Chapter Three – “The Stranger at the Scar”

Baylee hadn’t slept after the dream.

Her body felt like it had been rung like a bell — not bruised, exactly, but vibrating. She lay there until dawn, curled into Collin’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and the steady breaths he took, long and deep and even, because he only slept like that pressed against her. She should have felt safe.

Instead, she felt watched.

Not from the room.

From inside herself.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that not-quite-world again: the forest dipped in blue, the treeline stretched wrong, the smear of something almost-human pointing toward the scar like a warning or an invitation.

And she heard it again — her child’s voice. Clear. Steady.

Mama.

And then that other word that wouldn’t leave her alone.

Blood.

By the time morning touched the window, she’d chosen to tell no one.

Not yet.

Because she didn’t know what blood meant.

Because if she said it to Collin and it meant him, he would go to the scar and challenge the Veil itself like an idiot Alpha in love with dying noble. And if it meant her? He’d never let her walk again.

And if — Moon forbid — it meant the pup...

Baylee swallowed and rubbed the heel of her hand over her sternum.

No.

She wouldn’t think that.

Couldn’t.

Instead she told herself something simple and sharp: I’ll figure it out first. Then I’ll tell them.

That was the plan.

Plans, she was learning, rarely survived contact with Silverveil.

—

She slipped out of bed without waking Collin.

Usually that was impossible. The man could hear a leaf land crooked on the porch and be on his feet. But last night had actually wrung him dry. His lashes still rested against his cheek, jaw slack, mouth parted. He looked young like this. Breakable. Mortal, not Alpha. Hers.

Her chest ached.

“Sleep,” she whispered against his temple, pressing a kiss there. “I’ll be right back.”

That wasn’t a lie.

She would be right back.

Heather was going with her. That was practically the same thing as having a guarded escort and a live grenade.

She dressed quiet: leggings, boots, Collin’s flannel shirt that fell mid-thigh and still smelled like cedar and him. She pulled on a jacket over it, more for his future peace of mind than for warmth. Silverveil’s dawn air was cool, but not biting. The snowline clung only to the high ridges now; down in the valley, the trees were dripping new-green.

When she opened the bedroom door, Heather was already standing in the hall, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded and smug.

“Took you long enough,” Heather whispered.

Baylee blinked. “What are you—”

“Please,” Heather scoffed quietly. “You think I slept after you and Collin had your little ‘Baylee Elizabeth / stop calling me Baylee Elizabeth’ performance piece in front of breakfast and then you went stiff as stone in the middle of the night?”

Baylee winced. “Was I that obvious?”

Heather stared. “You made a noise, Bay.”

Baylee frowned. “What kind of noise?”

Heather’s mouth twisted. “Like ‘something touched my soul with claws.’ So. Y’know. Normal, healthy, restorative rest.”

Baylee swore under her breath. “Sorry.”

Heather waved a hand. “I didn’t say it was your fault. I said I’m nosy.”

“Mm,” Baylee hummed, then gave Heather a look. “You’re coming with me?”

“I’m stuck to you until Alpha Glares-a-Lot wakes up,” Heather said. “Melody says you shouldn’t ‘stress the womb.’ I say we should avoid giving Collin an aneurysm. Also, I get bored.”

Baylee snorted softly. “Thank you for your service.”

“I know,” Heather said modestly.

They slipped down the hall, soft on bare boards, past sleeping bodies. Silverveil didn’t waste space — there were wolves tucked in everywhere. Liam asleep half-shifted against the front door, one ear flicking. Melody passed out at the table, cheek on notes, ink on her face. One of the Frostfang sentinels (Rune’s cousin, Baylee thought) sprawled like a rug across the entry with a blanket over her shoulders and a dagger under her hand. Jessica on the couch with two of the triplets draped over her. Derik in a chair, upright, arms crossed, eyes closed but far from unaware.

This house was a throat full of heartbeats.

Safe.

Alive.

