An Unspoken Name

Chapter 27 

An Unspoken Name

The moon hung low that night, a pale coin suspended in the darkness, glinting off the frost that crept across the eaves of the cabin. I could smell the forest stretching for miles, heavy with pine and wet earth, yet there was something else threading through the air a scent that twisted in my gut, familiar and unwelcome. It was faint, like the memory of smoke after a fire

I had been at the desk for hours, hunched over the scraps of parchment and digital files I’d been given by the Seer’s courier, cross-referencing them with the journal my mother had hidden for me. Every page smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. My eyes burned from staring at the curling script, but the words were stubborn, like they knew I wasn’t ready for them yet.

It all kept circling back to one entry, written in my mother’s neat, deliberate hand. A warning. A name partially blotted out by a spill, or maybe erased on purpose. Only the first letter remained: C.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Just a letter. But something inside me recognized it, the way a wolf recognizes the scent of the storm before it hits

I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, letting my senses stretch. The fire crackled behind me. My tea had gone cold. And somewhere outside, an owl’s call broke the stillness.

And beneath it there it was again that faint, acrid trace of smoke

The Weight of the Letter

When I was a child, my mother used to tell me that names had power. They were more than just words; they were promises, chains, or in some cases… curses. “Never speak the name of someone who means you harm,” she’d said once, her voice almost trembling. “Because the moment you do, they might hear you.”

Back then, I’d thought it was just another superstition. Now, with my life in pieces and every shadow possibly hiding a threat, I wasn’t so sure.

I traced the faded letter with my fingertip. C. Who had she been protecting me from? Or had she been protecting them from me?

A log in the hearth popped, making me flinch. My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin. She didn’t like this. She wanted movement, distance. But I stayed put. Whatever was hidden in my mother’s writing, I needed to face it.

Caleb’s Visit

A knock at the door shattered my thoughts. My first instinct was to grab the dagger from the table. I moved silently, my wolf’s senses sharpening.

“It’s me,” Caleb’s voice called, low but urgent.

I opened the door to find him standing there, breath clouding in the cold. His jacket was dusted with frost, and there was tension in his jaw I’d come to recognize something had happened.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m fine,” I replied, though my heartbeat betrayed me. “What is it?”

“Patrol picked up movement near the southern ridge,” he said. “Too close for comfort. Tracks led back toward the old logging road… and I think they were leaving a message.

He pulled something from his coat pocket and dropped it onto the table. It was a strip of leather, burned at the edges. In the center, a symbol had been carved—three jagged lines intersecting in the shape of a claw mark.

I stared at it. “What does it mean?”

Caleb hesitated. “I think it’s a claim. And… I think it’s tied to the name you’re avoiding.”

My blood ran cold. “What name?”

“The one you won’t say,” he replied quietly. “C”

“Don’t,” I snapped. The word came out sharper than I intended, but the air in the room felt charged, as if speaking it would summon something I wasn’t ready for.

That night, sleep didn’t come easily. When it finally did, it came in pieces, pulling me into half-formed visions. I was running through the forest, my paws hitting the ground in frantic rhythm. The trees blurred around me. Behind me, I could hear a voice low, almost a growl calling my name.

Adelina.

It was both warning and promise.

I stumbled, crashing into a clearing lit by silver moonlight. In the center stood a man. His back was to me, but I could see the way his shoulders moved with each breath, steady and deliberate.

When he turned, I saw his eyes bright gold, almost too bright. And I knew him. Not from reality, but from something deeper, something my wolf remembered. He opened his mouth to speak, but before I could hear, the dream shattered.

I woke with my pulse racing, the taste of ash on my tongue.

The Choice to Search

By morning, I’d made up my mind. I couldn’t keep dancing around the edges of this. Whether or not the name was dangerous, I needed to know. Because ignorance wasn’t safety it was a slow bleed.

I went back to the desk, flipping through my mother’s journal again. There were mentions of an “old friend” in passing, always cryptic, always tied to dangerous moments. Once, she’d written: He walks between packs, and none dare speak his true name.

I copied every reference into a separate notebook. Patterns began to emerge. The timelines matched up with some of the pack disputes I’d studied. He or whatever he was seemed to appear in moments of transition or upheaval.

I thought of the Seal. Of Dax’s rejection. Of the hunters who’d been sent after me.

Maybe he was here now. Watching.

The Forest Warning

Around midday, I left the cabin to get water from the stream. The forest was quiet, but not in the peaceful way it was the quiet that comes when predators are near. My wolf pressed close to the surface, ears swiveling toward every creak and rustle.

Halfway to the stream, I saw it: a single black feather lying on the snow. Ravens were common enough, but this one was different. The edges shimmered faintly, like oil on water.

I picked it up, and the moment my skin touched it, a voice brushed against my mind. Not words exactly, but intent.

You’re close.

I dropped it as if burned.

The Name on the Wind

By the time I returned to the cabin, the wind had picked up, rattling the windows. Caleb was gone, off to meet with the patrols again. I was alone. The journal sat open on the desk, the C staring up at me like it was daring me to finish it.

My hands trembled as I pulled another book toward me a record of old treaties and rogue negotiations. There it was again, buried in the fine print: C, present as neutral party.

My wolf’s hackles rose. I could almost hear a whisper at the edge of my senses, low and persistent. It wasn’t my mother’s voice. It wasn’t even Caleb’s.

It was his.

The sound of it in my head made my chest ache, not with fear exactly, but with something I didn’t want to name.

And just like that, I understood: the danger wasn’t just in speaking his name. The danger was in remembering him.

That night, I lit the candles around the desk, the scent of beeswax mingling with the cold draft from the window. I opened my mother’s journal to the page with the faded letter and pressed my hand to it.

“I don’t know who you are,” I whispered, “or what you want from me. But I’m not running.”

Outside, the wind howled like laughter.

I didn’t speak the name. Not yet. But the choice to find it was already made.

And in the silence after, I could feel something shift like a piece of the world had tilted toward me.