THE MAN FROM MY PAST

AUTHOR’S POV 

Elena stood on the northern watchtower, examining the newly reinforced perimeter while Garrick explained why two sections of the wooden barricade still needed repairs.

The morning was cold, and a thin layer of mist clung to the mountains. Below them, Haven was slowly coming to life. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the repaired buildings, and several survivors carried buckets toward the well. Near the infirmary, Lydia was already arguing with a man who insisted his infected-looking scratch did not require examination.

For a moment, the sight filled Elena with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

Haven was far from perfect. They still struggled with food, clean water, and medicine. Some of the buildings remained too damaged to use, and the southern perimeter needed additional protection. Yet the people who had arrived here frightened and hopeless were beginning to find their footing.

Children laughed again.

The infirmary had a proper record system.

The guards were learning to work together instead of fighting over who should take command.

It was not much compared with what the world had lost, but it was something.

And Elena intended to protect it.

"This section won't hold if a group of infected creatures charges it," Garrick said, drawing her attention back to the barricade. "We need thicker posts and another layer of timber."

"Then we'll reinforce it this afternoon. Have the hunters bring back whatever usable wood they find during their next expedition."

Garrick glanced toward the forest.

"If they find anything. The last group returned with half the supplies we expected."

"Then we'll make the half we have last longer."

"You always make it sound simple."

"It isn't simple." Elena crouched to inspect the base of one of the posts. The earth around it had loosened after the previous night's rain. "But complaining about what we don't have won't make it appear."

Garrick chuckled.

"You sound like someone who has been giving orders for years."

Elena's hands paused against the wood.

Once, she would have felt uncomfortable hearing that. She had spent most of her life trying not to draw attention to herself, particularly in the presence of stronger wolves. At Blackthorn, she had learned to speak only when spoken to and to avoid making suggestions that might offend someone of higher rank.

She had believed that if she worked hard enough, helped enough people, and never asked for more than she deserved, she might eventually earn a place where she belonged.

Then Kaiden had stood before the entire pack and rejected her.

He had made it clear that all her kindness and hard work meant nothing beside the influence she could not offer him.

For a long time, she had carried his words like a wound.

Now she looked at the barricade, at the people working beneath it, and at the settlement that had begun to depend on her decisions.

She had never needed permission to be capable.

"I suppose I've had enough practice," she answered.

Garrick was about to respond when a sharp whistle sounded from the northern watchtower.

Both of them straightened.

A second whistle followed.

Then a third.

Elena's expression changed.

"What's that signal?" she asked.

Garrick immediately reached for the weapon strapped across his back.

"Approaching group. Armed."

"How many?"

"Three whistles usually mean more than ten."

Elena climbed the remaining steps to the watchtower, her boots striking the wooden boards. The sentry stationed at the top pointed toward the northern road.

"There," he said. "Movement beyond the bend."

Elena narrowed her eyes.

At first, she saw only shapes emerging from the mist. Then the figures became clearer.

Werewolves.