8

8

The first solid piece of information didn’t come from the front lines.

It came in the quietest way war ever spoke through whispers, through the careful tension in people’s shoulders, through the way Matthew’s jaw set when he walked into the packhouse with his coat still on and snow caught in his hair like he’d sprinted through the trees instead of taking the road.

Lotty was in the kitchen nursing coffee she didn’t want when he appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look at the food. Didn’t look at anyone else. His eyes went straight to Adam.

Adam was already standing. Like he’d felt Matthew arrive before the door even opened. “What is it?” Adam asked.

Matthew dropped a folded paper onto the table like it weighed more than it should. “It’s confirmed.”

Lotty’s stomach tightened.

Adam unfolded it slowly, scanning. His expression didn’t change much but the air around him did, thickening with something sharper than worry.

“Gregory had a stroke,” Matthew said. “Right after shifting back from wolf form. Massive. He’s alive, but,” Matthew’s mouth went flat. “He’s incapacitated. He can’t speak. Can’t lead.”

Lotty felt a chill creep up her spine.

Adam didn’t look up from the paper. “How reliable?”

“Two sources, separate, both panicked,” Matthew said. “And one council clerk who owes me a favor.”

Lotty’s brows lifted. “Council clerk?”

Matthew’s eyes flicked to her. “The councils keep records. And they talk. Especially when they think they’re safe.”

Adam folded the paper once, twice, then set it down with deliberate control. “Decker,” he said.

Matthew nodded. “Sworn in.”

Lotty’s pulse picked up. “Public ceremony?”

“No,” Matthew said, voice tight. “Small. Council only present. Quiet, fast, like they wanted it done before anyone could question it.”

Adam stared at the table for a long beat, then looked up. His eyes were calm, but the calm had teeth. “Then it’s official,” he said. “Dark Mountain has a new Alpha.”

Lotty didn’t speak, but her wolf stirred under her skin at the words new Alpha, like something old and instinctive had lifted its head.

Matthew added, “They’re claiming continuity. That the war stands. That the change doesn’t weaken them.”

Adam’s jaw flexed. “It doesn’t matter what they claim. It matters what Decker does.”

Lotty glanced between them. “And what do you think he’ll do?”

Matthew hesitated. That alone was enough to answer.

Adam’s voice went colder. “He’ll escalate.”

Lotty felt the room tilt slightly, like the world had shifted on its axis and no one could stop it.

Adam shoved back his chair. “Call the captains. I want patrol rotations doubled. Scouts on every border. No gaps.”

Matthew nodded and turned immediately, already pulling out his phone.

Lotty stood. “I can help at the hospital.”

Adam’s gaze snapped to her, sharp. “You will.” His tone softened only slightly when he added, “But you’ll do it safely.”

Lotty’s mouth tightened. “Define ‘safely.’”

Adam didn’t blink. “Two warriors. With you.”

Her stomach dropped like she’d missed a step. “No.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Lotty!”

“No,” she repeated, louder this time. “I am not having two wolves shadow me like I’m some fragile package.”

“This isn’t negotiable,” Adam said. The Alpha in him pushed forward, voice steady and edged with command.

Lotty felt her wolf bristle in reflex. Not submission defiance. Anger. Old resentment. “I can take care of myself,” she snapped.

Adam’s gaze held hers. “Can you fight?”

Lotty’s throat tightened. “That’s not…”

“Answer the question,” Adam cut in.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “No. Not like you. Not like them.”

“Then you don’t take care of yourself,” he said flatly. “You survive because other people stand between you and the threat.”

Lotty felt heat rush up her neck. “I’m not helpless.”

Adam exhaled, and for just a second his expression flickered something pained, something human under the Alpha. “I know you’re not,” he said quietly. “That’s not what this is.”

Lotty’s voice dropped. “It feels like it.”

Matthew had paused halfway to the door, listening without turning.

Adam’s eyes didn’t leave Lotty. “Decker is Alpha now,” he said. “And if he wants to make a statement, he will. And if he wants leverage…”

“I’m leverage,” Lotty finished, the words bitter.

Adam didn’t deny it. “You’re my sister.” That was worse. Softer. Sharper.

Lotty swallowed hard. “Last time someone stood between me and wolves… Lisa died.” The room went still.

Matthew’s head dipped slightly, respectful.

Adam’s face hardened, grief and fury mixing into something dangerous. “And I’m not letting that happen again.”

Lotty’s voice cracked just slightly. “You can’t promise that.”

Adam stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I can promise I’ll do everything in my power.”

“That’s what they said when they sent me away,” Lotty shot back. “That it was for my safety.”

Adam’s gaze darkened. “And it worked.”

Lotty stared at him, breathing hard. It worked. She hated that he was right.

Adam’s tone shifted back to Alpha final, decisive. “Two warriors. They will not interfere with your work. They will keep you alive.”

Lotty clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. “Fine,” she spat. “But if they breathe down my neck in the trauma bay, I’m going to start throwing scalpels.”

A ghost of amusement flickered in Adam’s eyes, then disappeared. “They won’t.”

