Chapter 5

Chapter Five — The Ghost on Fifth Street

It was barely sunrise, but Crescent City was already buzzing with traffic and tension.

Riley sat in the passenger seat of Jaxon’s SUV, trying not to bite her nails — a habit she thought she’d broken years ago. The scent of city exhaust and wet pavement wafted through the cracked window, mixing with the underlying tang of supernatural anxiety.

Jaxon was unusually quiet as he drove. Focused. Controlled. Not in the cocky, self-assured way she’d first pegged him, but in the way someone gets when they know something ugly is waiting at the end of the road.

They were headed to Fifth Street — the city’s unofficial border between neutral wolf territory and what the Council called unclaimed land. In reality, it was a dead zone. Rogues, exiles, magic-users. No pack laws. No protection. And definitely no backup.

Exactly where Riley used to live.

“Are you sure this source of yours is reliable?” Jaxon asked without taking his eyes off the road.

“She was the only wolf who didn’t abandon me after the exile,” Riley muttered. “She runs an underground clinic for injured shifters. If anyone’s seen these attack victims up close, it’s her.”

“Name?”

“Romy.”

Jaxon nodded once. “And she won’t gut me on sight?”

“No promises. You do have that punchable Alpha face.”

He smirked. “You know you’re not as charmingly rebellious as you think.”

“Says the man whose idea of flirting is kidnapping.”

“Flirting?” he said, mock-offended. “Please. I haven’t even begun to flirt.”

“Good. Don’t.”

They pulled into a narrow alley lined with cracked bricks and neon signs in various languages. Riley climbed out first, scanning the rooftops. Fifth Street had eyes. Always had. You never walked in without being watched.

At the far end, a battered steel door sat beneath a flickering red light. Riley walked up and knocked three times — slow, fast, slow.

A slit opened in the metal.

A woman’s eyes narrowed from the other side. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Hi, Romy,” Riley said. “Missed you too.”

The door creaked open.

---

Romy looked like a ghost that had survived a fire and then lit another one just for fun.

Tall and sharp-eyed, she wore a dark trench coat with knives strapped to her thighs and silver rings on every finger. Her hair was coiled into dreadlocks streaked with blue, and her gaze lingered too long on Jaxon before she turned to Riley with arms crossed.

“You’re bleeding pack now?” she asked Riley.

“Hardly. I’m being babysat.”

“By him?” She glanced at Jaxon again. “Your standards dropped, girl.”

Jaxon raised a brow. “Pleasure to meet you, too.”

“Didn’t say it was mutual.”

Riley sighed. “Look, we need your help. You’ve seen the victims, right? The ones who were drained?”

Romy’s smirk vanished.

She turned and walked down the hall without answering. Riley and Jaxon followed, ducking beneath hanging sheets and makeshift lights. The clinic was small — a converted warehouse filled with cots, herbs, and barely functional IV drips. Most of the patients were quiet. A few whimpered in their sleep.

Then Romy stopped beside a curtained room. She pulled the fabric aside.

Inside lay a boy. No more than sixteen. Pale. Still. His arms were lined with thin, black veins that pulsed faintly. Across his chest — a burned symbol.

The rune.

Jaxon stepped forward. “Same mark.”

Riley nodded grimly. “I’ve seen it before.”

“But this…” Romy whispered, pointing to the boy’s wrist. “This is new.”

A second symbol had been added beneath the first. A small spiral with a jagged slash through it.

Riley stared.

She knew that mark.

She hadn’t seen it in five years.

Because it belonged to the only person who’d ever made her believe in pack bonds again.

Noah.

Her stomach dropped.

Jaxon noticed her expression shift. “You recognize it.”

Riley didn’t answer right away.

Romy narrowed her eyes. “Riley… that’s your old pack’s sigil, isn’t it? The one they retired after the council fire?”

Riley forced her voice to stay even. “It was his mark. The only tattoo he had. He used to carve it into wood when he was nervous.”

“Who’s *he*?” Jaxon asked.

“Someone I protected,” she said softly. “Someone I thought I’d never see again.”

She stepped closer to the boy. His breathing was shallow.

“You think Noah’s behind this?” Jaxon asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“I think…” Riley said slowly, “someone’s using his symbol. Either to call me out—or to blame him.”

“Either way, it means he’s alive.”

“And that changes everything.”

Romy handed Riley a crumpled envelope. “Someone left this last night. No name. Just your initials.”

Riley opened it. Inside was a note.

You didn’t burn alone. Follow the fire to the place we first howled.

Riley’s mouth went dry.

Jaxon leaned in. “What does it mean?”

“It means someone is digging up graves,” she murmured. “And they want me to follow the smoke.”

---

That night, back at the compound, Jaxon stood by the window in his office, watching the lights of Crescent City flicker in the distance.

“She’s hiding something,” Theo said behind him.

“She’s protecting someone.”

“Same thing.”

“Not always,” Jaxon replied. “Sometimes you lie to save people, not deceive them.”

Theo raised a brow. “You trust her now?”

“I trust that she’d set herself on fire before she let someone else burn. That counts for something.”

“You’re getting soft.”

“No,” Jaxon said. “I’m getting smart.”

Because Riley Hart wasn’t the threat.

But whoever marked that boy?

They wanted Riley looking over her shoulder.

And maybe — just maybe — they wanted Jaxon distracted.