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Parker looks at me as if I’ve hit him harder than he hit me a few minutes ago. Then his expression shutters, and the stranger wearing my friend’s face is back again. “He’s alive. You should be grateful.”

I bare my teeth at him because my hands are tied and my body is useless, so it’s the only weapon I have left.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, stepping closer again. “You don’t get to look at me like that. You don’t know what it’s been like. You don’t know what it feels like to be chosen by somethin’ old and powerful, to hear him out there, to see that light and know it came for you.”

My stomach turns. “What are you talkin’ about? What did you do?”

“I helped,” Parker snaps, and the word cracks across the mine. He closes the distance between us in three fast strides, rage and nerves making his movements jerky. “That’s what I did. I helped, Lucas. I’ve been helpin’ for months, and you come back here actin’ like you know everythin’ because you’ve got a badge and a sad little cabin and everyone lookin’ at you like you’re some sufferin’ hometown hero.”

I stare at him, trying to put the pieces together while pain chews through my shoulders. “You’re not makin’ a lick of sense. What did you help with? I don’t—”

His fist hits my stomach before I can brace, and the air leaves me in a violent rush. My whole body swings from the rope, wrists screaming, boots scraping uselessly against dirt. I gag around nothing, head dropping forward, vision flashing white at the edges.

Parker stands close enough now that I can smell his sweat, his fear, and under both—faint and terrible—Labrador tea.

Not Onyx.

“Why did you have to come back?” Parker asks, his voice shaking with rage that sounds rehearsed and raw at once. “Do you have any idea how long I waited? How long I listened? How long I did everythin’ right? Then you show up, and suddenly he doesn’t care about me. Suddenly it’s Lucas, Lucas, Lucas. He only wanted routes you’d take. He only wanted to know where you went alone. He wanted me to get you out here.”

I lift my head slowly, and the mine seems to tilt. “He,” I say. “Who are you talkin’ about?”

His expression changes, almost reverent now, and that scares me worse than the punch. “My mate.”

I stare at him, every bruise, every ache, every rope-burn suddenly far away beneath the roar starting in my ears. Parker watches my face like he wants to see understanding and hates me for getting there too slowly.

“The Lantern Stalker,” he says.

The mine narrows around me.

Onyx’s old fear. The wrong scent in the northern gullies. His refusal to let me go near North Ridge. The way he stood in my doorway, terrified and commanding, telling me the ridge was marked. How Parker went quiet in the truck, and how he knew where to walk. Jonah’s call coming at the perfect time. Labrador tea on Parker’s skin like stolen perfume.

Onyx’s brother.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

Parker flinches like I’ve insulted him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Parker,” I wheeze, “that thing lied to you. He’s not your mate.”

He hits me again, this time across the face. Pain explodes through my cheek. My head snaps sideways, and blood fills my mouth where my teeth cut the inside of it. The swing makes the ropes twist, turning me away from him for a second. I blink hard, force the dark spots back, and lift my head because if I let it hang too long, I might not get it up again.

Parker is breathing heavily. “You don’t know anythin’!” he yells. “You never did. You left. You left this place, left all of us, then came crawlin’ back when your city life spat you out. And he chose you. Why? Why are you so special?”

The question is raw enough that for a second, pity tries to rise.

Ava. Mark. The missing persons wall in Sheriff Reyes’s office. Red string, photographs, and Tom’s hollow-eyed warnings. Dogs refusing creeks. Lights in the trees. How many times had Parker stood beside me while I looked for answers he already knew were buried under the wrong monster?

“Wait…” I whisper, horrified as realization seeps in. “What exactly did you do for him?”

“I didn’t kill anybody,” he says too fast. “I just helped sometimes. Gave him routes. Told him when patrols changed. Left gates unlocked. People wander off all the time around here, Lucas. You know that.”

Even as he’s telling me this, my mind refuses to comprehend it. “You fed people to him.”

His face crumples with anger. “I love him.”

“No,” I say, and this time my voice is hard enough to cut. “You loved feelin’ chosen. You loved being close to somethin’ powerful. You loved thinkin’ you were different than the people on that missin’ wall. But you were never his mate, Parker. You were useful.”

His face slips into anger because shame is too honest. “You don’t understand what it feels like to be chosen by somethin’ like that.”