4. CASSIUS

The road stretched endlessly ahead, dark asphalt cutting through forests that smelled unfamiliar even through closed windows. The engine hummed steadily beneath us, tires eating mile after mile, six hours of distance separating my pack from the one we were heading toward. Vineclaw. A weapon. A drug. A necessary evil wrapped in leaves and venom. If it were up to me, I would have gone alone. But necessity had its own rules.

I sat in the back seat, elbow resting against the window, forehead leaned lightly against the cool glass. My beta drove, both hands firm on the wheel, eyes alert. The gamma sat beside him, already restless barely an hour into the journey. Our healer was in the seat next to me, quiet, eyes closed, conserving energy the way healers always did.

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this on four wheels,” the gamma muttered, shifting in his seat for the third time in ten minutes. “My legs are screaming. Wolves weren’t meant to sit like humans. We could have covered this distance in half the time.”

“And announced our presence to every human with a camera and a gun?” my beta replied calmly, eyes never leaving the road. “You want headlines? ‘Giant wolves spotted crossing state lines.’ That’s how packs get burned.”

The gamma scoffed. “I’d rather be burned than cramped.”

“You’d rather be dead,” the beta countered. “Sit still.”

Their bickering faded into background noise as my mind drifted somewhere else entirely. It always did on long drives. Silence invited memories, and mine never needed an invitation.

Today was her birthday.

The thought settled heavy in my chest, unwelcome yet impossible to ignore. I hadn’t marked the day aloud in years, but my wolf knew. He always did. He had been restless since dawn, pacing inside me like he sensed something unfinished, something unresolved.

She never celebrated birthdays. Not really.

Her mother had died giving birth to her. The pack whispered about it like it was a curse, like her very existence had cost too much. Her father remarried quickly, grief replaced by convenience, and the woman he brought home made sure the child was reminded every year that this day was not meant for joy. No cakes. No candles. No laughter. Just silence, and sometimes blame.

I remembered the first time I broke that pattern.

She had been sixteen. Too thin. Too quiet. Always watching, always stepping back to make space for others. I had dragged her out of the pack house despite her protests, ignoring the sharp looks from her stepmother. I’d stolen pastries from the pack kitchen, taken a candle that my mom lit at the dining table, too big for the pastry I had in my hand, and taken her to the clearing beyond the eastern ridge.

She had stared at the small cake like it might disappear if she blinked.

“This is… for me?” she had asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. “Happy Birthday Si.” I called her Si and she called me Cass. It was our names for each other.

The way her eyes filled with tears nearly undid me.

That night, the moon had been full. Bright. Unforgiving. It was her first shift. She hadn’t known it would happen. None of us had expected it to happen. I was seventeen, barely holding my own wolf in check, and suddenly she was screaming, bones breaking, magic tearing through her like wildfire.

I had stayed with her the entire time. Held her hand until it was no longer human. I tried talking to her even when she couldn’t hear me. When she finally shifted back at dawn, exhausted and terrified, she had looked at me like I was the only solid thing left in the world.

That was the night my wolf chose her.

I swallowed hard and looked away from the window. The forest outside blurred as my thoughts darkened.

Where was she now?

The question had haunted me for years. After she left, no matter how busy I kept myself, no matter how many responsibilities I buried myself under, the question remained. Was she alive? Was she safe? Had her kindness survived a world that had never been gentle with her?

She had been too compassionate for her own good. Always seeing the best in people. Always forgiving when she shouldn’t have. I had worried that the world would chew her up and never bother spitting her out.

And when she left, I had let her.

That regret was a quiet, constant ache. I told myself it had been the right thing. That stopping her would have been selfish. That loving her didn’t give me the right to cage her in my choices.

But the truth was uglier.

I had been afraid. Afraid of choosing her and watching the pack turn against me. Afraid of what it would cost. Afraid that love would make me weak.

The gamma’s voice pulled me back. “We’re wasting daylight. If we had run—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m pulling over and letting you run the rest of the way,” the beta said dryly.

I almost smiled. Almost.

The car slowed as the scent shifted. Unfamiliar wolves. Boundaries. Power. The other pack’s territory pressed against my senses, heavy and alert. My wolf stirred, pacing sharply now, claws scraping inside my chest.

The vehicle came to a stop in front of the pack’s main structure, a large stone building that carried age and authority in its bones. Council chamber. My beta cut the engine.

Everyone went still.

My wolf surged forward suddenly, heart slamming hard against my ribs. The air felt wrong. Charged. Familiar in a way that made my breath hitch.

“What is it?” my healer asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. I was already stepping out of the car, boots hitting gravel, senses flaring wide. The gamma followed, still grumbling under his breath, but his voice faded as soon as he caught my expression. I rushed inside the pack, my beta and gamma taking clearance for the security checks. I headed to the chambers where my body led me to.

I pushed open the heavy doors to the council chamber.

And then I saw her.

She sat near the far end of the room, partially turned away, speaking softly to an elder. Older. Thinner. But unmistakable. Her scent hit me like a physical blow, crashing through years of denial and restraint.

Alive.

My wolf howled inside me, relief and longing tangling painfully together.

The room blurred at the edges as I stared, heart pounding so hard I thought it might give me away. She lifted her head, as if sensing something, and our eyes met.

Time stopped.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just us. The past. The regret. The love I had never buried properly. All of it surged back, raw and unfiltered.

She looked at me like she had seen a ghost. And in that instant, I knew. Whatever brought me here, whatever dangers waited beyond these walls, this was not coincidence.

This was fate, circling back to collect its due.