Chapter Two – “Echoes in the Dark”

Baylee wasn’t used to being watched by her own pack.

But that was what it felt like now.

Every time she walked through the center of Silverveil — slow, steady, wrapped in Collin’s old hoodie because she still ran too cold — wolves paused what they were doing to look at her. Not in judgment. Not in pity.

In awe.

Respect made her itch.

Respect made her feel like she wasn’t allowed to fail.

Heather said it would fade. Melody said it wouldn’t. Collin said nothing.

That, lately, was the problem.

The quiet between them was getting sharper.

Day by day.

Thread by thread.

By the end of the seventh week since she’d woken, it finally snapped.

—

It started at breakfast.

Jessica had made venison stew and flatbread and something sweet that tasted like honey and clove. Melody had set out a row of tonic cups like she always did when she thought Baylee wasn’t getting enough rest. The triplets hovered by the stairs doing a terrible job pretending not to eavesdrop. It should’ve been peaceful.

And it almost was.

Until Liam came in.

He was in Beta mode — posture tense, eyes focused. “We found something,” he said, addressing Collin first, out of habit.

Collin set down his mug. “Where?”

“North treeline. Past the second ward ring.” Liam looked tired. “Looked like… ash. But not from fire. It’s not burning. It’s just… there. Sitting in the air.”

“Shape?” Collin asked.

“Not natural.” Liam’s jaw tightened. “Looks like a person stood there a long time and then wasn’t a person anymore.”

Heather stopped mid-sip. “Uh. Sorry, what?”

Baylee went still.

Her pulse picked up. That hum low in the ground — the one she’d been hearing alone — shivered in response, like soundless static under her ribs.

Melody swore softly. “Any scent?”

Liam shook his head. “No scent, no tracks. Whatever it was didn’t walk there. It just… appeared.”

That was when Baylee said, without thinking: “It’s testing the border.”

Liam turned to her. So did Melody. So did Heather.

So did Collin.

Baylee realized too late that she shouldn’t have sounded that sure.

She swallowed. “I mean. I think it’s—”

“How do you know that?” Collin’s voice was low. Controlled.

“I don’t,” Baylee said quickly.

“Baylee.”

“Collin, I just—”

“Baylee Elizabeth.”

Her jaw tightened.

Heather made eye contact with Melody and mouthed, Oh no.

He only pulled her full name out when he wasn’t just being protective. He did it when he felt like she was keeping something from him.

He wasn’t wrong.

She just didn’t like hearing it.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

Baylee stared at the table.

The truth sat on her tongue, cool and coiled, asking to be let out.

She didn’t let it.

Instead she said, “I’ve been feeling… something. At the scar in the Veil. Like it’s breathing. Watching. Reaching. The… ash? That’s not distance. That’s contact.”

Melody’s forehead creased. “You’re sensing it again?”

Baylee nodded.

“How long?” Collin asked.

“Does it matter?” she deflected.

“Baylee.”

She exhaled slowly. “Since the night of the storm.”

Heather blinked. “The storm a few nights ago?”

Collin’s grip tightened around his mug. “That was four days ago.”

“Yeah,” Baylee said.

“You’ve been feeling activity at the tear for four days.” His voice was so calm it made her stomach twist. “And you didn’t tell me.”

There it was. The snap.

The air changed. Small, tight. Charged.

Liam looked like he wanted to disappear.

Melody looked like she wanted to sedate both of them, purely for her own stress levels.

Heather quietly pushed her bowl away and muttered, “I’m just gonna… casually go check the hallway for, uh, threats,” and then did not leave.

Baylee took a breath. “I didn’t think it was anything at first.”

“Baylee—”

“Collin, I didn’t know,” she snapped. “It’s not like there’s a manual for ‘Congratulations, you survived the Moon and now the earth hums at you.’”

He flinched like she’d hit him.

Her chest hurt instantly. Damn it.

“You could’ve told me anyway,” he said quietly. Too quietly. That was worse than yelling. “You could’ve said something was off.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” she said.

“Too late,” he answered.

Something hot and frustrated rose in her throat. “What do you want me to say? ‘Hey, honey, good morning, the tear between worlds is vibrating like a live wire and I’m the antenna?’ Is that the talk we’re having over breakfast with sweet bread?”

He didn’t laugh.

