Chapter 2

EIRA VALE

The road into town curved like a spine through the hills, cracked and uneven in places, framed by pine and frostbitten brush. Kael walked ahead of me for a while, silent, his long strides eating the distance between bends. There was something unhurried about the way he moved, even though his eyes never seemed to rest—always scanning, listening, watching.

Then he stopped.

A black truck rumbled up the path moments later, its tires spitting slush, headlights dull in the muted gray light. Two men were in the cab, and when they stepped out, Kael greeted them with a nod that seemed more like an order than a hello.

One was stocky with cropped brown hair, the other tall and wiry, maybe a few years younger than me. Both wore dark coats and utility boots, and their presence said military even if their uniforms didn’t.

“Eira Vale,” Kael said, turning to me, “this is Owen Hart and Kent Mallory. They’re my Beta's and part of my security entails. They'll take you into town.”

I blinked. “You’re not coming?”

“I have a meeting,” he replied. “You’ll be safe with them.”

Owen—clearly the older of the two—offered a polite smile. “We’ll make sure she gets settled.”

Kael nodded once more, then looked at me, his expression unreadable. “We’ll talk later.”

And then he was gone.

I stood watching as he disappeared back down the road, the faint imprint of his boots already filling with snow.

***

The drive into town was short, but every second dragged like my nerves were catching on every pine needle and shuttered window we passed. The town of Draven was tucked into a valley, half-forgotten by the world, and from the outside it looked like the kind of place that hadn’t changed in decades. Wooden storefronts with peeling paint. A bakery with faded lace curtains. A small post office. The clinic. The school.

Somehow, it felt smaller than I remembered.

“How long has Kael been in charge?” I asked after a stretch of silence.

Owen glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “About a year now. He stepped in after Tomilson passed.”

“Tomilson?”

“The mayor. Heart attack in his sleep,” Kent replied from the passenger seat, tone casual but respectful. “Kael was acting deputy at the time. Council voted him in. Been running the place ever since.”

“And the council still exists?”

“In name,” Owen said with a shrug. “But they mostly defer to Kael now. He keeps things...steady.”

I wasn’t sure steady was the word I’d use for a man who fought like a storm and vanished just as fast.

“Is it always this quiet?” I asked, peering out the window.

“Not since the sickness started,” Kent said. “People stay inside more now. Especially in the north quarter.”

I straightened. “How bad is it?”

“We lost three last month. Mostly elderly, but a teenager too,” Owen said. “Symptoms don’t follow any clear pattern—fever, blackouts, sometimes bleeding. The local doctor doesn’t know what to make of it.”

“And Kael thinks I can fix it.”

Owen didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

***

They dropped me off in front of a small two-story house tucked near the town center. Pale blue siding, white trim, steep roof still dusted with snow. I remembered it vaguely—it used to belong to the schoolteacher, I thought. There were lace curtains in the windows and a note pinned to the door.

EIRA – Welcome back. The place is yours for as long as you stay. —M.

Inside, the house smelled like old wood and lemon oil. Everything was tidy and warm. A kettle sat on the stove, a fire already lit in the hearth. Someone had made an effort.

“Maura cleaned it up for you,” Owen said from behind me. “She used to know your family.”

“She was close to Bram.” I said softly.

Owen nodded. “She’ll probably stop by later. Word travels fast here.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a warning.

Kent passed me a folder as I set my satchel down. “Here’s everything Kael had on the sickness—names, timelines, symptoms. We thought you’d want to look through it on your own time.”

“Thank you,” I said, voice catching on the sudden lump in my throat.

They left me then, with instructions to head to the clinic in the morning and that someone named Elise would come by to walk me there.

***

I spent the rest of the day walking the town slowly, reacquainting myself with the places and people I hadn’t seen since Bram’s funeral. Most looked at me with curiosity, some with recognition, a few with pity. Only one had the nerve to speak.

“You look just like him,” said an old woman from her porch. “He was too good for what happened.”

I didn’t reply.

Later that evening, someone knocked on the door.

A girl in her early twenties stood there, red hair in a thick braid, freckles across her nose. She wore a worn jacket and carried a basket of food.

“Elise,” she said brightly. “Kael asked me to check on you.”

I stepped aside to let her in, and she moved like she’d grown up here—casual, familiar, confident.

“We heard you were coming. The whole town has, honestly,” she said as she set the basket on the counter. “I made soup. And cornbread. Hope you’re not allergic.”

“Not that I know of,” I said, managing a small smile.

She studied me for a second, and her smile softened. “It must be weird. Coming back.”

“It is.”

“Well,” she said, tugging off her gloves, “I’m one of the town medics. Been training under Doc Harrow since I was seventeen. I’ll be helping you with patients if that’s alright.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I could use the help.”

“Good. Because you’re going to get it whether you like it or not.”

I laughed, surprised by the sound of it.

Elise was warm, blunt, and easy to be around. She told me about the families hardest hit by the illness, about the way people had started whispering that it wasn’t natural, and about Kael—how he’d stepped in when no one else could, how he worked himself half to death trying to hold things together.

“He doesn’t talk much,” she said, sipping her tea. “But he notices everything. People listen to him. Even if they don’t always want to.”

“And what about you?” I asked. “Do you listen?”

She grinned. “Only when I have to.”

After she left, I read through the folder Kael had given me.

The cases were scattered. A man in his thirties, dead within three days. A child who recovered quickly. A woman who never regained consciousness. Symptoms were inconsistent. Some reported tremors, others insomnia, hallucinations. There was a note in the margin of one page:

**All affected live near the northern waterway. Consider contamination?**

I traced the handwriting with my finger.

Not Kael’s. Someone else’s.

I flipped the page—and there it was again. This time, messier.

** Bryan said the trees don’t grow right there anymore. Said they rot.**

Bryan.

The name hit like a punch. That was the boy Bram was with when he died.

A part of me had hoped I wouldn’t hear it again. Why was his name here?

I shook my head at the silly thought. Of course he would be here, this was his park, his home, unlike me. I am just here to fulfill a duty—which I am not certain that I'd be able to.

My mind wandered to Alpha Kael and I bit my cheeks lightly. What did he expect from me? That I'd miraculously find the cause of the illness and cute it? Of course I have experience in the art of medicine but I am no miracle worker.

"I'd really need a miracle."

By nightfall, the wind had picked up. I lit candles. Took a bath in the claw-foot tub upstairs. Let the silence press against my skin like a second layer of clothing.

I felt something shift in me that night—not comfort, exactly. But a soft awareness that I wasn’t just a visitor. Not anymore. I was in this now. Whether I wanted to be or not.

And somewhere out there, Kael Thorne was preparing for a battle I hadn’t even seen the shape of yet.

***