"Which are?"
"Bad." No sugar-coating. No false reassurance. "We're good, but we're not invincible. People are going to get hurt. Some might not make it home."
She absorbs this without flinching. "Including you."
"Including me."
"And you're telling me instead of shipping me off to safety because?"
I meet her gaze directly. "Because shipping you off isn't safety. It's just postponement. These things don't give up, andthey don't forget. They'll follow you eventually, and when they do, you'll face them alone instead of with backup."
She nods slowly. "What else?"
"The pack's split on strategy. Half want to retreat, let it pass through our territory unopposed. The other half want to make a stand here, end the cycle." I run a hand through my hair. "Both sides have valid points."
"But you've already decided."
"We make our stand. Tonight, if the tracks are right. Tomorrow at the latest." I watch her process this. "It means using you as bait. Again. Controlled bait, with every protection we can manage, but bait nonetheless."
"Because I'm what it wants."
"You're what drew it here, yes."
She's quiet for a long moment, fingers drumming against the closed laptop. "You could order me to leave."
"I could try."
"But you won't."
"No." The admission sits between us, solid as stone. "I won't."
She opens the laptop again, fingers finding the keys. "Then let's talk tactics."
Outside, something howls in the distance. Not wolf. Not quite human.
The endgame has begun.
29
ELLIE
The thing emerges from the tree line at dusk, and I'm already in position.
No one suggested I wait inside. No one pulled me aside for a final plea about staying safe. The conversation ended hours ago when I looked Caleb in the eye and said, "I'm doing this." He nodded once, handed me the radio, and walked away to brief the pack.
Now I stand in the clearing where it all began—where the first disappearance happened more than a century ago, where the pattern started. My laptop sits open on a fallen log, screen glowing, cursor blinking in an empty document. The bait that isn't really bait anymore.
"Movement, northwest quadrant." Rowan's voice sounds through the radio clipped to my jacket.
I don't respond. Protocol says radio silence from here forward unless I'm calling for extraction. The plan is simple enough: let it get close, keep it focused on me, trust the pack to do the rest.
Simple. Not easy.
The first shadow detaches itself from the darkness between the trees, and my heart hammers against my ribs. It moves wrong—too fluid, joints bending in directions that make my eyes water. Behind it, two more shapes emerge.
Three. Not four. Small mercy.
"Well," I say aloud, voice carrying across the clearing. "Took you long enough."