For now.

They stepped onto the porch.

Dawn air brushed Baylee’s face — crisp and damp, pine-scented. Birds had started up already, little flits of song, scattered and bright.

Heather stretched, joints popping. “Okay,” she said. “Confess.”

Baylee blinked. “Confess what?”

“The thing you’re not telling me.”

Baylee groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Do you have a built-in alarm for secrets now?”

Heather scoffed. “Please. I’ve always had that alarm. You’re just noticing because you can’t dodge anymore.”

Baylee leaned against the porch rail and let out a slow breath. “It’s getting worse.”

“The humming?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed. “It’s starting to feel… familiar.”

Heather’s brow creased. “Familiar how?”

Baylee hesitated.

And chose a half-truth.

“Like Jade,” she said softly.

That was true. It just wasn’t only true.

Heather’s face went cold. “Then we tell Collin and Melody and we lock this place down and salt the earth around the scar.”

Baylee shook her head quickly. “It’s not Jade.”

“You just said—”

“It feels like Jade,” Baylee corrected. “Not like Jade. Like memory. Like… residue? Like if you burned something and still smelled the smoke weeks later.”

Heather stared at her. “That’s not comforting.”

Baylee let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Didn’t say it was.”

Heather studied her for a long, steady moment. Then her voice dropped. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Baylee’s mouth went dry.

She swallowed.

And for a second she almost said it.

The pup spoke to me. The pup showed me the scar. The pup told me to keep Collin away. The pup said ‘blood.’

She almost said all of it.

But saying it would make it real. Saying it would take it out of the quiet between her ribs and put it in the air where other people could react to it. Question it. Fear it. See her baby as something other than a miracle.

No.

Not yet.

It sat heavy in her throat, and she pushed it down. “I’ll tell you,” she whispered. “I promise. Just… not yet.”

Heather didn’t like that.

Baylee could see it in the way her jaw flexed and her eyes narrowed and her fingers began that fast, angry tapping against her thigh. But Heather didn’t push. Heather didn’t push, because for all her mouth, Heather understood one thing better than anyone:

Sometimes trust is not “tell me everything now.”

Sometimes trust is “I’ll hold my blade between you and the world without asking why yet.”

Heather huffed. “Fine. I reserve the right to be smug later when I say ‘I knew something was up.’”

Baylee huffed a laugh. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They stepped off the porch and started toward the north treeline.

—

Past the main lodge, Silverveil softened into forest and slope. The paths were worn where patrols had moved back and forth over the last weeks, dirt dotted with wolf prints and human boot treads both. The trees leaned close, branches still dripping with last night’s moisture. Sunlight hadn’t fully broken through yet. The world felt blue and quiet.

Baylee’s senses were different now.

She kept discovering new edges to them.

Before, she smelled like any other wolf — layers of pine sap and water and musk and iron under fur. Heard like any good warrior — a twig snap, a pulled breath, a change in the wind.

Now, she felt in… pulses.

It had started after Jade. After the Veil. After she burned herself half to death and came back with something of that in her bones.

When she stepped closer to the scar, something old in the world turned and looked at her.

And she could feel that look.

Like a change in pressure.

Like a held breath.

Heather felt none of it.

Heather just saw Baylee stop moving.

They were maybe a hundred yards out. The air had thinned, turned colder. The trees here were the ones nearest the place Jade had torn through — taller than they should be, bark slightly wrong, with a faint sheen to them like someone had brushed the trunks with frost.

Heather halted beside her. “Bay?”

Baylee stared straight ahead.

“I feel it,” she whispered.

Heather slid her hand to her blade. “Where.”

“Everywhere.”

Heather grimaced. “Hate that.”

Baylee swallowed hard.

The hum was stronger now. She hadn’t imagined it yesterday. Or the night before. Or the night in the dream.

It wasn’t just humming the way a wire hums. It was pulsing.

Slow. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat, but not Collin’s, not hers, not the pup’s.

