A Mind That Counts Heartbeats

They lost the first scout before the second watch ended. Kael didn’t send the southern patrol. He redirected half the guard west and ordered Dain to hold the ridge with only one rotating watch. Lexara said nothing.

Not when she overheard the orders.

Not when Bran pretended it was strategic oversight.

Not even when Eamon’s gaze flicked toward her across the fire like he was already bracing for what she’d say.

She didn’t need to say anything.

The outcome would speak louder.  They found the body just before dawn. Ripped clean through the side, throat mangled in a way only precision could explain. No blind frenzy. No desperate struggle. The kind of kill meant to leave a message: 

We see you.

We knew you would make this mistake.

Kael crouched beside the scout’s body, jaw locked tight, hands trembling from rage he couldn’t use. Bran stood stiffly behind him, calculating what story to tell the Alpha. Rurik paced like a caged animal. Dain said nothing, staring out across the tree line, visibly wrestling with guilt. Only Eamon looked at Lexara. She stood at the edge of the clearing, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

“You’re not going to say it?” Kael barked finally.

“Say what?” she asked.

“That you were right.”

Lexara shook her head once. “If being right could bring him back, I’d scream it from the ridge.”

Her voice was quiet. But the sting landed anyway. Kael straightened, fury simmering just beneath his skin. “This is what happens when little sisters play strategist.”

Lexara’s gold-flecked eyes met his. “This is what happens when brothers pretend instinct is a substitute for intelligence.”

FLASHBACK — Eight Years Ago

The training field was full of heat and noise—boys roughhousing, wrestling, learning to shift with fists and teeth instead of thought. Lexara was eleven, watching from the ridge. She wasn’t allowed to train with them. Not officially. Not with her frame, her gender, her blood still waiting for its first shift.

Kael laughed down below, dragging a younger Eamon into a mock throw. “Come on, pup! You’ve got to lead your hit!”

“Harder!” Dain barked. “Use your shoulder, not your neck!”

“Think less, move more,” Rurik added. “You’re not solving puzzles out here!”

Lexara tilted her head. But… that was exactly what they were doing. Movement. Counter. Reaction. Gap. Recovery. She saw the rhythm, not the fight. Father stood beside her, arms folded.

 “They underestimate you,” he said quietly.

“I’m smaller,” she replied. “And not allowed to train.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re seeing what they don’t. That’s training enough.”

She looked up at him. “Will they ever take me seriously?”

“When you stop asking,” he said.

Lexara watched Eamon try again—and fail again.

“I could tell him what he’s doing wrong,” she murmured.

Her father’s silver-ringed eyes gleamed. “So go show him.”

She stepped onto the field. Her brothers laughed—until Eamon landed his next throw perfectly. Because she told him where the rhythm broke. They never said thank you.

They never forgot, either.

PRESENT — AFTER THE DEATH

The clearing had fallen quiet. Kael and the others had begun making plans to cover their mistake—more patrols, new blame, tighter formations. Lexara turned and walked back toward the ridge. Eamon followed.

“Lex…”

She stopped, back to him. “Don’t apologize for them.”

“I’m not.” He hesitated. “I’m apologizing for me.”

She turned, expression unreadable. Eamon wasn’t as broad as Kael or as fast as Rurik. His power hadn’t fully settled yet. But he was the only one who watched her the way Father used to—like she was playing a longer game.

“I knew you were right,” he said quietly. “But I still didn’t back you.”

“You didn’t need to,” she replied. “The math would catch up.”

“That’s cold.”

“No,” she said. “That’s inevitable.”

A breeze swept the ridge. Her wolf ears twitched as silver mist curled faintly near her feet.

“Are you going to tell the Alpha?” he asked.

She looked toward the tree line, where the enemy had danced in and out like a whisper.

“No,” she said. “Let Kael sweat through the lie first.”

Her voice was soft. Controlled.

Then her eyes turned gold.

“But next time they ignore me—someone else will die. And that blood will be on purpose.”