Chapter 6:

Odessa pov

Branches whipped past my face faster than I could track them, and I still hadn't caught up to Ronan by the time we reached the treeline.

He moved like the trees weren't even there, four paws tearing up dirt in long strides, and I stumbled twice just trying to keep his gray shape in sight. My lungs burned. My shoes slipped on wet roots I couldn't see in the dark. None of that mattered half as much as the sound still ringing in my ears, that long, broken howl, and the way every face around me had gone pale the second they heard it.

‘Someone didn't come back.’

I didn't understand what that actually meant until I saw it for myself.

The clearing opened up ahead, torches already lit, half the pack gathered in a tight circle around something on the ground. I pushed through bodies before anyone could stop me, and then I saw him.

A boy. Younger than me, maybe. Torn open along one side, the wound too bloody and too wet in the firelight, chest hitching in short little gasps that sounded like they cost him everything he had left.

"Finn," someone said, low, like saying his name might keep him here.

Briar was already on her knees beside him, both hands pressed hard against the wound, jaw locked tight with effort. "I need pressure, now! Somebody get me something…"

A wolf shoved past me, shifting mid-stride into a shirtless guy I didn't recognize, dropping to grab a strip of torn cloth off the ground and press it into Briar's hands. Nobody questioned why I was there.

I dropped down across from her without thinking about it, hands hovering.

"What do I do?" I said. "Tell me what to do!"

Briar glanced up, just once, startled I'd even asked. "Hold his shoulder down. He's going to try to move and he can't."

I did. His skin burned too hot under my palms, feverish in a way that scared me worse than the blood did.

"He's the youngest scout we've got," Briar said, not looking up, voice tight and quick like she needed to talk to keep her hands steady. "Nineteen. Mouths off during every drill. Ronan usually threatens to bench him twice a week."

"He's tough," the shirtless guy added. "He'll pull through. He always does."

Nobody sounded like they believed it. Not even themselves.

More of the pack kept arriving, drawn in by the howl same as we'd been, until the clearing was packed shoulder to shoulder and thick with low, frightened murmurs. Someone was crying. Someone else kept repeating the word ‘rogue’ like saying it enough times might make it true, and I caught the word ‘Vale’ thrown around just as often, sharp looks aimed my way each time.

I felt it before I understood why,a strange, cloying sweetness underneath the copper smell of blood, faint, almost floral. I smelled it before, years ago, somewhere I couldn't place.

Ronan shifted back somewhere behind me, I heard it more than saw it, that awful crack of bone resetting and then he was there, crouched low, face gone pale and hard at once.

"What happened," Ronan said. It wasn't a question. A demand.

"Found him like this," the shirtless guy said. "Past the ridge. Whoever hit him was already gone."

"Whoever," Ronan repeated. "Not what?"

"Whoever," the guy said again, firmer. "Wasn't claws that did this. Look at the edges."

I didn't want to look but I looked anyway. He was right. It wasn't torn, not the way I'd expect from teeth or claws. It was cut. Clean at the edges.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, before I could stop myself.

Micah shoved through the crowd a second later, out of breath, eyes going straight to Finn on the ground. What smart remark he usually had ready for me died before it reached his mouth.

"Is he…" Micah started.

"Not yet," Briar snapped. "So shut up and help or get out of the way."

Ronan's eyes flicked to me for half a second, unreadable, then back to Finn. "Stay with us," he said, voice dropping into something gentler than I heard from him yet. "Come on, Finn. Stay with us."

Finn's eyes stayed closed. His chest kept doing that awful, hitching thing, in and out, too shallow. Briar pressed harder, and something under her hands made a sound I wished I hadn't heard.

"He's losing too much!" she said. "We need a healer, now, not in five minutes…"

"Already sent for one," someone called from the treeline. "She's coming!"

"She's not fast enough!"

"Everyone back!" A new voice cut through all of it, older, heavier with authority than anything I heard since arriving. "Give her room!"

The crowd actually parted. I glanced up long enough to see a man built like Ronan but broader through the shoulders, gray threading through dark hair, eyes doing one sharp sweep of the whole scene before landing on his son.

"Report," he said.

"Don't know yet," Ronan said. "Cut wounds. Not claws."

The older man's jaw tightened, "Not rogue, then."

"No." Ronan said.

Silence dropped over that word like a weight nobody wanted to carry. I felt it settle in my chest too, cold and heavy, everyone in that clearing running the same grim math at once.

"Where's the healer?" the older man barked.

"Coming," Briar said. "Not fast enough."

He dropped down across from her, checking Finn's pulse himself, face unreadable in the firelight. For one long second, nobody breathed.

"Hold on," he murmured, low, to Finn, or maybe to himself. "Hold on, son."

Finn's eyes fluttered.

It happened so quickly I almost missed it,his eyelids twitching, then cracking open just barely, unfocused, sliding past faces he clearly recognized without landing on any of them. Briar leaned in close.

"Finn. Hey. You're okay, you hear me? Stay with us!"

His eyes kept moving. Past Briar. Past Micah. Past his own father, if that's who the older man was.

They landed on me.

I don't know what he saw. I don't know what my face was doing in that second, but something in his expression sharpened, like he was fighting through fog just to get one thing out.

"Finn." I leaned closer. "I'm here. What is it?"

His lips moved. Nothing came out at first, just a dry, cracked breath.

"Come on!" Briar begged. "Come on, say it!"

He tried again, barely audible, barely more than a whisper.

"Blood-orchid…”