Chapter Four: Coffee and Shadows

Morning came too quickly.

Atticus groaned, a faint ache of unrest behind his eyes and a strange heaviness in his chest. The work building was quiet. The blanket he’d used for the wolf still lay on the floor, fur clinging to it, a few drops of dried blood marking where she’d been. The scent still lingered—wild and warm, sweet like honey and something else he couldn’t quite name.

He exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face.

She was gone.

No matter how much he turned it over in his mind, the whole thing didn’t make sense. The speed of her recovery. The way she’d looked at him—really looked at him. And those eyes. The exact shade of his own.

He forced his thoughts back into line. There was work to do. Bills to pay. A team to manage.

His morning routine passed in a blur. Coffee, shower, clothes, boots. Each movement automatic, mechanical, his mind still half in the woods. When he finally climbed into his truck, the familiar rumble of the engine grounded him just enough to push forward.

The drive to the site was quiet, the early light bleeding gold through the trees. For the first time in years, the forest felt different to him. The air was thicker somehow, charged with something he couldn’t name. Every shadow between the trunks seemed alive, watching.

He shook his head and focused on the road.

When he pulled into the worksite, sawdust and the smell of fuel filled the air, the familiar hum of machinery echoing in the distance. Johnathan was already there, leaning against a stack of cut logs with a grin on his face and two steaming cups in hand.

“Mornin’, boss!” he called out as Atticus climbed out of the truck. “Got you a coffee.”

Atticus managed a tired smile, taking the offered cup. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Johnathan chuckled. “Yeah, figured you’d need it after yesterday. Hell of a scare that was.”

“Yeah…” Atticus murmured, taking a sip. The warmth grounded him. “Any trouble after I left?”

“Nah. Cleaned up the site, got the rest of the logs hauled out. We’ll be right back on schedule today.” He paused, squinting at Atticus. “You sure you’re good, though? You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“Didn’t,” Atticus admitted. “Had some… stuff on my mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnathan said with that knowing tone that meant he wasn’t buying it, but also wasn’t going to press. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure the forest’ll clear it outta you.”

Atticus almost smiled at that, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. The forest always does.”

He turned his gaze toward the tree line, watching the morning mist roll through the trunks. Somewhere out there, the wolf was moving—alive, free, and impossibly close. He could almost feel it, the faint echo of her heartbeat thrumming in his chest.

Johnathan clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, boss. Let’s make sure no one tries to flatten themselves with another tree today.”

Atticus nodded, forcing himself back into motion. But even as he walked, his mind wasn’t fully here. Something deep in him had shifted, something that wouldn’t quiet.

The forest had always felt like home. But today, it felt like it was calling him back.

All day, the feeling lingered—like an invisible thread tugging at the edge of his thoughts. He caught himself staring off into the woods between tasks, eyes narrowing as if he could sense something just beyond sight. Each hour, the pull grew stronger, deeper. His chest felt tight, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the distant forest.

By the time the sun began to sink and the crew packed up, the call had become almost unbearable.

He and Johnathan stayed behind to finish securing the last of the equipment, the low hum of conversation fading as the others drove off down the dirt road. The evening light slanted golden through the trees, stretching the shadows long and thin.

That’s when they heard it—a low, guttural growl rolling through the stillness.

Both men froze.

The sound came again, closer this time, vibrating through the air like a warning. Atticus’s head snapped toward the tree line. There—two shapes slipped out from between the trunks, moving low, deliberate.

These were not same two wolves from this morning.

Their eyes gleamed in the dying light, yellow and cold, bodies tense and powerful.

“Johnathan,” Atticus whispered, voice tight. “Don’t move.”

Johnathan’s eyes flicked toward him. “What the hell—”

“Don’t,” Atticus repeated, lower this time. “They’ll run at us if you move too fast.”

He knew they could hear him. Wolves had uncanny hearing. Every instinct screamed at him to back away, to grab a weapon, to run—but another voice, deeper and calmer, told him to hold still.

The wolves fanned out, one to each side, flanking them with unnerving precision. Atticus’s pulse pounded in his ears. Facing down one wolf was bad enough—two this size was suicide.

“What the hell is going on today?” he muttered under his breath.

The black wolf’s lip curled, revealing long, ivory teeth. The timber-colored one let out a sound halfway between a snarl and a warning call. They were testing him— him specifically.

Atticus swallowed hard, his muscles taut, senses flaring. The forest around them seemed to breathe with the wolves, every rustle and shift in the air syncing to their slow, deliberate steps.

Something was happening. Something he didn’t understand.

And the strange pull in his chest? It wasn’t fear.

It was recognition.