear, sir. No traces of rogues or trespassers. Only signs of deer movement. The flood markers held."
Damon nodded, flipping through her notes. "Good." He didn't dismiss her right away, though. His eyes lifted, sharp and searching. "Anything… unusual?"
The question lingered in the air longer than it should have.
Elara hesitated. She thought of the moment near the river when her wolf had stiffened—when a strange, distant pulse had rippled through her chest, faint but undeniable. It hadn't been danger. It hadn't been pain. Just… awareness.
Something had been there. Watching.
But she couldn't explain it without sounding paranoid—or worse, weak.
"No, Alpha," she said evenly. "Nothing unusual."
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then he nodded once. "Good work. You may go."
She turned to leave, but the whisper of low voices followed her out the door. She didn't have to listen closely to hear her name threaded through the murmurs.
When she stepped into the hall, Maera was waiting—arms folded, a knowing smile on her painted lips.
"Still doing patrols alone, I see," she said softly. "You'd think after… everything, someone would volunteer to keep you company."
Elara met her gaze, calm but steady. "You'd think," she replied.
Maera's smile faltered for a moment before sharpening. "Careful, Hale. The Alpha may tolerate you, but the rest of the pack isn't so forgiving. You're lucky to still have a place at all."
Elara's voice stayed level. "Then I'll make sure I'm worth the space I take."
Maera's eyes narrowed, but before she could answer, footsteps echoed from down the hall. Kieran appeared—polished as always, the new Beta title practically glowing around him. He didn't look at Elara directly, but his scent hit her like a warning.
"Maera," he said coolly. "Alpha Damon's calling for you."
Maera's smile returned, suddenly sweeter. "Of course, Beta." She brushed past Elara with a faint smirk.
Kieran's gaze flicked to her then—just for a heartbeat. Detached. Careful.
"Scout Hale," he said curtly. "You're dismissed."
Elara inclined her head. "Beta."
She walked past him, pulse steady despite the hollow ache that tried to rise again. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction—not anymore.
Outside, the courtyard had filled again with wolves training, laughing, living their lives untouched by the quiet fracture she carried. She watched them from the steps for a moment, then turned toward the forest path leading back to her cabin.
Her wolf stirred faintly beneath her skin, restless.
We shouldn't lie to him, it whispered. Something was out there.
Elara's steps slowed. "I know."
Why didn't you tell them?
She exhaled. "Because I don't trust them to listen."
The thought settled heavy in her chest. Trust had become a luxury she couldn't afford anymore—not in a pack that saw her as the reminder of something the Moon got wrong.
As she neared the tree line, a gust of wind brushed through the branches, carrying a scent she didn't recognize. It wasn't wolf. Not entirely human either. Something wilder—rooted in the forest itself.
Her wolf rose instantly, ears pricked.
Again.
Elara froze, scanning the treeline. Nothing moved. The forest stood still, the river's murmur barely audible beyond the hills. But the air vibrated with that same strange pull she'd felt during patrol—like her heartbeat didn't belong entirely to her anymore.
Then, as quickly as it came, the sensation faded.
She stayed still for a long time after, until her breathing evened out.
When she finally continued toward her cabin, she couldn't shake the feeling that the pack's tension wasn't just about her anymore.
Something was shifting beneath Silvercrest's calm. Something the others couldn't sense yet.
But the Moon had always watched her differently.
And deep beyond the river, where she couldn't see, something was watching back.