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I leave it short. "Something crossed Maren's line tonight. Fix your wards."

My phone buzzes before I've lowered it.

A text.

NOT OUR WARDS.

The cold that goes through me has nothing to do with the season.

I read it again. Another message drops under it.

GAGE. DO NOT LEAVE HER ALONE TONIGHT.

Something scrapes across my front door.

My wolf detonates. I'm across the room in two strides, and I haul the door open on nothing. Empty porch. Cold air pouring off the dark yard.

Then I look at the wood.

Four fresh claw marks are cut deep into my door. Black. Still smoking at the edges.

And under them, burned into the grain, one word.

MATE.

3

MAREN

TWELVE DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN

Three pumpkins float over my front lawn.

Nobody's holding them. Nobody asked them to. They just hang there, six feet up, turning in the cold October air like the world forgot to tell them about gravity.

This is a problem for a few reasons.

First, pumpkins don't float.

Second, my best friend is standing right beside me, watching them do it.

Third, Gage Corbett is in his yard next door, splitting firewood with his shirt off.

The third one has nothing to do with the pumpkins.

It's still a problem.

"Tell me you see this," I whisper.

Lila's head is tipped all the way back. A dead leaf skates across the grass between us, and neither of us looks at it.

One pumpkin turns, slow.

Another drifts toward the maple.

"Yes," she says. "I see it."

"Good."