We’re deep in the woods behind the pack lodge, where the air is thin and the pine trees are thick enough to blot out most of the afternoon sun. Bolton and Dax call it the Run Zone, which is charming in the “don’t trip and break your face” kind of way.
I dodge a low branch and launch over a fallen log with more grace than I expected. Three weeks ago, I would’ve face planted. Today, my wolf takes the lead and lands clean. Almost like she’s starting to trust me.
Almost.
Bolton jogs to a stop ahead of me, chest rising and falling steadily. Dax is already leaned against a tree, watching us with that steady calm of his like we’re pieces on a board and he’s the only one who sees the whole game.
“Not bad,” Dax says, tossing me a water bottle.
“Not dead,” I counter, unscrewing the cap. “So I’m calling it a win.”
Bolton flashes a grin and steps closer. That grin still distracts me more than it should.
“Your pacing is cleaner,” he says. “You’re letting the wolf guide you.”
“She’s... less annoyed with me these days,” I say.
“She was probably just waiting for you to stop tripping over yourself,” Dax mutters.
I throw a pine cone at him. He dodges it lazily.
Bolton crouches beside me, brushing a leaf from my braid. “She’s learning. So are you.”
He’s right.
The first time I tried to shift after the bonfire, it felt like trying to catch lightning in a teacup. Now, it’s more like holding a live wire. It still stings, but it’s power I can use. Channel. Even if I don’t fully control it yet.
Still, there’s something sharp under Bolton’s praise today. A quiet urgency in the way he watches the tree line. The way he double-checks the wind direction when he thinks I’m not looking.
“You’re on edge,” I say, not a question.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“It’s not you,” he says eventually. “It’s what’s out there.”
I glance at Dax. He’s gone still.
“Rogues?” I ask.
Bolton nods once. “There’s been signs. Tracks a few miles out. Border pack alerted us yesterday. Nothing confirmed. But the council’s nervous.”
“And you?” I ask.
“I’m never nervous,”he answers.
Dax snorts. “Liar.”
Bolton gives a shrug. “I’m just more concerned now. Because if they’re watching the mountain—they’re watching you.”
The idea makes my stomach twist. Not because I’m scared. I am a little, sure. But mostly, I’m tired of people lurking in the shadows of my life, waiting for me to crack open like an egg.
I’m done being afraid of things I can’t see.
“What do they want?” I ask.
Dax’s voice is quiet. “Power. Chaos. Control.”
Bolton’s eyes lock onto mine. “And you represent all three.”
