Chapter Six

A secluded area in the forest..

“You’re late,” a rogue snarled, his voice sharp in the night air. His yellow eyes glowed faintly under the pale moonlight. The others shifted restlessly around him, claws scraping at the damp earth.

A hooded woman stepped into the clearing, her black cloak dragging over the mossy ground. She moved slowly, without fear, like she owned the darkness itself. Though her face was hidden beneath the hood, her presence silenced the restless growls of the rogues.

“I arrive when I choose to,” she said flatly, her voice low but steady. “Report.”

The tallest rogue bared his teeth. “Theo Hale is dead. Just as you ordered.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the group. Some smirked, others shifted uncomfortably, but all eyes flicked back to the cloaked figure.

“Dead in his sister’s place,” another added. “But why not kill her instead? She’s weak, human. It would’ve been easier.”

The woman tilted her head slightly. Her voice came soft, but it cut like ice. “Do you think with claws alone? Strength is not in the body. It is in what breaks the heart.”

The rogues exchanged looks. A few grumbled under their breath, but none dared to challenge her outright.

The younger rogue, the smallest of the group, dared to speak. “If you wanted her broken, wouldn’t her death do that? End her, and all of this is over.”

The cloaked woman turned her head toward him. Though her eyes were hidden, he flinched as though she had pierced straight into him.

“You misunderstand,” she whispered. “The girl is not to die. Not yet.”

“Then why?” the tall rogue snapped, his voice low but edged with frustration. “We lost half our pack that night. My brother, my kin—gone. For what? For a boy? What’s so important about leaving her alive?”

Her tone hardened, each word deliberate. “Because his death weakens her in ways a blade cannot. The boy was her shield, her pride, her proof of worth to her family. Without him, she is nothing but a reminder of failure. Her own blood will despise her. And when she stands alone, broken, her spirit will be easier to mold.”

The rogues shifted uneasily. One muttered, “You play with fire. If she’s worthless, then why bother at all?”

“She is not worthless,” the woman snapped. Silence fell. Then, softer, she continued, “She is the key. And keys must be used at the right time. Too soon, and the lock shatters. Too late, and the door closes forever.”

Confusion swept the rogues. None dared to ask again, but their unease grew heavier with each word.

“Key to what?” the young one whispered, though he quickly regretted it.

The woman’s head turned toward him slowly. She did not answer. Her silence pressed like a weight until he dropped his gaze.

The tall rogue broke the tension. “We risk too much. Each day she lives, she may change. She may find allies. She may—”

“She won’t,” the woman interrupted coldly. “Do you not see? She is hated by her own family. Cast out. Her bloodline despises her. She will wither in that hatred long before she learns what she is.”

Another growl rumbled from the rogues. “And if she doesn’t? If she finds strength?”

The woman gave a low laugh, sharp and humorless. “Then she will only ripen faster for me. Let her grow. Let her struggle. Every wound, every betrayal will only make her mine when the time comes.”

The rogues exchanged glances. The words unsettled them, but her calm confidence pressed down like chains.

Still, the tall rogue snarled again. “And what of us? We bleed while you whisper riddles. How long do we wait? How many more must die for your plan?”

Her voice rose, no longer soft but sharp enough to cut. “You speak of loss as if it matters. You were born to fight. To kill. To be weapons. If you fall, then you were too weak to serve my purpose. Do not mistake yourselves for anything more than tools in my hands.”

The clearing went deathly quiet. A few rogues lowered their ears, growling under their breath but not daring to answer.

The youngest rogue, trembling but stubborn, spoke again. “And what happens when your plan is done? What happens to her?”

The woman stilled. For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of the leaves overhead. Then her whisper cut through the silence like frost.

“She will break. And when she does… I will be there to claim her.”

The tall rogue clenched his fists. “And if others stand in your way?”

Her hood dipped slightly, as though smiling. “Then they will fall. One by one. Until only she remains.”

Uneasy silence followed. The rogues’ glowing eyes darted toward each other, searching for courage, but none of them found it.

At last, the tall rogue spat into the dirt. “So we wait. Again.”

“For now,” the woman said. She turned, her cloak sweeping the ground like shadows come alive. “But remember this—the girl lives because I allow it. When the time comes, her life will belong to me.”

She began to walk away, boots silent on the moss. Her figure melted into the trees, but her presence still clung to the clearing like smoke.

The rogues stared after her. The youngest whispered, “I don’t trust her. She hides too much.”

“Shut your mouth,” the tall one growled, though unease lingered in his tone. His eyes stayed fixed on the dark figure fading into the trees.

Then, just before her shape disappeared completely, she stopped. Her head tilted slightly, as if she’d heard something only she could hear.

Her voice drifted back to them, quiet but sharp enough to make every rogue’s hair rise.

“You wonder why she lives. You question why I protect her from death. But remember this—” Her hood dipped again, as if she smiled at some unseen vision. “When the truth comes, you will beg me to end her… and I will refuse.”

A shiver rolled through the rogues. The youngest flinched. Even the tall one clenched his jaw, unease settling into his bones.

The woman vanished into the trees, swallowed by the dark.

For a long time, no one spoke. Then the smallest voice broke the silence, shaky and raw.

“What truth?”

No one answered. The night itself seemed to whisper back,

carrying her last words like a curse:

When the truth comes… you will beg me to end her.