“Baylee Elizabeth,” he said, “you don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

Her eyes flashed. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“What does that mean?” His eyes sharpened.

“What do you mean, what does that mean?” Her voice rose. “You’re the one who posts patrols every twenty minutes like Jade’s going to crawl out of the creek. You’re the one who hasn’t slept more than two hours in a row unless I physically drop on top of you and pass out first. You’re the one who pretends the other Alphas are just casually visiting when we both know they’re staying because you asked them to. You’re drowning, Collin, and you didn’t tell me.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” she demanded.

“Because,” his voice cracked, “I am supposed to take care of you.”

Silence.

Even the fire quieted.

For a long, suspended breath, nobody moved. Nobody dared.

Baylee’s expression shifted. Something in it wasn’t anger anymore, but hurt. Deep, old hurt. She swallowed once, and when she spoke, her voice had gone soft — too soft. “Is that all I am right now?”

Collin blinked. “What?”

“Something to take care of,” she whispered. “Something to protect. Something to carry like a duty.”

His mouth opened. Closed. He shook his head. “Bay, no, that’s not— that’s not what I meant.”

“Because that’s what it sounds like.”

“Baylee.” He stepped toward her.

She stepped back.

It was stupid. It was instant. It was instinct. She regretted it even as she did it.

It wrecked him anyway.

He went still, like she’d physically struck him. “You don’t trust me.”

Her throat worked. “That’s not—”

“You don’t,” he said, voice going quiet and tight and breaking around the edges. “You don’t trust me to make decisions with you. You don’t trust me to hear the truth without falling apart. You don’t trust me not to lock you in this house forever the second I think something might hurt you—”

“Because you would,” she snapped.

His jaw clenched.

Heather winced. “Oooh. Okay. I’m thinking we pause and do a feelings circle like Melody keeps—”

“Not now, Heather,” Collin and Baylee said in perfect unison.

Heather held up both hands. “And I’ll just… continue not existing. Great. Love that for me.”

Baylee dragged a hand through her hair. “Collin. Listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he said hoarsely.

“I didn’t tell you about the humming because I was scared,” she said. “Not of you. Of what it meant. I’ve never felt anything like that before, and at first I was hoping it was in my head, and then once I knew it wasn’t in my head, I didn’t want you to blame yourself for not stopping it.”

He swallowed. “You think I’d do that.”

“Baby,” she whispered, and her voice broke. “You already are.”

That hurt him.

He masked it with anger.

“Of course I blame myself,” he snapped. “Jade wouldn’t have kept pushing if she didn’t want you. The Moon wouldn’t have marked you if I wasn’t here to keep you alive to fulfill Her prophecy. The Veil wouldn’t be scarred if I had been strong enough to destroy her before she ever touched you. Every time you got hurt, it was because something got past me. So yeah. Yes. I blame myself.”

“That isn’t fair,” she said.

“It’s true,” he said.

“It’s poison,” she shot back.

Liam cleared his throat softly. “Alpha—”

Collin didn’t look away from Baylee. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Melody muttered, “Collateral damage,” under her breath.

Baylee’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Nothing.”

He arched a brow.

“Nothing important,” she amended.

“Baylee Elizabeth Vale.”

Her wolf bristled hard. “Stop using my middle name like a leash.”

He flinched.

This time she did, too.

Regret hit both of them in the same second.

Heather made a face like someone had just stabbed her emotionally. “Okay, wow, we’re going to need six hugs and a fruit basket after this, cool cool.”

Collin’s voice dropped. “It’s not a leash.”

Baylee’s chest rose and fell, too fast. “It feels like one.”

“It’s fear,” he said quietly. “That’s all it is. It’s me shaking your shoulders and begging you not to walk into a fire.”

“And this,” she said, throat tight, “is me telling you I’m already standing in it.”

That landed.

His face changed.

For a moment, the Alpha fell away, and he was just Collin. Just her mate. Just a man in love with a girl whose name made him breathe easier, and a future that still terrified him. All the anger drained out of him at once, leaving nothing but raw worry.

“Then tell me,” he whispered. “Please. Tell me all of it. I don’t care how ugly it is. I just want to stand in it with you.”

Baylee felt herself cracking.

She almost told him.

She almost said: — Sometimes at night I feel the scar watching me.

— Sometimes I feel something old flicker behind my eyes when I look too long at the dark line where Jade tore through.