Other.

Something past the trees. Past the ward ring. Past the scar itself.

Something on the other side.

Watching.

Waiting.

Pressing.

The hair rose on her arms.

“Baylee,” Heather whispered, “you’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“This is the least ‘fine’ face I’ve ever seen on a living person.”

Baylee licked her lips. “Something’s different.”

“You want to go back and get Collin?”

“No.”

Heather choked. “You answered that fast.”

Baylee’s mouth quirked. “That was the fastest I’ve ever said ‘no’ in my whole life.”

“I’m proud, actually,” Heather muttered. “Growth.”

“Also he’d throw himself at it like a knife,” Baylee added.

“There it is,” Heather said. “There’s the real reason.”

Baylee took a breath. “I just… I want to see. Before he does. I need to know what we’re dealing with. This isn’t just about me anymore.”

Her hand drifted to her stomach.

Heather’s eyes softened.

“…Yeah,” Heather said quietly. “Okay.”

They moved.

Slow.

Careful.

Heather walked slightly ahead of Baylee without being asked — not blocking her, not shielding her, just there, close enough to put steel through anything that moved wrong.

That made Baylee’s throat burn, that kind of loyalty.

They crossed the first of the ward rings — faintly visible in the air like a ripple of heated glass. Melody had set them after the battle. Walking through felt like stepping through a curtain dipped in river water.

Then the second.

Then the third.

The air after the third ring felt thinner, colder. The way air feels on the edge of winter.

Baylee shivered.

“We’re close,” she murmured.

Heather nodded. “Stay behind me.”

Baylee didn’t argue.

She couldn’t.

Because they weren’t alone.

Even before the clearing opened, Baylee knew.

The hairs along her neck lifted. Her wolf came up fast inside her, ears forward, lips already curling. Her heart kicked, not in fear but in readiness.

Heather’s hand slid to Baylee’s hip, a silent stay back, while her other hand slipped her knife free.

They stepped out into the clearing.

And then they both just… stopped.

The scar was still there.

It wasn’t large — not anymore. It wasn’t the gaping wound it had been the day Jade ripped through. It was a slice now, a pale, faintly luminous seam in the air a few feet off the ground, like the world had been split and then healed with a stitch that didn’t quite match.

That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was what was kneeling in front of it.

Heather hissed, “Oh, hell.”

Baylee didn’t answer.

Her entire body had gone cold.

Someone was kneeling right in front of the scar. Bare knees in damp earth. Head bowed. Hands folded in front of their chest, fingers laced. Cloaked.

Not wolf. No scent.

Not human either.

At least — not just human.

They were wrapped in a cloak the color of stained bone, streaked with ash. The edges of it were burned, curled in places like whatever they’d crossed through had tried to sear them out of existence. Char separated from the seams and drifted in the air like slow-falling black snow.

Baylee swallowed.

The hum in the ground sharpened.

Her child stirred.

Not in fear.

In awareness.

Like recognition.

Oh no, she thought. Oh no, no, no.

Heather lifted her blade. “Stand up,” she called, voice clear and lethal. “Hands where I can see them.”

The figure didn’t move.

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “I said stand—”

“Wait,” Baylee whispered.

Heather flicked her a look. “We’re not ‘wait’ing at the creepy Veil altar.”

“Just — wait,” Baylee said again. “Please.”

Heather cursed under her breath. “Why do I listen to you. Why.”

Baylee took two slow steps forward.

At the movement, the kneeling figure lifted their head.

The hood fell back.

Baylee’s stomach dropped.

They weren’t old. She’d braced for old. Something ageless and brittle and terrifying. She’d braced for a witch or a priest or something out of Melody’s scorched book margins.

The face that looked back at her was… young.

Barely older than her. Maybe not even.

They were gaunt, cheeks hollow, eyes sunken like they hadn’t slept in days. Their skin was pale in that way that wasn’t natural pale but wrong pale — like bone under stretched wax. Faint veins ran at their temples like lines of silver ink. And their eyes—

Their eyes glowed.

