MasukAlyssa's POVThe silence that follows the knock is so complete I can hear my own heartbeat.Everyone freezes. Adam's hand is still on the door handle, and I see the tension ripple through his shoulders. Marcus shifts left without a word, moving to flank whoever's on the other side.And me? I'm still on the floor with Sophia tucked against my side, too weak to stand but desperately wishing I could.I reach for Healer's Sight instead.The warmth flickers—barely there, like trying to light a match in the wind—but I push it toward the door anyway. Toward whoever's standing on the other side.And I see them.Not clearly. Not like I can see Adam or Marcus. But I see the threads clinging to them—faint traces of rune magic, oily and wrong, hanging in the air like cobwebs.Rune residue.Whoever's out there has been near the ritual site. Recently."Adam," I whisper. "Wait."He glances back at me, and I shake my head slightly.But it's too late.The voice comes again—familiar, frantic—and I reco
Adam's POVI can't go home.The thought sits in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold and wrong. The packhouse is where I'm supposed to be. Where my family is supposed to be safe. Where my wolves gather and my council meets and everything is supposed to make sense.But one of them sold us out.One of my own people looked at my mate and my daughter and decided they were acceptable losses.And I don't know who.I pace the cabin—three steps one way, three steps back—and try to think past the rage clawing through my skull.Alyssa is still unconscious in the corner, Sophia curled against her side. Both of them too pale. Too still. The bond between me and Alyssa is barely a whisper now, and every time I check it I taste copper.She's dying.And I can't fix it because I can't go home."Adam." Marcus's voice cuts through the spiral. "You need to make a call.""I know.""Packhouse has healers. Supplies. Brynne—""And a traitor."Marcus's jaw tightens. "We don't know that for sure.""Yes, we do
Alyssa's POVThe fire Marcus built crackles in the corner, throwing shadows across the walls, and I can't stop staring at the wards.They're everywhere. Carved into the doorframe. Scratched into the windowsills. Burned into the floorboards near the hearth.And I know every single one.Not because I studied them. Not because someone taught me.Because they're in my blood.The same flowing script as the marks on my pendant. The same careful spacing. The same tiny flourish at the end of each line that my grandmother used to say was "the healer's signature."This cabin was made by someone in my family.And I have no idea how that's possible."Alyssa."Adam's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, and I blink and turn toward him. He's pacing—three steps to the wall, pivot, three steps back—like a caged wolf. His shirt is torn and bloodstained, and I can see the dark lines of poison still creeping under his skin near the wound.But his eyes are locked on me."You need to rest," he says.
Adam's POVI choose the hardest route on purpose.Through the creek bed where the water runs fast and cold, up the rocky embankment where there's no soil to hold scent, across the ridge where the wind tears through strong enough to scatter any trail we leave.It's brutal. Every step sends fresh pain through my side where the poison sits like a coiled snake, and carrying Alyssa's dead weight makes my shoulders scream. But I don't slow down.Can't slow down.Marcus flanks me, moving silent and tense, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line. Cara stumbles along behind us, breathing hard, still clutching that damn healer satchel like it's going to save us.Sophia is tucked against my chest, wrapped in what's left of my jacket, and she hasn't made a sound in ten minutes.That scares me more than the howls in the distance."Status," I grunt at Marcus."Blackstone Alpha got away," he says, low and clipped. "Wounded but mobile. He'll regroup."Of course he will."How long do we have?""May
Alyssa's POVI'm drowning.No—that's not right. Drowning would mean water, movement, the desperate struggle for air.This is worse.This is sinking into ice.My body doesn't feel like mine anymore. It's distant. Heavy. Like I'm wearing someone else's skin and it doesn't quite fit. I try to move my fingers and nothing happens. Try to open my eyes and the effort is too much.But I can hear."Alyssa."Adam's voice. Rough. Desperate. Like he's calling from the other side of a wall."Alyssa, stay with me."I want to answer. Want to tell him I'm here, I'm trying, I'm not going anywhere.But the words won't come.All I can feel is cold.It starts in my chest—a hollow, aching emptiness where the warmth used to live—and spreads outward. Through my ribs. Down my arms. Into my fingers.I gave too much.The thought drifts through my mind, slow and sluggish, and I know it's true. The tether I created—the lock I forced into place to keep Sophia safe—it didn't just drain my power.It drained me."—n
Adam's POVI know that voice.My brain tries to reject it—tries to tell me I'm wrong, that the poison is making me hallucinate, that there's no way—But I'm not wrong.The council insignia on their chest catches the firelight. Blackwood colors. Our colors. And that face—I've seen it across war tables, in strategy meetings, standing at my back during territorial disputes.My mind goes blank.Just… blank.Like someone reached into my skull and erased everything except the single, impossible fact standing in front of me:One of mine betrayed us.My wolf doesn't make a sound.For one heartbeat, it's completely silent—so silent I think maybe it's gone, maybe the poison finally killed it—and then it erupts.KILL. KILL. TRAITOR. RIP. TEAR. KILL—The rage is so overwhelming I can't see. Can't think. Can't do anything except hold Alyssa's cold body against my chest and shake."Easy, Adam." The traitor's voice is soft. Gentle. Like they're talking to a spooked animal. Their hands are up, palms







