Chapter 6

Chapter Six — Where We First Howled

The abandoned train yard on the East End had once been a sanctuary.

Before Crescent City swallowed it in progress and concrete. Before Riley lost everything.

Now it was a skeleton. Rusted rails. Graffiti-stained train cars slouched off their tracks like tired animals. Grass clawed through cracked gravel. The ghosts of wild nights whispered through the empty space.

Riley hadn’t stepped foot here in five years.

And yet, as she and Jaxon crossed the fence line, her body remembered the path by instinct—like an old scar that still throbbed in the rain.

Jaxon walked beside her without speaking, for once knowing better than to fill the silence with questions. The sun was beginning to sink behind the city skyline, spilling long shadows across the train yard like fingers reaching backward.

“This is where we used to come,” Riley murmured. “When we needed to disappear. Noah and I… we weren’t like the others. He couldn’t shift properly. Always said his wolf was broken.”

Jaxon glanced at her. “That why you protected him?”

“I protected him because he was kind. Because he didn’t belong in a world that punished weakness with exile.”

She stopped at a gutted train car tagged in spray paint. Faded blue and red. The back door had been welded shut. But the side panel had her mark carved into it — old, scratched, barely visible.

R.H. + N.S.

Packless. But not alone.

“I was sixteen the first time I shifted,” Riley said softly. “It was in that car. He stayed with me all night. Talked me through the pain. Didn’t let go even when I snapped and bit him.”

Jaxon’s voice was quieter than usual. “He sounds like someone who mattered.”

“He was someone who mattered. Until Elias came.”

A pause.

Then Riley placed her hand on the metal wall—and it slid open.

Jaxon raised an eyebrow. “Hidden latch?”

“No. Just a stubborn memory and a trick hinge.”

Inside, the car was exactly as she remembered. Old blankets. A lantern. A tin box filled with trinkets. But now, there was something new.

A fresh scent. Recently.

Wolf.

Jaxon tensed immediately. “We’re not alone.”

Riley nodded and stepped inside.

On the far side of the train car, tucked beneath the metal bench, was a rolled-up canvas. Riley pulled it out. It was a painting. Rough. Charcoal and oil. It showed a wolf standing in a firelight. Alone. With a mark carved across its chest.

Jaxon crouched next to her. “That’s your mark.”

She flipped it over.

On the back was a single phrase:

*“I saw you burn. I waited anyway.”*

Her hands trembled.

“It’s his handwriting,” she whispered.

“You think it’s really from Noah?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But whoever left this… they’ve been here recently. Within days.”

Suddenly, a sharp clatter echoed from outside the car.

Jaxon moved before she could blink, shifting into full alert, claws out, stance low. Riley followed, pressing against the door’s edge. The shadows outside had thickened. Something — someone — was moving between the cars.

Jaxon sniffed the air. “Wolven. But faint. Muddled.”

“Could be a cloaking ward.”

He nodded. “Circle around. I’ll cut them off.”

Riley darted left, circling wide along the rails, keeping low. Her wolf itched to the surface, but she held it back. Whoever this was, they were trying not to be seen — and that meant they had something to hide.

She rounded the edge of a freight car and froze.

A figure stood by the far gate.

Tall. Hooded. Watching.

Riley’s pulse kicked into overdrive.

“Noah?” she called, barely louder than breath.

The figure didn’t answer.

Instead, it raised one hand — palm open — and revealed something small. It floated for a second, glowing softly, before it dropped to the ground.

Then the figure turned and sprinted.

“Hey—!” Riley chased, but the figure slipped through the fence like smoke, vanishing into the city blur beyond.

Jaxon was by her side in seconds. “You saw them?”

“I think so.” Her voice shook. “I think it was him.”

She bent to pick up the object he dropped.

It was a coin. Old. Silver. Burned with a rune and etched with one word in Ancient Lupine.

"Divide."

Jaxon frowned. “You know what it means?”

She nodded, pale. “It’s a challenge. A warning.”

“To you?”

“No.” Riley’s grip tightened. “To us.”

---

Later that night, back at the Vale compound, the coin sat on Jaxon’s desk under a bright lamp. Theo examined it with gloves.

“It’s laced with residual power,” he muttered. “And I don’t like the language. This isn’t just old pack speech. It’s forgotten speech.”

Lena leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Then someone’s trying to rewrite the rules.”

Jaxon didn’t respond.

He was looking at Riley.

She hadn’t said a word since they returned. Just stared out his office window like the city held its breath with her.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She didn’t look at him. “He waited for me. All these years. While I ran. While I lied. And now… I don’t even know if he’s warning me or setting me up.”

“Then we find out,” Jaxon said.

She turned to him. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because whatever this is,” he said, “it’s bigger than just you. It’s after the pack. And maybe… maybe you were never the enemy. Maybe you’rethe key.”

Riley didn’t reply.

But in her chest, something ancient stirred.

A memory. A bond.

A howl buried in silence for too long.