Not like Jade’s violet glow. Not like the Moonmark silver. This was something else.

Pale, almost colorless irises with a light behind them, like frost catching sunrise.

When they saw Baylee, they inhaled.

Not like they were surprised.

Like they’d been holding their breath waiting for her to arrive.

Then they spoke.

Their voice was rough, scraped raw by smoke and travel, but there was reverence in it. Worship, almost.

“Shield-Mother,” they whispered.

Baylee felt the world tilt.

Her pulse slammed against her throat. “What did you just call me?”

The figure bowed their head again. “Shield-Mother. The one who broke the Queen of Violet. The one who carries the New Light.”

Heather’s grip on her knife went white-knuckled. “Bay,” she hissed, “get behind me.”

Baylee couldn’t move.

Her entire body had gone hot and cold at once. The hum in the ground was a living thing now — not a pulse, a drone. It filled her bones. It filled her teeth. It filled the space behind her eyes. Her skin felt too tight.

The New Light.

They mean the baby.

They mean my child.

Her stomach turned.

Her instincts screamed: run. Take Heather. Take Collin. Take the pup. Hide. Lock the doors. Burn the world.

But she didn’t run.

Because if something had crawled through the scar — had survived crossing — just to kneel…

Running would solve nothing.

Running would just mean not knowing.

And Baylee Vale was done not knowing.

She took another step forward. “Stand up.”

The figure hesitated — then obeyed.

They were shaky. Thin. When they straightened fully, the cloak fell open enough to show torn clothes underneath. Not armor. Robes? Wraps? Hard to tell. Whatever it had been, it hadn’t been made for this world. The seams were weird, cut on angles that didn’t match human tailoring.

Heather muttered, “I hate this. I hate all of this. I hate everything.”

Baylee didn’t take her eyes off the stranger. “How did you get through?”

The stranger’s expression didn’t change. “The seam is weak from the tearing.”

Weak.

Baylee’s stomach clenched. “It’s sealed.”

“It’s sleeping,” the stranger said simply. “Sleeping is not sealed.”

Baylee’s mouth went dry.

She heard her pup’s warning again in memory.

Stay away.

Heather swore softly. “Melody’s gonna throw up.”

Baylee swallowed. “Who are you?”

The pale eyes lifted again.

“I am called Ash,” they whispered. “We are watchers.”

Baylee’s skin prickled. “We?”

Ash’s mouth twitched. “For now, only me. Others wait. The seam won’t let them pass without burning. I was allowed, because I am already burned.”

Heather’s eyes flicked around the clearing like she expected “others” to just drop out of trees. “Awesome,” she muttered. “So we’ve got more. Perfect. Love that.”

Baylee forced her voice to stay steady. “Why are you here?”

Ash looked straight at her stomach.

Baylee went very still.

“Because We felt the New Light stir,” Ash whispered.

Baylee’s heart stumbled painfully. “Don’t,” she said, and her voice came out low, sharp, dangerous. “Do not look there.”

Ash dropped their gaze immediately.

That threw Baylee.

Obedient. So fast. No fight. No arrogance. No Jade-like predator play.

Fear, yes.

But not of Baylee.

Of failing her.

Her skin crawled.

Her voice was quieter when she tried again. “Why are you here?”

Ash swallowed, throat bobbing in that too-thin neck. When they spoke again, their voice shook.

“To warn you, Shield-Mother. Before He comes.”

Heather tensed. “He who?”

Ash turned, slowly — not toward Heather, but toward the pale stitch of the scar itself.

“This place,” Ash whispered. “Your world. It isn’t closed the way you think.” Their eyes flicked back to Baylee. “You stopped the Queen. You burned her from both sides. You closed the mouth she opened. That woke Him.”

Baylee’s pulse spiked. “Who.”

Ash’s gaze went distant. Reverent and terrified in the same breath.