— Sometimes I feel like the Veil knows I’m still alive and is waiting for me to open the door again.

She almost told him the worst part: — Sometimes I don’t think the humming under the ground is the Veil.

Sometimes I think it’s the baby.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

Because she wasn’t sure.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Because if her child — their child — was connected to the scar, that wasn’t just danger.

That was destiny.

And Baylee was done being told what destiny demanded.

So instead she said, “I’m tired.”

Collin blinked. “What?”

“I’m tired,” she repeated. She felt the weight now, a pulsing behind her eyes, a slow ache settling into her bones. The argument had pulled too much from her. “I need to lay down.”

Immediately, Collin breathed in like he was about to say more — then he stopped himself. He swallowed hard and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay,” he said softly. “Yeah. Okay. You win. Lie down.”

That was what exhausted her the most.

Not his anger.

His surrender.

He would give her anything, even when it was killing him.

Her throat closed. “Collin—”

“We’re not done talking about this,” he said, voice rough. “But we’ll talk later. After you rest.”

She nodded once.

He stepped in and kissed her forehead, slow and reverent in front of the entire room because he didn’t care who saw. “I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you’re a menace.”

She made a weak, watery sound that was half laugh, half “I love you too and I hate fighting with you and can we just lay down together and pretend the world isn’t scary for five minutes.”

He heard all of it.

He always heard all of it.

“Liam,” he said without looking away from her, “double patrol on the north line. Heather, you’re with her if she leaves this house.”

Heather saluted with her mug. “Aye, Alpha.”

Baylee groaned softly. “Babysitters.”

Heather grinned. “You say ‘babysitter,’ I say ‘armed emotional support.’”

Melody cleared her throat. “And I say bed. Now. Before you black out on my table and I have to yell at you in front of everyone.”

Baylee sighed. “Fine.”

Collin slid an arm around her — careful, supportive, not forcing — and guided her down the short hall toward their room. He didn’t speak. She didn’t either. His thumb traced soft circles against her side the whole way, like apology, like promise.

Right before they reached the door, he stopped.

“Bay,” he murmured.

She turned her face toward him. “Yeah?”

His voice was quiet. Barely there. “I’m scared all the time.”

Her chest hurt. “I know.”

“I don’t know how not to be.”

Her eyes stung. “Me neither.”

“I’m trying to be good about it,” he said, lips twitching in a broken smile. “You know. Not locking you in a ceramic moon bubble underground.”

She huffed a weak laugh. “Thank you for that.”

“I need you to tell me what you feel, even if you think it’ll make it worse.”

Her throat tightened. “Okay.”

“And if you think the Veil is waking up,” he whispered, “I need to know that, Baylee Elizabeth. I need to know.”

She swallowed. She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I will.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath since she first said “it’s humming.”

“Good,” he whispered. He kissed her softly. “Good girl.”

Her eyes fluttered shut.

And for a moment, even with everything sitting sharp between them, she melted.

Because even when they fought like this, she felt safe in him.

And she knew he felt safe in her.

That was what made it work.

Even when it hurt.

—

He stayed with her until she drifted.

He always did.

He lay beside her on the bed, on top of the blankets, propped on an elbow. One hand rested, warm and careful, over her stomach. His thumb traced slow arcs there without thinking — slow, soothing motions meant for both of them.

She could tell he was still awake by his breathing. Alert, shallow, listening for danger.

She hated that that was who he’d become.

She loved him so much for it her bones ached.

“Go to sleep,” she mumbled.

He huffed softly. “I will.”

She cracked one eye with effort. “Liar.”

He smiled this time. “You’re getting bolder.”

“Learning from Heather.”

“That explains it.”

She managed a tiny grin, then let her eyes close again. Her body relaxed, inch by inch.

She heard him whisper something like, “I’m right here,” and press his mouth to her temple.

She exhaled.

Sank.

And slipped into sleep.

—

This time, the dream didn’t feel like a dream.

There was no fuzziness, no strange logic, no sudden impossible colors or floating or lost-clothing panic. It felt… physical. Rooted. Too clear.

She was standing.

Barefoot.

In the same forest as always, but not quite.

Silverveil — and not.

Everything was tinted faintly blue, like the world lived underwater. The trees were taller than they should have been. The shadows were softer. The air tasted like cold stone and river.

