The den felt different after the cave.
Quieter.
Not in volume — pups still shrieked, wolves still argued, Sari still shouted about chores — but in the undercurrent.
An awareness.
A tension.
Word of the black pool had spread fast, in the way all good and terrible stories did.
By the time Juno and the others had eaten, washed, and reported to Lysa and the elders, every wolf in Pine Crest knew there was a piece of the Maw sitting in a hole under their eastern flank.
And that Juno and Riven had stood at its edge and walked away.
“Stop looking at me like I sprouted a second head,” Juno muttered to a cluster of younger wolves who’d gone silent when she passed.
They scattered, blushing.
Mira fell into step beside Juno, hip bumping hers. “You did good,” she said. “Look at it this way: now you’re scary in a whole new way. It’s very on-brand.”
Juno huffed. “I don’t *want* to be scary,” she said.
Mira side-eyed her. “You say that like you haven’t been scaring idiots since you were twelve,” she said. “This is just a...promotion.”
They climbed the stairs to the Hall.
Riven waited outside the map room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
He looked...steady.
His eyes were tired, but clear. His posture relaxed.
“Lysa still chewing on cave data?” Juno asked.
He nodded. “She and Irena and the witches are arguing about whether the pool is a natural tear or a manufactured one,” he said. “I left before they started throwing runes.”
Mira snorted. “Wise,” she said. “You two talk. I’m going to go guilt Kellan into taking a nap before he falls off a ridge.”
She vanished down the hall.
Juno eyed Riven.
“How’s the tug?” she asked quietly. “From...her.”
He shook his head slowly. “Less,” he said. “Quieter. She *knows* we saw that seam. She’s annoyed. But the direct line’s still...cut. The root we yanked was the main one.”
Juno exhaled.
“And you?” he asked. “Head? Heart?”
She leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down until she sat on the step, arms draped over her knees.
“Tired,” she said. “Wired. Angry. Hungry. All the usual.”
He sank down across from her, mirroring her posture.
Their knees brushed.
Heat flared.
Neither moved away.
“That moment,” he said softly, “when you stood in front of the pool...”
She glanced at him.
He held her gaze.
“You didn’t hesitate,” he said. “You just...stepped between me and it.”
“You were...leaning,” she said. “I reacted.”
“You think I was going to jump?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But you were...pulled. Instinct. Habit. I know that feeling. When something grief-shaped yanks you toward stupid.”
He huffed a breath.
“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”
They sat in silence for a bit.
Bootsteps passed down the hall occasionally.
Voices rose and fell from the main room.
Life, going on.
“Tell me about him,” Juno said abruptly.
Riven stiffened. “Who?”
“The one you keep...blurring,” she said quietly. “Your brother.”
His throat worked.
He looked away.
“I told you,” he said. “Later. When I was drunk. Or dying.”
She waited.
After a long moment, he sighed.
“His name was Eli,” he said. “Eliar, if you want to be formal. Never liked the full thing. Said it sounded like an old man.”
Her chest ached.
“He was five when the avalanche hit,” Riven went on. “Thought he was invincible. Climbed everything. Fell off everything. Laughing.”
She pictured a pup with Riven’s eyes and Mira’s reckless energy.
“After,” he said, voice rough, “when we were digging...we found my parents. My aunt. Half the pack. We *didn’t* find him. Just his blanket. Torn. No body.”
He swallowed hard.
“When the Maw spoke to me,” he said, “she...used that. Said she had him. Or pieces of him. Said if I...worked...she’d let me...hear him.”
Juno’s stomach turned.
“She did,” Riven whispered. “Sometimes. In the pit. Little...snatches. A giggle. A sob. A ‘Riven, I’m scared.’ It wasn’t *him.* Not really. Just...bits. Stretched. Puppeted.”
Tears burned behind Juno’s eyes.
“Still,” he said, closing his eyes briefly, “I...clung. Told myself if I took one more deal. One more job. One more...throat...she’d give him back. Whole.”
He laughed, harsh. “Stupid,” he said. “I *knew* better. But...”
“Grief makes you stupid,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“I hate her,” he said softly. “For using him. For...dangling him. For making me build a cage for myself with his voice.”
His hands clenched on his knees.
“If she ever puts him in front of me again,” he said, “as a...shadow...or a voice...I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Her heart squeezed.
“You chose *me* in that circle,” she said, voice low. “In the shaft. You bit *her* instead of...reaching for that echo.”
He opened his eyes.
Met hers.
“I did,” he said. “This time.”
She swallowed.
“If she does it again,” she said carefully, “and you...falter...I’ll be there. To...remind you. To be...loud.”
He barked a laugh that was closer to a sob. “You’re very loud,” he said.
“Shut up,” she said, but there was no heat in it.
He sobered.
“If I...fail,” he said quietly. “If I choose wrong...”
“Then I’ll cut you,” she finished, equally quiet. “We already had that talk.”
He nodded.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I don’t want to,” she added, harsher. “For the record. I don’t *want* to be your executioner. I want you to keep choosing me. And the pack. And the mountain. Over *her.* Every time.”
He swallowed.
“I want that too,” he said.
The bond thrummed.
Not with lust.
With something deeper.
A shared, stubborn determination.
The door to the map room creaked open.
Lysa stepped out, Irena behind her.
They both looked...drained.
“Good,” Lysa said when she saw them. “You’re here. Saves me the trouble of sending Corin to drag you.”
She sat heavily on a bench opposite them, dropping her head back against the wall.
