Traces of Trouble.

Keon’s POV

The sound of Winter's scream reaches me before I do.

It does not echo like normal sound.

It hits me like impact.

Like something physically snapping inside my chest.

The bond flares violently at the same time, sharp and unfiltered, and for half a second everything in me goes completely still before it explodes into motion.

I am already moving before my mind finishes the thought.

“Winter.”

Her name leaves my mouth low, controlled, but it does not match what I feel.

Fuck.

The hallway stretches out in front of me as I run.

Too long.

Too slow.

Every step feels like it is being dragged through resistance, like the palace itself is trying to delay me.

My hand hits the door hard enough that the frame shakes.

I do not wait.

I push inside.

The air inside the room is wrong the moment I enter.

Not empty.

Not quiet.

Distorted.

Like something has pressed itself into the space and is refusing to fully exist in it.

My eyes find her instantly.

Winter is on the bed.

Half turned.

Her body is tense in a way that does not belong to fear alone anymore, it is survival instinct, locked and rigid. Her hands are clenched into the sheets, her breathing uneven, shallow, like she is trying not to make noise.

Her eyes are fixed on something behind her.

Something I cannot fully see.

But I feel it.

Pressure.

Presence.

Wrongness.

It is not natural.

My wolf rises immediately under my skin, low and aggressive, pushing against control.

“Get away from her,” I say.

My voice is steady, but it carries weight that shifts the room.

Winter flinches at the sound, her gaze snapping to me for half a second before returning to the space behind her like she is afraid to turn too far.

Good.

She is still conscious.

Still aware.

Still here.

That is enough to keep me anchored.

I step further into the room.

Slow.

Controlled.

Every part of me focused.

The presence reacts immediately.

The air tightens.

Not physically, but perceptibly, like the room itself is aware of being watched.

I do not look away from the space behind her.

“Show yourself,” I say again.

Nothing answers.

But I feel it move.

Closer.

Winter’s breath catches behind me, and through the bond I feel her fear spike again, sharp and immediate, but layered underneath it is something else.

Trust.

She is holding on to me.

Good.

Because whatever is in this room is not something she can handle alone.

My hand lifts slightly at my side, fingers curling, not yet attacking, just preparing.

I am not guessing anymore.

I am tracking.

The air shifts again.

This time I see it properly.

Not fully formed.

Not visible in the normal sense.

But a distortion, like space bending around something that refuses to take shape properly.

My jaw tightens.

Whatever this is, it is not standard rogue behavior.

It knows how to hide.

And it knows how to stay close without being seen.

That alone tells me it is trained.

Or worse.

My instincts sharpen further.

I take one step forward.

The moment I do, Winter makes another sound.

Small.

Broken.

And it is enough.

Something behind her moves.

Not fully revealing itself, but reacting to her fear.

That is all I need.

My control snaps into place.

I move.

Fast.

Direct.

My hand shoots forward toward the distortion, cutting through the space where I know it is anchored.

The air reacts violently.

Like something has been forced to collide with reality.

A pressure wave ripples through the room.

Winter screams again, louder this time, and I feel it in my bones more than I hear it.

That is when it becomes real.

There is contact.

Not fully visible.

But physical enough that I feel resistance against my strike.

My claws extend instantly, wolf pushing forward as instinct takes over fully.

“Now,” I snap under my breath.

I twist my hand, forcing pressure into the space.

The distortion breaks.

Not cleanly.

Not completely.

But enough that something is thrown backward, slamming into the far side of the room with enough force to make the furniture shift violently.

The air clears slightly.

For the first time, I see it.

Not fully.

Not clearly.

But enough.

A shape.

Humanoid.

Cloaked.

Its edges unstable, like it is struggling to maintain form inside my territory.

My eyes narrow.

So it is not just hiding.

It is maintaining concealment through force.

Winter is still on the bed behind me, breathing unevenly, frozen in place.

“Do not move,” I say without turning.

She obeys instantly.

Good.

I step forward again.

The creature shifts.

Fast.

Too fast.

It moves like it is trying to escape the room rather than fight me directly.

That tells me everything I need to know.

It did not come here to win.

It came here to reach her.

My wolf growls low in my chest.

I close the distance instantly.

The second I reach it, I grab it.

The contact is not normal.

It resists.

Not like flesh.

Like layered resistance, as if it is not fully anchored in this plane.

My grip tightens anyway.

“Wrong place,” I say coldly.

And I slam it into the wall.

The impact cracks through the room.

Whatever illusion it was maintaining flickers violently.

Winter gasps behind me.

The creature struggles, but I do not let go.

Not yet.

My control is absolute now.

This is not negotiation.

This is removal.

And then it tries something.

A pulse.

Sharp.

Directed.

My senses flare instantly.

It is trying to disrupt the bond.

To weaken focus.

To destabilize me.

My reaction is immediate.

I tighten my grip and force my energy through the connection, crushing the attempt before it fully forms.

The creature jerks.

I lean closer.

My voice drops.

“You came into my territory,” I say quietly. “Into my palace.”

The air around us feels heavier now.

Controlled.

Dominated.

“And you thought she would be unprotected.”

Behind me, Winter is breathing hard, but she is still there.

Still conscious.

Still safe.

That is all that matters.

The creature struggles again, but weaker now.

My hold does not loosen.

Not even slightly.

And in that moment, I make a decision.

This does not leave this room alive.