Baylee turned slowly in place.

“Collin?”

No answer.

Her voice didn’t echo.

That scared her more than if something had answered.

“Hello?” she called.

Her breath puffed in the air — pale, visible. It wasn’t cold enough for that.

Something moved between the trees.

Baylee stiffened. Her hackles — her wolf’s hackles — rose, even though she stood in her human skin.

She didn’t run.

She’d learned a long time ago: you never run from the thing that wants you. You don’t show it your back.

A flicker. There. Near the old cedar line.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

Silence.

Then, a whisper.

It didn’t come from the trees. It came from everywhere — from the ground under her feet, from the air around her, from inside her own blood.

“Mama.”

Baylee went still.

Her heart slammed once, hard enough to steal her breath.

“...No,” she whispered. “No. No, I’m — no, you can’t—”

“Mama,” the voice said again.

Child-soft. Not scared. Not crying.

But not normal.

Not weak.

It felt wrong for how strong it was, how steady. Older than it should’ve been. Not ancient, not like godspeak… but awake. Aware. Present.

Her throat worked. “Baby?”

Warmth answered her.

A wave of quiet heat bloomed in her belly, so real she almost reached for herself in her sleep. It radiated outward like light through skin. The hum she’d been feeling for days — that pressure under the earth — matched it in perfect rhythm.

Baylee’s eyes burned. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Hi. Hi, sweetheart. You can’t — you shouldn’t be able to — you’re not even—”

Words failed her.

“Mama,” the voice said again, pleased this time. Sure.

Baylee laughed, and it came out choked and wet. “Hi, baby. Hi, love.”

The warmth pulsed again. Not random. Almost like… answering.

Her tears spilled over. “Collin is going to lose his mind,” she whispered. “He’s going to lose his entire mind. He’s going to wrap us in six blankets and call Melody and Heather and build a fort and then yell at the sky.”

The warmth grew sharper — not pain. Focus.

Not Collin, the feeling said.

Baylee frowned. “Not… not Collin?”

Dark flickered at the edge of the trees.

Her body reacted before she could think. She shifted her stance, weight balanced, chin up, shoulders forward, protective even in the dream. Her wolf surged under her skin, wanting out, wanting to stand in front.

She wasn’t afraid for herself.

She was afraid for them.

“Who’s there?” she growled.

Silence.

Then something stepped forward.

At first, she thought it was a person.

Then she saw how the edges of it bled.

The shape was wrong — soft and blurred, like it wasn’t fully in the same reality she was. A figure made of smoke and pale blue light, vaguely human in outline but with no face, no scent, no heartbeat. It moved like water running uphill.

Baylee’s stomach knotted. “No.”

The warmth inside her — her pup — flared so bright it almost buzzed in her teeth.

Mine, it said.

The feeling wasn’t needy.

It wasn’t fragile.

It was possessive.

Protective.

Then, layered over that — an image.

Not a word this time.

A picture.

For a split second in her mind, Baylee saw it: the scar in the Veil. The thin pale slice across reality at the far ridge. Lit from within, not purple like Jade’s corruption, not black like shadow — but white-blue.

Like moonlight caught under ice.

And there was something in it. Something behind it. Something pressing against it from the other side like a hand against glass.

Waiting.

Hungry.

Close.

Baylee swallowed hard. “What is that? Baby — sweetheart, what is that?”

The warmth tightened. Not fear. Warning.

Stay away.

Her breath stuttered. “From the scar?”

Stay. Away.

Baylee nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. Her throat burned. “Okay. I will. I will, I promise.”

The humming under her skin soothed.

Relief flowed through her that wasn’t hers.

For a second, her knees almost buckled.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “You understand me.”

Warmth.

Love poured through her so strong she almost sobbed — pure and fierce and drowning. It wasn’t like the bond with Collin. That was a tether between equals, a braid of shared power and chosen devotion. This was… something else. Something older. Something she didn’t have a word for, because there wasn’t a word big enough.

Her hands shook.

“You’re not supposed to be able to do this,” she whispered. “Melody said pups don’t — you’re not supposed to — you shouldn’t be awake—”

Cold flickered.

Her head snapped back up.

The blurred thing in the trees had moved closer.

Too close.

Her wolf snarled through her teeth. “Back off.”

The figure didn’t retreat.

Instead, slowly, it lifted an arm — if it could be called that — and pointed.

