I pause once more.
“But it also won’t be handled in the dark anymore. The threat is real," I say without preamble. "Active. And it's not going away because we've been quiet about it."
Jackson shifts in his front-row seat. "Sheriff, what exactly are you suggesting?"
"That we stop pretending ignorance protects anyone." I gesture toward the windows facing the forest. "Three families have reported disturbances this week. Two more last night. The pattern isn't random, and it isn't stopping."
Thomas Reed raises his hand tentatively. "Are we talking about evacuation?"
"We're talking about visibility." The words feel foreign, decades of careful restraint dissolving with each syllable. "About making it clear that this town isn't defenseless, and that threats against our people won't be ignored or managed quietly."
Rowan steps forward from where he's been leaning against the wall. The movement draws attention—deliberate, unmistakable. "The pack stands with the sheriff's decision."
A ripple of understanding moves through the crowd. Not shock—most of these people have lived here long enough to piece together what they've chosen not to examine too closely. But acknowledgment, finally spoken aloud.
"You're asking us to abandon decades of keeping the peace," Mayor Harrison says carefully.
"I'm asking you to recognize that the peace was already broken." I meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "We just haven't admitted it yet."
Dr. Michelle Winters stands from the middle section. "What does visibility actually mean? Patrol schedules? Neighborhood watches?"
"It means we stop hiding what we're capable of protecting." Rowan's voice carries the weight of pack authority, no longer muffled by careful human inflection. "It means boundaries get drawn in daylight, not shadows."
"And if people panic?" someone calls from the back.
"They won't," I say with more certainty than I've felt in years. "Because they'll see the protection instead of just the threat."
Mara appears in the doorway, wolf-form bleeding through her posture in ways that would have horrified me a month ago. Now it feels like honesty. She nods once—the signal I've been waiting for.
"The pack moves at dusk," I announce. "Visible. Coordinated. Anyone who wants to understand what's been keeping this town safe for decades can watch from their windows."
The room holds its breath.
"Questions?"
Silence stretches, then breaks as chairs scrape against linoleum. People stand, file out, murmur to each other in voices that carry purpose instead of confusion.
The old rules are dead. What replaces them starts tonight.
I don't sendher away.
The thought crosses my mind—fleeting, instinctive. Pack her up. Drive her to the county line myself. Tell her it's for her owngood, that she'll thank me later when she's alive and whole and far from whatever's coming.
I kill the thought before it takes root.
"Ellie." I turn from the window where I've been watching the tree line. She's at the table in my kitchen, laptop open, still documenting everything even with her left arm in a sling. "We need to talk."
She glances up, fingers pausing over the keys. "That sounds ominous."
"It is." I pull out the chair across from her, sit down. No distance. No careful positioning. "The thing in the woods—it's not waiting anymore. Rowan picked up fresh tracks this morning. Multiple sets. It's bringing reinforcements."
Her eyes sharpen. "How many?"
"Three, maybe four. Enough to overwhelm our defenses if we're not ready." I lean forward, elbows on the table. "Enough to make this a war instead of a hunt."
She closes the laptop slowly. "You're telling me this because?"
"Because you deserve to know what you're staying for." The words come easier than they should. Weeks of careful omissions, and now the truth spills out like water through a broken dam. "Because I'm not going to lie to you about the odds."