CHAPTER ELEVEN

The path had narrowed again, barely wide enough for two, and the looming trees overhead closed in like silent sentinels. Rhea’s boots pressed into the damp forest floor, each step weighed with aching muscles and a mind swirling with doubts. Her journey had already stretched several days past what Mira had estimated, and hunger clawed at her stomach with more persistence than fear ever could.

Her stolen cloak clung to her shoulders, frayed at the hem, stained by bramble and mud. Beneath it, the heavy clothing she’d layered to bulk out her frame was growing uncomfortable in the warmer lowlands. Her back throbbed, and she longed for a fire—just a small one—to ward off the cold biting at her bones. But it wasn’t safe. Fire attracted attention. Light was exposure.

Still, her resolve held.

The peaks in the distance were clearer now, the vast, snow-patched ridges that marked the Academy’s mountain range like a wall between worlds. Somewhere up there was her chance—her only chance.

A rustle ahead broke the silence.

She froze. Every part of her stilled as the sound sharpened into low, masculine voices. Her heart leapt to her throat.

Quickly, she ducked behind the twisted bark of an ancient pine, just off the main trail. Her wolf stirred beneath the surface, tense, on edge. Ready to defend or flee.

“…I’m telling you, the next time he tries to shoulder past me like that, I’ll put him flat on his back,” came a loud, confident voice, its edge bristling with arrogance.

“Sure you will,” another laughed. “You couldn’t even take that kid from Frostpine. And he was, what, fourteen?”

More laughter followed.

Rhea’s eyes narrowed. Other recruits. Four of them, by the sound of it, moving at a leisurely pace. She caught glimpses of them through the undergrowth—lean and strong in the way of boys just entering adulthood, their postures loose but alert.

One of them wore a torn leather shoulder guard, the emblem of his pack just barely visible through scratches and grime. Another had a dagger openly strapped to his thigh—either confident enough to flaunt it or foolish enough to rely on it. Their voices were sharp, joking, occasionally cruel.

They walked like they owned the path.

She stayed hidden, heart pounding.

They’ll be suspicious if I follow. But if I fall too far behind… I’ll stand out more.

She didn’t have the strength for another ambush. She had barely escaped the last one.

Grinding her teeth, she stepped out onto the path behind them, keeping a cautious distance.

One of the boys turned almost immediately.

“Oi,” he called, eyeing her with the instinctive alertness of a predator. “Where’d you come from?”

Rhea lowered her hood just enough for her face to be visible in the fading light. She made sure her voice was calm, unbothered. “Been walking since dawn. Same trail, same destination.”

Another boy—a stockier one with a scar beneath his lip—gave her a once-over. “You lost?”

“Just behind,” she replied with a shrug.

The tallest of the group, a boy with wild, wind-tossed hair and a posture like a stretched bowstring, narrowed his eyes. “Name?”

She hesitated a breath. “Rian.”

It still felt foreign in her mouth, but she forced herself not to wince.

“Pack?”

“Lone.”

That earned a beat of silence. Then:

“Another rogue.” The one with the scar scoffed. “You loners always show up with a chip on your shoulder and get sent home in pieces after the first week.”

“Assuming they last a week,” the dagger-wielding boy added with a smirk.

Rhea said nothing. She let their laughter roll over her like rain over stone. Her heart thudded in her ears, but her face remained unreadable.

After a moment, the tall one gave a faint nod. “Fine. Walk with us, Rian. Let’s see if you make it farther than the last one.”

She fell into step just a few paces behind, carefully matching their stride. They didn’t bother introducing themselves, and she didn’t ask. That suited her just fine.

They spoke as they walked—about sparring techniques, old rivalries, girls they’d bedded or challenged or abandoned. Their bravado filled the space around them like smoke, choking out any room for doubt or softness.

“I heard they toss you into the Ring the first night,” said the dagger-wielder. “Bare-knuckle, no rules. First blood gets food. Loser gets dirt.”

“Bullshit,” Scar scoffed. “It’s second day. First night they rank you mentally—who’s smart, who’s a meathead. That’s how they decide who sleeps where.”

Rhea’s wolf pressed against her ribs, unsettled. She could feel the silent watchfulness in her blood, the primal awareness that came when surrounded by others not yet pack—but potentially dangerous.

The boys occasionally glanced back at her, measuring her in glances rather than words. They were looking for weakness, for hesitation. She offered none. She walked with her chin slightly tucked, shoulders back, posture masculine without being aggressive.

When the trail dipped into a narrow gorge, they moved single file, and she made sure to stay last—neither trailing too far behind nor positioning herself in a spot that could be seen as dominant.

She didn’t want their suspicion. She didn’t want their attention.

She wanted their disinterest.

By the time dusk settled fully, painting the forest in dusky blue and gray, the boys began muttering about rest. They veered off the trail near a small clearing, setting down their packs carelessly.

One lit a small flame, careful to keep it low. Another tore into a strip of jerky and tossed a second one Rhea’s way.

She caught it without hesitation, nodding once.

“Thanks.”

The boy grunted. “Don’t say I never gave a rogue anything.”

She didn’t respond. She chewed slowly, her stomach grateful even if her pride wasn’t.

“You’re quiet, Rian,” the tall one observed after a moment. He was crouched near the fire, sharpening a long, thin blade with casual ease. “Don’t like talking, or don’t like us?”

“Neither,” she said. “Just don’t waste words.”

That earned a faint smirk.

The tension around the fire thinned—not much, but enough. She wasn’t one of them, not truly. But she wasn’t a target either.

And that was enough for tonight.

As they settled into their cloaks, murmuring quietly about tomorrow’s miles, Rhea sat a little apart, facing the woods. Her back ached. Her hands were blistered. Her stomach still felt half-empty. But her expression remained composed, her eyes steady.

Blend in. Survive. Keep going.

She was among wolves now.

But she didn’t have to bare her teeth to endure them.