Not at Baylee.

Past her.

Behind her.

Baylee turned sharply.

The world behind her was wrong.

Her heart pounded.

Instead of the forest, instead of Silverveil, instead of trees and path and safety, the ground dropped off into a void of pale color and whispering light like the Midway had looked. A memory of the space between worlds. Only this time, it wasn’t shattered and violent like it had been when she’d fought Jade.

It was… calm.

Open.

Pulling.

Like a door waiting to be used.

A chill went through her, slow and deep.

The scar in the Veil isn’t sealed, she realized, throat tight.

It’s sleeping.

She felt the warmth in her belly respond in a rush.

NO.

The feeling slammed into her with such force she stumbled. Her breath caught. Her hands flew, instinctive, protective, to cradle her stomach even in the dream.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. Okay. I hear you.”

The warmth hummed again — softer now, like a hand pressed to her cheek. Safe.

Baylee swallowed, heart hammering. “I won’t go near it. I swear it. I won’t. I won’t let him, either.”

At “him,” the warmth swelled.

Yes.

Her chest cracked open.

This wasn’t just a pup kicking.

This wasn’t just mother instinct, magic, or the Moon.

This was communication.

This was her child telling her: Stay away from the scar. Keep me away from it. Keep him — Collin — away from it. It’s not done. It’s waiting. It wants.

It wants.

Her throat closed. “Who does it want?”

For the first time, the warmth didn’t answer with feeling.

It answered with a word.

Not Mama.

Not a name.

One single, chilling whisper, soft as a sigh and old as bones:

“Blood.”

Baylee’s stomach turned.

Her mouth went dry. “Whose?”

The warmth hesitated.

That hesitation told her more than any answer.

It didn’t know.

Or it didn’t want to say.

Before she could ask again, the pale, dripping figure in front of her flickered — and then lunged.

Baylee didn’t think.

Her wolf ripped up inside her like a surge of lightning.

She bared her teeth, threw her body forward, and slammed into—

—

She woke with a gasp.

Her whole body arched off the bed like she’d been hit with current. Her hand flew to her stomach before her eyes even focused.

Warm.

Alive.

Safe.

She let out a shaky, broken sob and collapsed back onto the pillows, chest heaving, tears already spilling hot and fast.

Collin shot upright instantly. “Bay?”

He was already braced over her, hair mussed, shirt rucked up from sleep, panic written all over him. “Bay, what happened? Talk to me. Hey. Hey. Baylee. Look at me. Are you in pain?”

She opened her mouth.

A lie tried to come out.

“I’m fine.”

It almost made it.

Then she saw his face — really saw it — and it shattered the rest of her defenses.

His eyes were blown wide, skin pale, throat working like he was swallowing down fear in chunks. He looked half feral and half broken. He looked like a man who never really stopped being afraid, even when he slept.

She couldn’t lie to that. She wouldn’t.

But she also couldn’t tell him.

Not yet.

Not until she understood what “blood” meant.

Not until she knew if what she’d felt was a warning about danger near the Veil…

Or a warning about the child she was carrying.

Her voice shook. “Nightmare.”

His breath stuttered. “Baylee Elizabeth—”

“Just a nightmare,” she whispered, reaching for him with a trembling hand and pulling him down to her. “Just stay. Just — hold me.”

That wrecked him.

Because even if he knew she was lying — and he did, he absolutely did — he would always choose holding her over interrogating her.

Always.

He lay down and wrapped himself around her like instinct, like vow, one hand on her belly, one arm under her shoulders, his forehead pressed to hers.

They stayed like that in silence, their breathing slowly syncing.

His heart slowed.

Hers didn’t.

Her mind raced.

“Mama.”

She swallowed hard.

Her thumb rubbed slow circles over Collin’s wrist where it lay across her stomach.

“Blood.”

She shut her eyes against the sting.

Something was reaching through the scar.

Something that wanted.

And her baby — their baby — wasn’t just alive.

Their baby was awake.

And guarding.

And scared.

Baylee held Collin tighter.

She didn’t sleep again that night.

She just watched the ceiling and listened to the quiet of the house and kept one hand over the life inside her, whispering silently into that shared warmth:

I heard you. I hear you. I’ll keep you safe.

And underneath that, hidden even from herself:

Please don’t let “blood” mean you.