Chapter 2: Beneath the Boards

ANWEN’S POV

Arlo was already moving around the room, grabbing things—my thick scarf, the small pouch of medicinal herbs for my fever and cough, an extra pair of socks. He stuffed them into a rough sack with hurried hands.

“Where are we going?” I asked, pushing the blankets aside and climbing to my feet.

He stopped and stepped closer.

“I have to take you to the sanctuary,” he said. “They can’t reach you there.”

My breath caught. My eyes widened before I could stop them.

The sanctuary.

Everyone in the forest knew about it—a hidden place the monsters couldn’t cross into. It had once been sacred to the Radiants, and their magic still lingered there, humming in the stones and soil. When danger crept too close, the women and girls were sent there to hide.

“But…” I began, my voice cracking, “that means we’ll be separated.”

Arlo shook his head immediately. “This is only temporary,” he said, cupping my face.

“The Resistance is planning something,” he added quickly, lowering his voice even though we were alone. “The villages… the survivors… we’re organizing. Soon we’ll be able to fight back. And when that happens… we’ll be together again.”

I wanted to believe him. I clung to the certainty in his voice like a rope thrown to someone already sinking.

So I forced a smile.

He pulled away, turned, and grabbed a bundle from the chair.

Clothes. His clothes.

He tossed them to me. “Wear these,” he said. “Hurry.”

I didn’t argue. I pulled them on, the fabric rough and smelling faintly of pine, smoke, and him. I tied my hair up, tucking every loose strand away.

Then he handed me a cloak—also his, heavy and worn. “Put this on.”

I knew why. He wanted me to look like a boy. Smell like one, too.

I pulled the hood over my head before we stepped outside into the cold, sharp night air. A covered wagon waited nearby, the same one he used when he bartered what he gathered or hunted.

I moved to climb up, but he caught my arm.

“Wait.”

Before I could ask why, he scooped a handful of damp earth from the ground and smeared it across my cheek, my forehead, even the bridge of my nose. It was cold and gritty, and I flinched, but he didn’t apologize.

Only when he was satisfied did he nod for me to climb aboard.

But instead of settling against the back like I usually did, I waited.

Arlo climbed up beside me and knelt, prying loose several wooden planks from the wagon floor. A narrow compartment opened beneath them—just big enough for someone small.

Our contingency plan.

The one I’d always prayed we’d never need.

He gestured.

I nodded. But before I slipped into that tight space, I threw my arms around him. He stiffened for a heartbeat before his own arms wrapped around me.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“Me too, Anwen,” he admitted. Then he pulled back, studying my mud-covered face. “I’ll see you when I can.”

I blinked back the tears. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, his mouth trembling slightly, as if weighing whether to say more.

But he said nothing.

He released me, and I swallowed before lowering myself into the compartment. My shoulders brushed the wood on either side as I curled my knees close to my chest.

Once I was inside, he replaced the planks carefully, sealing me in darkness.

A moment later something heavy thumped above me—a barrel.

The smell hit instantly. Fish. Strong, oily, suffocating.

I nearly gagged.

But it would hide my scent. That was the point.

Through the wood, I heard Arlo’s footsteps as he climbed down from the wagon. Then the creak of the driver’s seat.

A moment later, the wagon lurched forward. The wheels began to turn over the dirt path.

And hidden beneath planks and fish and darkness, I lay perfectly still while my brother drove us into the night.

I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep until the wagon jolted to a stop and my eyes flew open.

For a heartbeat, I didn’t know where I was. There was only darkness, the press of wood around me, and the suffocating stench of fish.

Then memory slammed back into place.

Hiding. The wagon. The sanctuary.

My heart began to pound as I strained to hear what was happening outside. I heard Arlo climb down from the driver’s seat, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud.

“Morning, good sirs,” he called out, his voice light—almost cheerful. “What can I do for you?”

A deep voice answered, low and rumbling. “Inspection.”

The single word made the blood drain from my face. It was the same word I had heard before those monsters tried to take Mama away.

“Of course,” Arlo said, still sounding maddeningly calm. “Please, go ahead.”

Then something heavy—too heavy to be human—thudded onto the back of the wagon. The wood groaned under the weight. I held my breath, terrified the floorboards would splinter and give me away.

I froze as the inspection dragged on. Every creak of the wagon tightened my muscles. The barrel above me shifted just enough to make my heart stop. I didn’t dare breathe.

Only when the footsteps finally moved away and the crushing weight lifted did I let out a slow, silent sigh.

“There’s nothing inside,” a deep voice announced.

But another voice spoke up—gruff, with a rasp that scraped like gravel. “Where are you going with these items?”

“I’m off to trade my catch,” Arlo replied.

“But this isn’t the way to the village market, boy,” the deep voice said.

Arlo didn’t miss a beat. “The village market isn’t my destination today.”

A pause. Too long. Too heavy.

Then the gruff voice asked, “What was in that sack over there?”

The air left my lungs. My things are in that sack.

Arlo’s voice cracked—just slightly. “Those… are just my personal belongings. You won’t find anything that would interest you.”

“Then there would not be a problem if I took a look,” the gruff one said.

My breathing turned ragged. I tried to quiet it, but my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

“You lied,” the deep voice growled. “These are all girl’s things.”

Arlo answered quickly. “I wasn’t lying. They’re mine. They were my mama’s. I meant to barter them.”

The gruff one laughed. “These rags?”

Then the deep voice cut in again. “Wait.” A sharp sniff followed. “Do you smell that?”

“That would be the fish, sir,” Arlo said.

The voice rumbled with a low grumble. “There’s something else… a faint scent.”

I didn’t hear what the other one said.

Because the next thing I knew, something slammed into the wagon. Hard.

The wagon tipped violently to one side, sending barrels crashing and wood splintering above me. My body slammed against the compartment wall as the floor twisted beneath me.

My shoulder hit wood, pain shooting down my arm. I wanted to yelp, not just from the shock but from the crushing pressure of the boards around me.

But I bit it back, clamping a hand over my mouth.

For one second, everything went still.

Then...

CRACK!

The wood above me splintered—shattered like dry twigs. Light burst in, and cold air rushed over me.

Before I could move, enormous hands seized me and hauled me out of the compartment.

The sudden brightness made my eyes water.

And then I was face to face with him. The tallest man I had ever seen.

Broad shoulders. Short dark hair. His brown gray steady and sharp. But what stood out most was the scar cutting across his left eye.

Beautiful in the way all the Scions were.

Beautiful… but a monster, nonetheless.

I caught a glimpse of retracting fangs, glinting in the rising sun. A Lycan.

The scream rose in my chest but never made it past my lips.

His mouth curved into a wolfish grin. He crouched slightly, studying me with a predator’s patience.

“Well, well,” he drawled, “what do we have hiding in here?”