“We’ve decided,” she said. “For now. About the vein.”
Juno’s stomach tightened. “And?” she asked.
“We’re not collapsing it,” Lysa said.
Relief and fear warred in Juno.
“Yet,” Irena added dryly.
Lysa shot her a look, then continued. “We don’t know what smashing that pool would do,” she said. “It could seal a mouth. It could blow a hole straight through to wherever she’s chewing. Until we have a better idea, we don’t drop rocks just because we’re scared.”
Riven nodded slowly. “Good,” he said. “I...agree.”
Juno blinked. “You do?”
He shrugged. “If we close this seam blind, she’ll just open another,” he said. “Somewhere we’re not looking. Better to keep this one...contained. Watched.”
Irena grunted. “That’s what we’re going to do,” she said. “Layer more wards. Maybe...siphon some of the...seep...into a controlled space. Study it.”
Juno made a face. “You want to bottle that shit *again?*” she asked.
“Smaller doses,” Irena said. “More...filters. We won’t be smashing jars this time. Hopefully.”
Riven shuddered.
Lysa rubbed her temples. “You two,” she said, eyes on Juno and Riven, “are off cave duty for a week. Non-negotiable. You’ve done more than enough tours of dark holes for now.”
Juno opened her mouth to argue.
Lysa’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t,” she warned.
Juno shut it with a click.
“Good girl,” Irena muttered.
Riven snorted.
“You’ll be on...” Lysa grimaced as if the words pained her. “...lighter bouts of service. Juno, helping Mira and the healer teach younger wolves basic ward-sensing. Riven, with Garrik, learning our supply lines. How we move food and gear up the mountain. Boring, vital stuff.”
Riven blinked. “You’re putting me on...logistics,” he said.
“Yes,” Lysa said. “If the Maw ever gets a sniff of how we feed ourselves and decides to rot our grain, I want you to see it coming.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know anything about...grain,” he admitted.
“You’ll learn,” Garrik’s voice rumbled from down the hall.
The older wolf appeared in the doorway, arms thick from a lifetime of hauling timber and stone.
“You’ll walk trails,” Garrik said. “Count sacks. Learn which neighbors we trade with. Hear which old ladies complain about wolves pissing too close to their gardens.”
Riven’s mouth twitched. “Thrilling,” he said.
Garrik grinned. “You fought gods,” he said. “Now see if you can survive Sari when the bread delivery’s late.”
Juno snorted.
Lysa pushed herself to her feet. “That’s it for now,” she said. “Unless either of you has something to confess.”
Juno hesitated.
Riven went still.
Lysa’s gaze sharpened. “Well?” she asked.
Juno swallowed. “We almost...” she started, then flushed. “...broke rule three in the training ring.”
Riven choked. “Juno—”
Lysa’s brows shot up. “You mean when you were trying to swallow each other’s tongues in front of half the den?” she asked.
Juno groaned. “We did not—”
“You didn’t,” Lysa cut in dryly. “Corin has faster reflexes than both of you. But *that* is exactly why rule three exists. I don’t need you imprinting on each other’s mouths mid-spar.”
Riven turned red. “Understood,” he muttered.
“Good,” Lysa said. “Because if you’re going to break that rule, you’ll do it on your own time. Not mine. And certainly not where my aunt can see and start planning grandchildren.”
Juno whimpered.
Irena cackled.
Garrik snorted. “Sari’s already planning,” he said. “You two just made it worse.”
“Get out,” Lysa said, pinching the bridge of her nose again. “All of you. I need one hour without any of your faces.”
They obeyed.
Outside, in the main hall, the sounds of normal life washed over them again — someone playing cards badly, pups arguing over a carved wolf toy, Mira laughing with the healer.
Juno leaned against the cool stone, exhaling.
“Your alpha is terrifying,” Riven said.
“You say that like yours wasn’t,” she replied.
He snorted. “Different flavor,” he said. “More...perfume. Less...pine.”
They drifted toward the fire.
Mira intercepted them, eyes bright. “You’re off caves?” she asked.
“For a week,” Juno said. “Lysa says so.”
Mira clapped. “Excellent,” she said. “We can do something *fun.*”
Juno arched a brow. “Define—”
“Don’t,” Riven muttered.
Mira grinned mischievously. “Snow’s coming,” she said. “You two ever been on sleds together?”
They exchanged a look.
Riven’s eyes gleamed.
“Not...in this life,” he said.
Juno felt her lips curve.
Slow burn or not, gods or not, some things were simple.
Snow.
Speed.
Laughter.
She could use some of that.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “After grain-counting and ward-teaching.”
Mira whooped. “Race?” she challenged.
“You’ll lose,” Kellan called from across the hall.
Mira stuck her tongue out. “You wish,” she yelled.
Riven watched them, something warm and sad and hopeful flickering behind his eyes.
Juno nudged his shoulder.
“You’re in,” she said.
He blinked. “What?”
“The race,” she said. “You’re in. No pit gods. No demons. Just snow and gravity and you trying not to die.”
He huffed a laugh. “You sure that’s wise?” he asked. “Last time I let gravity take the lead, things got buried.”
Her smile faded for a heartbeat.
Then returned, softer.
“We’ll be there,” she said. “To dig you out.”
His throat bobbed.
“Okay,” he said gruffly. “Race.”
The Maw waited in her veins.
The mountain shifted.
The war was far from over.
But tomorrow, they’d race down its slopes, teeth bared to the wind.
Together.
And maybe — just for a few heartbeats — the only tug on their bond would be from joy.
---