Chapter Six: The First Thread

POV: Silver 

The moon hung low over Slaw crest Pack, its silver light pouring through my bedroom window like a silent confession as I stared at the window. It was late—so late the world outside my walls was silent except for the whisper of leaves brushing in the night wind. I should have been asleep, exhausted after the emotional drain of the day, but my mind refused to settle.

Every time I closed my eyes, Amelia’s smile returned to me—warm, friendly, yet somehow lingering too long in my thoughts. There was comfort in it, the kind that made you lean closer without realizing you were stepping into a snare. I didn’t know why I trusted her so quickly, but she’d been my only real warmth since… since him.

I pushed away thoughts of Volvo, of that rejection that had hollowed me out and left me raw. Tonight wasn’t for that pain. I was trying—desperately—to let my thoughts drift somewhere else.

But then I saw it.

It was small enough that I might have missed it if the moonlight hadn’t caught the glint of its wax seal. Lying in the exact center of my pillow, a folded envelope stared back at me like it had been waiting all along.

My breath caught.

I froze in the doorway. I had locked my door when I left earlier. My window was shut when I returned. So how…?

A hundred possibilities rushed through my head, none of them good. Slowly, I crossed the room, my bare feet whispering against the wooden floor. I hesitated before picking it up, my fingers brushing against the rough, expensive paper. The seal wasn’t stamped with any pack insignia I recognized—it was plain, marred only by the faint impression of a crescent moon.

It felt… old.

I sat on the bed, the paper heavy in my palm.

The moment I broke the seal, a faint scent rose from it—aged parchment, something herbal… and a metallic tang that made my wolf stir uneasily. My hands trembled as I unfolded the letter. The handwriting inside was careful, deliberate, as though each stroke had been weighed.

Silver Colt, 

I might not have the opportunity of telling you this again, but just beware that the death of your parents’ deaths were not an accident.

There are truths buried in Moonstone, and you are standing on them without knowing.

Trust no one—not your friends, not even your Alpha. The one that shattered your heart.

If you want the truth, follow the black wolf’s path under the next crescent moon.

Yours sincerely.

--A friend.

I stared at the words, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the silence of my room. More especially from the part talking about my distrust for the mate that rejected his fate--Alpha Volvo. My throat tightened as I read it again and again, each time feeling my skin grow colder.

Not an accident.

The words dug into me like claws. For years, I had told myself the fire that claimed them was fate—a cruel twist, but nothing more. It was what everyone told me. What the pack insisted on. And now…

Now some nameless hand was telling me it was a lie.

I swallowed hard, my fingers crumpling the edge of the paper. Questions screamed in my head. Who wrote this? What did they mean by “black wolf’s path”? Why now?

My wolf shifted uneasily inside me, pacing. It smells of danger, she murmured. And something else. Truth.

The next crescent moon was in four nights. Four days of pretending I knew nothing. Four days of looking into the eyes of people who might have lied to me my entire life.

My first thought was Amelia. She had been the only one to seek me out lately, the only one whose gaze lingered when she thought I wouldn’t notice. But why would she help me? And if she meant harm, why give me this thread to pull?

I folded the letter carefully, sliding it under my pillow. My fingers itched to run to someone—anyone—and demand answers, but the warning was still ringing in my head. Trust no one.

The room felt smaller suddenly, the shadows sharper.

I heard it then.

A faint scrape, so soft it might have been nothing, coming from somewhere behind me.

My head snapped toward the sound. My window, though locked earlier, now hung slightly ajar, the curtain swaying in the moonlight.

Every instinct screamed danger. My wolf pushed against my skin, urging me to move. I stood, heart hammering, every sense sharpening.

I reached for the letter again, as though holding it would anchor me. My fingertips brushed the paper—

—when the lights went out.

Darkness swallowed the room, thick and absolute. The only light was the thin silver spill from the half-open window. My breath came fast, too loud in my ears.

“Who is there?” I called.

The response was an awkward silence. 

“You know you can’t hide from me in my territory,” I said, grabbing the dagger on my table, “Come out now before I find you.” I threatened.

Still, it was silent.

Then it dawned--I wasn’t alone and in this case it was something cryptic.

The air shifted, carrying a scent I didn’t recognize—something earthy, mixed with the faint sting of iron.

Then, before I could react, a hand shot out of the darkness and snatched the letter from my grasp.

I gasped, lunging forward, but my fingers met only empty air. The shadows seemed to ripple, a flicker of movement toward the window.

“Wait!” I shouted, my voice shaking more from fear than rage.

No answer. Only the faint creak of the window swung wider.

I stumbled toward it, catching a glimpse—just a glimpse—of a dark silhouette vaulting into the night. Not a wolf. Not fully human either.

It was gone.

I leaned against the windowsill, staring into the black beyond, my chest heaving. My hands were empty, the paper gone.

All that remained was the ghost of those words burning into my mind.

Your parents’ deaths were not an accident.

And now… I had nothing to prove it.