Matthew finally moved again, leaving to coordinate orders.

Adam looked at Lotty one last time. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Lotty’s brows drew together. “For what?”

“For making you feel like you don’t have a choice,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Because she didn’t.

The warriors assigned to her were named Cole and Rylan. Cole was older, scarred, the kind of quiet that came from seeing too much. Rylan was younger, restless, his eyes scanning constantly as if he expected something to launch out of the ceiling tiles.

They showed up at the hospital the next morning like they belonged there. Lotty hated it immediately.

“Just pretend we’re furniture,” Rylan said, trying for humor.

Lotty gave him a flat look. “Furniture doesn’t follow me into supply closets.”

Cole’s mouth twitched. “We’ll keep our distance.”

“Good,” she muttered, and went to work.

The week that followed was… brutal in a quieter way. Not a flood. A constant drip. Injuries still came in border patrol cuts, twisted ankles, training accidents, the occasional civilian with a “fall” that looked a lot like a fight.

But the tone changed. Every nurse flinched at the sound of doors slamming. Every warrior who came through the ER carried tension like a second skin.

And Lotty felt the eyes on her not just from staff, but from pack members who passed through the halls and whispered her name like it was either a blessing or a curse. Alpha’s sister. Outsider. Leverage.

She kept her head down and did what she did best stitched, stabilized, directed, pushed exhaustion aside with sheer stubborn will.

Cole and Rylan stayed close but not too close, shadows at the edge of her vision. Sometimes she caught them talking quietly with hospital security. Sometimes she caught them scenting the air when doors opened.

Once, she snapped at Rylan for standing too close to a patient’s family. He’d backed off instantly, hands lifted.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just something’s off.” Everything was off. That was the point.

On the fourth day, Dr. Hensley finally spoke to her without edge. Not warm. Not friendly. Just… honest. “I didn’t ask for you,” he said while they washed up after a messy case.

Lotty didn’t look at him. “I know.”

He hesitated, then added, “But I won’t pretend you haven’t helped.”

Lotty flicked water from her hands. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

His mouth tightened. “Don’t get used to it.”

She smirked slightly. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

But when he walked away, the tension in her chest eased by a fraction. It mattered. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

By the seventh day, something changed. It wasn’t sudden. It was more like… the world held its breath. The ER slowed.

Not because the hospital was empty. People always got hurt but because the specific injuries that had become routine stopped arriving. No fresh maulings. No shredded torsos. No claw rakes across ribs. No terrified civilians whispering about glowing eyes. At first, everyone wanted to believe it.

For about twelve hours, the hospital staff moved like people who’d been underwater and finally reached air. The nurses smiled a little more. Orderlies stopped jumping at every sound. Then the reality set in.

The second day with no attacks, warriors started coming into the ER uninjured not for treatment, but for updates, for water, for a place to stand and listen to the hum of fear.

“They stopped,” one nurse whispered to Lotty while restocking gauze. “Do you think it’s over?”

Lotty didn’t answer right away. She stared at the hallway, at Cole and Rylan standing too still, eyes too sharp. Then she said the truth she felt in her bones. “No,” Lotty murmured. “I think they’re planning.”

By day three of silence, the packhouse felt like a clenched fist. Patrols doubled, then tripled. Scouts came back with nothing but uneasy expressions and reports of “too quiet.”

Adam stopped sleeping.

Matthew stopped smiling.

Even the air smelled different, less blood, more adrenaline. Like the pack was primed to explode at the slightest spark.

Lotty found herself listening at night, lying in the bed on the third floor, ears straining for distant howls, for the snap of branches, for anything that would prove the world still made sense. But all she heard was quiet. And quiet was worse than screams.

On the seventh day of no attacks, Lotty stood outside the hospital at dusk for the first time all week, just to breathe something that wasn’t antiseptic and fear.

Cole hovered near the steps, pretending not to.

Rylan leaned against a pillar, eyes on the tree line.

Lotty hugged her arms against the cold, staring at the sky as the first pale curve of the moon rose.

Somewhere out there, Decker was Alpha now. Somewhere out there, Gregory lay broken, silent. Somewhere out there, Dark Mountain was holding its breath.

And Lotty couldn’t shake the feeling that the war hadn’t stopped. It had only turned its face toward something new. Toward something closer. Toward her.

She exhaled slowly, watching her breath fog in the air. “Quiet,” she whispered.

Rylan’s head turned slightly. “Yeah.”

Cole’s voice was low, almost too soft to hear. “Quiet is when predators decide where to strike.”

Lotty’s stomach tightened. She didn’t look away from the moon. “Then we’re running out of time,” she murmured.

And behind her, the hospital doors slid open, bright light spilling out like a warning and a nurse called her name, urgently. “Dr. Lotty! We need you!”

Lotty turned back toward the chaos, toward the place she could actually fight, bandages and blood and skill instead of claws and teeth. Because whatever Dark Mountain was doing, whatever Decker was becoming, she could feel it coming. And the pack was going to bleed for it.