Chapter 5

***THREE YEARS LATER***

Lyra

The recoil settled cleanly into my shoulder, absorbed by muscle and memory alike. Once, it had bruised me. Now, it obeyed.

I exhaled slowly and fired again.

The target downrange jolted, metal ringing sharp through the open space as the round punched dead center. Dust shook loose from the beams overhead, drifting in thin lines that cut through the range’s half-open ceiling.

Kyra, my wolf, stirred beneath my skin, her instincts coiling tight around Aegyris like a held breath—alert, listening, ready in ways I wasn’t. The power settled through her first, then me.

It wasn’t strength in the usual sense. It didn’t need effort or intention. It simply pressed outward, a quiet authority that made the space around me feel tighter—like everything was waiting for a choice I didn’t know how to make yet.

The hum stayed low, unfinished. I could hold it back, but I couldn’t shape it yet.

A low whistle sounded behind me.

“You’re still not beating my record,” a voice said, smug and far too pleased with itself.

I turned, arching a brow.

Jaxen leaned against a support beam a few steps back, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, curls plastered to his forehead. He’d been there awhile. Long enough to memorize my rhythm.

“Your record was set before I adjusted the sights,” I said, taking the bottle when he offered it. “That hardly counts.”

He scoffed. “Excuses.”

I twisted the cap and drank deeply. The water was cool, faintly mineral. “Funny,” I said, lowering it. “You didn’t sound so confident when we sparred yesterday.”

His ears flushed instantly. “That was different.”

“Mm.” A faint smile tugged at my mouth. “Because you lost.”

“I slipped.”

“You charged without thinking.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, scowling. “You didn’t boost the shot, did you?”

I shot him a look, but he grinned anyway. “Still scary.”

Jaxen was fifteen. All limbs and defiance, sharp-eyed and stubborn loyalty. His marksmanship was unnervingly precise for someone so young. He’d glued himself to me from the day I woke in Ashland, entirely convinced it was his duty to make sure I didn’t disappear.

Kael said it was because I reminded him of his sister. I thought it was survival sharpened too early.

Kael had found him unconscious in the woods nearly four years ago, blood soaked into the earth beside him. His sister lay a few feet away, already gone. They were just a family on a vacation, until robbers turned it into an execution. Their parents were shot first. His sister had dragged him into the trees, taken a bullet meant for him, and kept moving until she couldn’t.

When Jaxen woke up in Ashland, he never asked how she died. He already knew, because grief teaches faster than words.

“You’re getting better,” I said quietly. “Your footwork held this time.”

That earned me a reluctant grin. “You’re not so bad yourself for a Luna.”

I snorted. “Careful.”

“What?” He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hierarchy doesn’t scare you.”

“No,” I said, capping the bottle and handing it back. “It doesn’t impress me either.”

He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded, as if committing that truth to memory.

Ashland wasn’t beautiful in the way Thorneveil had been, but it worked.

When I’d first woken here, it had been survival stripped bare—patched roofs, makeshift med bays, children watching training drills with too-old eyes. Loss had been everywhere, quiet and sharp.

Now, months later, it had teeth, built on slow decisions, sweat, and quiet insistence.

A proper infirmary occupied the eastern wing, lights on day and night, stocked and staffed by wolves and humans who knew how to heal instead of simply endure. Children no longer hovered at the edges of weapons practice. Until thirteen, they went to school—real school—taught by elders and scholars who refused to let grief be the only thing they inherited.

Those who wanted to train did so by choice.

Wolves argued over logistics. Humans repaired engines. Patrols rotated with discipline instead of desperation. And everywhere I looked, there was motion with intent.

Leadership here wasn’t ceremonial.

My gaze drifted downrange, following the flight of my last shot and I caught myself reaching for my collarbone. My fingers brushed the small pendant resting just beneath my shirt—warm from my skin, familiar in a way nothing else was anymore. It was simple and unassuming, a thin piece of dark metal, hand-carved—my initials were etched into it.

Cassian had made it himself.

He gave it to me on an ordinary night, the kind we’d learned to treasure—no audience, no expectations. Just us. He fastened the clasp behind my neck, brushing his knuckles over my skin like he was memorizing it.

“So you don’t forget who you are,” he’d said softly. “The days when everything pulls at you.” His smile lingered in my mind, warm and unguarded.

The memory barely had time to settle before it burned.

Smoke choking the sky. My father’s voice breaking as he told me to run.

I remembered the moment clearly now—more clearly than I wanted to. I remembered slipping the neutrality bracelet off before I ran, letting the weight fall away with the world I had lost. My chest tightened at the thought; the bond that had once hummed steady between us now felt… frayed, like a string stretched too thin. It hadn’t fully recovered from that night.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away.

“You're thinking too hard again,” Jaxen said.

“Always,” I replied.

Before he could say anything else, boots approached from the left path, measured and unhurried. Kael emerged from between two storage structures, coat dusted with grit, expression alert but not alarmed.

“The Runners are back,” he said. “Supply route cleared. No losses.”

My spine snapped straight. “Anything interesting?”

“A little of everything,” he replied. “Enough to keep Elrik happy for weeks.”

That was saying something.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Jaxen fell into step beside me without being told.

The supply yard buzzed with movement when we arrived. Crates were being hauled down from transport vehicles—matte-black, reinforced, Ashland’s insignia stamped on the sides. Our soldiers moved in coordinated lines, cataloguing contents with quick efficiency.

Ammunition first. Then explosives, carefully sealed and secured. Replacement parts for engines, wiring spools, processors. Someone cheered when a crate marked OPTICS was opened.

Elrik was already knee-deep in parts. He had the weathered, silver-streaked look of a wolf who had long since traded the front lines for the workshop, but his broad shoulders still held that steady, high-ranking weight. He muttered reverently to a circuit board, his grease-stained fingers moving with a surgeon's focus.

“This will keep us running,” Kael said beside me. “At least for a while.”

“For a while,” I echoed.

That was the phrase Ashland lived by.

I scanned the inventory list—what had arrived, what hadn’t. The eastern farms had saved us on food, but fuel reserves were lower than I liked.

Ashland didn’t take what it wanted. We traded what we could, bartered what others overlooked, reclaimed what the world had abandoned. Every crate told a story of careful planning, long hours on treacherous routes, and decisions made where others would have hesitated.

I handed the list back to Kael. “We’ll need another run within the month.”

He glanced down at the papers, lips pressed together, brow faintly furrowed. Then his gaze lifted to meet mine. “I was thinking the same. There’s a settlement just west of Warden’s Pass. The Alpha's tough, tighter security—but their stockpile is exactly what we’re short on.”

Jaxen, who had been lingering nearby like a shadow, suddenly ducked under Kael’s arm “Scared pup alert! Did great Kael just call an alpha… tough?” he exclaimed, punching a fist into his palm.

Kael's eyes rolled dramatically. “Really, Jaxen?”

I raised an eyebrow, amused myself. “And you’ve been mulling that while I’ve been playing teacher to your little protégé here?”

He smirked, eyes flicking to me. “Somebody’s got to make sure you’re not having all the fun.”

“Smart,” I said, glancing over the inventory. “Security, hostile alphas, tight borders—I’ve managed worse.”

Kael gave me a quick, approving nod, still smiling faintly. “Then Warden’s Pass won’t faze you either.”

I allowed myself a slow exhale. “We’ll plan our next move,” I said, heading for the quarters. “Warden’s Pass won’t wait, and neither will we.”