“We called Him the Hollow King,” Ash breathed. “Before we stopped calling Him at all.”

Baylee’s stomach knotted. “Is He a god?”

Ash’s expression flickered. “He is what gods turn into when they’re left in the dark too long.”

Heather swore. “This just keeps getting better.”

Baylee forced herself to breathe. “Why me.”

That answer came without hesitation.

“Because He heard you,” Ash whispered. “When you screamed no.”

Baylee felt something cold walk down her spine.

She remembered it — the moment in the Midway, Jade tearing into her, the Moon pushing, destiny clawing, and Baylee standing there, throat shredded, body on fire, daring the sky itself to try and take her.

No.

“No,” she had said.

Not to Jade.

Not to the Moon.

To all of it.

Ash nodded, seeing that answer move through her face. “You said no,” they whispered. “And something old… listened. He’s hungry. He smells breakage. He thinks you’re how He gets through.”

Baylee’s stomach twisted. “Through the scar.”

Ash swallowed. “Through you.”

Heather took one fast, shaking step forward, blade up. “Over her dead body.”

Ash’s hollow-lit eyes flicked to Heather, then back to Baylee. “Over both,” they whispered.

Baylee’s blood iced.

“Blood,” she breathed.

Her pup’s voice.

Blood.

Her legs almost gave.

Heather’s free hand snapped out and grabbed Baylee’s elbow to steady her, jaw tight, eyes flaring with alarm. “Bay? Bay. Hey. Stay with me. What is it?”

Baylee couldn’t look away from Ash.

Her mouth felt too dry to speak. “Say that again.”

Ash frowned faintly, confused, like they hadn’t quite understood their own words. “He will need blood,” they whispered. “Yours. The New Light’s. Either would open. Both would hold.” Their throat flexed. “He will take the easiest path offered.”

Baylee heard the words.

She almost threw up.

Either.

Both.

Her. The baby.

He’ll take the easiest path offered.

Her stomach lurched so violently she had to brace a hand there to steady herself.

Her hand shook.

Heather saw.

Everything playful about her face vanished, replaced by something sharp. “We’re leaving,” she said. “Now.”

Baylee swallowed. “Not yet.”

“Baylee—”

“Not yet,” Baylee snapped.

Ash flinched.

Heather stared. “Are you kidding me? Absolutely not. We’re taking you back to Collin and Melody and the scary Frostfang aunties and putting seven knives between you and that seam until we figure out if this thing’s lying.”

Ash bowed their head deeper. “I do not lie.”

“You’re from a tear between realms and your eyes glow like haunted ice,” Heather said flatly. “I don’t think ‘trust me’ is on the table.”

Baylee forced her voice calm again. “When?”

Ash blinked. “When?”

“When does he come,” Baylee whispered. “When does this ‘Hollow King’ try to get through.”

Ash hesitated.

Then: “Soon.”

Baylee stared at them.

Her heart beat like war drums.

“Define ‘soon,’” Heather said through her teeth. “Soon as in ‘before we finish breakfast’ or ‘before winter?’ Because those are very different levels of panic.”

Ash frowned, thinking — or listening to something Baylee couldn’t hear.

Their eyes fogged, just for a heartbeat.

When they cleared again, Ash swallowed, and their voice dropped to something like awe and horror in one.

“He’s already moving,” they whispered.

Baylee’s chest clenched. “From the other side?”

Ash shook their head.

“From yours.”

Heather cursed softly. “Nope. No. Absolutely not. We’re done here.” She grabbed Baylee’s wrist. “We’re leaving now.”

Baylee didn’t argue this time.

She couldn’t.

Her legs felt like they were made of water and ice and fire all at once.

As Heather pulled her backward, Ash dropped hard to both knees again like their strength had gone out all at once. Their head bowed, shoulders trembling.

“I’ll wait,” Ash whispered. “For your answer.”

Baylee stumbled. “My… what?”

