LOGINThe council archive sat behind the main hall like a locked mouth.It was a narrow building built of dark timber and old stone, its windows small and high, its door reinforced with iron bands that looked more suited for a prison than a record room. Most wolves avoided it unless summoned. Knowledge was treated like power in Silvercrest, and the elders guarded power the way wolves guarded territory.Lyra stood at the bottom of the stone steps, staring up at the entrance.She could feel the pack moving behind her: scouts crossing the grounds, mothers calling pups inside, and warriors shifting into patrol formation. Life continued, but it continued under pressure.Everything felt watched.Lyra climbed the steps and knocked once.The door opened slowly, just enough to reveal a single face.Archive Guard Toren.He was older, thick-shouldered, with gray streaking his hair and a scar cutting down his cheek. Normally, Toren’s expression stayed neutral, his eyes unreadable. He was known for sile
Lyra crossed the pack grounds with measured steps.Morning sunlight lay pale over Silvercrest, but it couldn’t soften the heaviness in the air. Wolves moved between cabins in strained silence, their gazes sharp, their bodies tense. Fear had settled into the pack like frost, and beneath it something darker was growing.Jarek’s warning still echoed in Lyra’s mind.Morrigan isn’t alone.She reached the outer path leading toward the training ring, intending to return to her cabin, when she heard footsteps behind her. Not hurried. Not aggressive.Controlled.Lyra turned.Morrigan stood a short distance away, cloaked in dark fabric that flowed neatly around her. Her hair was braided back with careful precision. She looked composed, calm, almost gentle.But her eyes were watchful.“Lyra,” Morrigan said, her voice smooth as silk.Lyra didn’t soften. “Morrigan.”Morrigan approached slowly, stopping at a respectful distance, as if she were offering courtesy rather than cornering her.“You’ve be
Lyra didn’t sleep.The torn scraps of patrol ledger paper sat on her table like a warning that refused to fade. She had tried to piece them together under candlelight, smoothing jagged edges and aligning torn lines, but the most important part was missing.The approval signature.The name.Someone had removed it cleanly, leaving only proof that the page had existed at all.When the flame finally burned low, Lyra stood and pulled on her cloak. The air in her cabin felt too tight, filled with suspicion and unfinished truth.Outside, Silvercrest was waking.Not calmly.Not normally.Wolves moved between cabins in tense silence. Their eyes were sharp, their voices hushed, as if they feared the wrong word might invite disaster.The missing scout had done that.Fear had hardened the pack into something brittle.Lyra walked toward the training ring where patrol leaders usually gathered. She ignored the way wolves stepped out of her path, as if distance could protect them.They didn’t speak.
Elder Selwyn’s words stayed with Lyra long after the gathering ended.You’re becoming… inconvenient.The sentence had been delivered with the softness of politeness, yet it carried the weight of a warning. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even an accusation.It was something worse.A decision forming quietly behind the council's eyes.Lyra stood near the edge of the clearing as wolves began dispersing, their conversations returning in hushed fragments. Torches flickered in the wind, casting moving shadows across the ground like restless spirits.She could feel eyes following her.Some wolves avoided her completely, stepping aside as though she carried a curse. Others watched her with curiosity, admiration mixed with fear. But even those who seemed impressed never approached her openly.They didn’t want to be seen standing too close.Lyra’s mate mark throbbed faintly beneath her sleeve, reacting to her unease. She flexed her fingers and forced herself to breathe steadily. She refused to let
Lyra returned to Silvercrest with blood on her boots and proof hidden beneath her cloak.The carved fang piece felt heavier than bone should. She kept it tucked deep inside the fabric, close to her ribs, as though it could protect her from what waited inside the pack grounds.The gates came into view through the trees.Two guards stood watch, spears in hand. When Lyra stepped out of the forest line, both of them stiffened.One narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t assigned to the search.”Lyra didn’t slow. “I know.”His gaze swept over her damp cloak and dirt-stained sleeves. Suspicion tightened his face.“Where were you?” he pressed.Lyra’s jaw clenched. “Finding what you won’t.”The second guard shifted, glancing toward the clearing as if deciding whether to call for someone. Lyra walked past them without permission.The moment she entered the pack grounds, she felt it.Eyes.Not the curious glances she had endured for weeks. These stares were sharper, deliberate, measuring her like she w
The forest thickened as Lyra ran.The farther she went, the quieter Silvercrest became behind her, until even the distant noise of the pack grounds vanished. Only the wilderness remained: cold air, damp soil, and the steady rhythm of her boots striking the earth.Her breath came hard, but she forced herself to keep it controlled.Tobias’s voice echoed in her mind.If you let fear guide your lungs, your power will follow.Lyra clenched her jaw and pushed forward, weaving through trees and brush with practiced ease. Her senses were sharper than they had ever been. Every scent carried meaning. Every sound felt like a warning.The missing scout’s trail was faint.But it was there.Blood.Sweat.And something else… something wrong.She slowed near a narrow slope where the ground dipped downward. The air grew damp, heavy with the scent of water. The wind carried a chill that made her skin prickle.A creek.Lyra moved carefully, stepping over slick stones and broken branches. The sound of ru