Ash lifted their head just enough to look at her through tangled hair.

“For whether you’ll give Him what He wants,” they whispered.

Heather actually choked. “OH, WE’RE DONE, WE’RE SO DONE, WE’RE GOING NOW.”

“Because,” Ash added softly, like a prayer, “if you don’t, Shield-Mother, He’ll take it.”

Baylee’s entire world rang.

Her wolf snarled so hard inside her it hurt.

Her pup — her baby — flared so bright and hot she almost screamed.

STAY AWAY.

This time the feeling wasn’t just protective.

This time it carried something else with it.

Not fear.

Rage.

So much rage it shook her bones.

Baylee staggered.

Heather swore and got an arm around her waist, hauling. “Walk.”

Baylee walked.

She kept her eyes on Ash until the trees swallowed them. She didn’t look away even once.

Ash kept their head bowed.

Watching without looking.

Waiting like a supplicant waiting at a temple door.

Shield-Mother.

New Light.

Blood.

He’ll take it.

Her mind ran in circles, heartsick and furious.

Heather didn’t speak again until they’d cleared the first ward ring and Baylee’s breathing had evened out enough to not sound like panic.

Then, carefully, low: “Okay. You’re telling Collin, right?”

Baylee swallowed.

Her throat felt raw. “Not all of it,” she whispered.

Heather stopped dead. “Bay—”

“I’ll tell him about Ash,” she said. “And the Hollow King. And that the scar isn’t sealed. I’ll tell Melody, too. We’ll lock this whole territory down. We’ll get ready.”

“And the part where a death god wants to carve you open like a gate?” Heather hissed. “The part where he said ‘blood’ like he was reading a grocery list? The part where whoever this is wants either you or the pup or both? That part, you’re not going to mention?”

Baylee’s hands shook.

Her eyes burned.

She felt suddenly, viciously protective in a way that had nothing to do with her own life.

“If I tell him that part,” she whispered, “he’ll put me in a room and never let me leave again. He’ll post guards. He’ll turn this house into a cage and the pack into a wall. He’ll stop sleeping entirely. He’ll break himself trying to stop something we don’t understand yet.”

Heather’s jaw worked.

Baylee swallowed hard. “I can’t let him do that again, Heather. He barely survived me being gone last time. If he thinks this thing is coming for me — or for the baby — he’ll tear himself to pieces before the Hollow King ever gets close.”

Heather was quiet a long moment.

Finally, very softly: “And what about you?”

Baylee’s laugh came out broken. “I tear either way.”

Heather’s face twisted.

“Listen to me,” Baylee whispered, voice shaking. “This is not me keeping secrets because I don’t trust him. I trust him with everything I am. This is me buying us time to figure out how to kill something like that before he throws himself in front of it.”

Heather swallowed. “Bay—”

“Please,” Baylee begged. “Please, Heather. I’m asking you. Don’t tell him what Ash said about blood.”

Heather shut her eyes.

She nodded once.

But when she opened her eyes again, they were wet and hard. “I’ll keep quiet now,” she whispered. “But if I even think you’re in danger, I will personally drag you over my shoulder to Collin and rat you out in the loudest possible way.”

A weak sound left Baylee that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s fair.”

“And,” Heather added, voice low and fierce, “don’t you dare ever again tell me I can’t come with you.”

Baylee smiled without humor. “Deal.”

They kept walking.

Heather’s grip stayed firm on her wrist the whole way back — not yanking, not dragging, not controlling.

Anchoring.

Under Baylee’s skin, the hum slowly settled, lowering from a scream to a growl.

But the words didn’t fade.

He’s already moving.

From your side.

Blood.

He’ll take it.

She swallowed hard and brushed a hand low over her stomach.

A soft warmth pulsed back at her palm.

Not words this time.

Just quiet, fierce, stubborn mine.

Hers.

Theirs.

Protected.

For now.

“Okay,” she whispered under her breath, almost too soft for Heather to hear. “Okay, baby. Okay, little light. I hear you. I hear you. I’m not letting anything touch you.”

Heather glanced sideways, curious. “You say something?”

Baylee forced a smile. “Just talking to myself.”

Heather snorted. “That’s new.”

Baylee didn’t answer.

Because part of her — the part that had walked between the worlds and come back carrying a mark no goddess could scrub off — already knew the truth she wasn’t saying out loud yet:

She wasn’t talking to herself.

Not anymore.

She was talking to the one thing in this world — and maybe the next — that she would burn the world down to protect.

Her child.

Her New Light.

Her pup.

Her weapon, if the Moon had her way.

Her shield, if Baylee had hers.

When they stepped back into view of the lodge, Liam straightened from the porch and narrowed his eyes at them.

“Morning,” he called casually. “So. On a scale of ‘everything’s fine’ to ‘Melody needs to start chanting,’ how bad is it?”

Heather and Baylee answered at the same time.

Heather: “Normal. Totally fine. Very chill.”

Baylee: “We have a problem.”

Liam winced. “Great. Wonderful. Love consistency.”

Behind him, Collin stepped into the doorway.

He wasn’t dressed yet — just sweatpants, bare chest, hair mussed, eyes still a little sleep-hazy. He should’ve looked harmless.

He didn’t.

Because the second he saw Baylee at the tree line with Heather as an escort and no warning… the softness vanished.

Alpha dropped into his bones like a shadow.

“Bay,” he called, voice steady but already edged. “What happened?”

Baylee swallowed, heart pounding.

Time to choose.

Time to lie — just a little — to the man she loved to the point of ache.

Time to tell him enough truth to prepare them without giving him a target that would make him go to war alone.

She squared her shoulders. “There’s someone here,” she said. “From the other side.”

Collin’s eyes went lethal.

Liam swore.

Heather muttered, “And here we go.”

Baylee took a breath.

“And that’s not the worst part,” she finished quietly.

Collin went very, very still. “Then what is?”

Baylee met his eyes, and for the first time since waking from the coma, she let him see the fear.

“There’s something else coming,” she whispered. “Something older than Jade. Something hungry.”

Collin’s jaw flexed. “From the Veil?”

Heather inhaled.

Baylee didn’t blink.

“No,” she said softly.

“From here.”

His face changed.

The whole morning shifted.

Silverveil’s air felt suddenly thinner. Colder. Sharper.

Liam’s hand went to his throat, where his own mark sat.

Heather’s knuckles whitened.

And Collin — Collin stepped down off the porch like thunder taking human form.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snarl. He didn’t demand. He just moved, calm and deadly.

“Inside,” he said. “Now. Everyone. We’re locking this territory down.”

He looked at Baylee last.

His voice softened.

“Baylee Elizabeth,” he murmured.

Her jaw clenched.

He touched her cheek, thumb brushing under her eye.

“You,” he said, quiet and unshakable, “aren’t leaving my sight again.”

And in that moment, standing there under the gray-blue morning, with Heather trying not to vibrate out of her skin and Liam already thinking through patrol rotations and the hum under her bones answering in a slow warning pulse, Baylee realized something she hadn’t said — even to herself.

This wasn’t just about keeping the Hollow King out.

This was about keeping Collin alive once he knew the cost.

Because if there was one thing in all the worlds more dangerous than a god in hunger…

…it was her mate deciding he’d bleed first.

And the Hollow King wanted blood.

Hers. The baby’s. Collin’s.

Any.

All.

The easiest path.

Her hand slid to her stomach again — protective, possessive, shaking.

Not yours, she thought, fierce and trembling.

Never yours.

Out loud, she said, steady as she could, “Okay. Let’s talk.”

And she walked past him into the house without looking back at the trees.

But she felt them.

She felt the scar awake and listening.

And she felt Ash still kneeling alone in the dirt at the edge of the world.

Waiting for her answer.