Three days of singing stones made Ashridge almost feel… hopeful.
Almost.
They tied rings at dawn and dusk now, never more than two a day. Rane led the howls, voice thin but sure, Corin’s and Garron’s following. Bram’s always came last, threading through the others, tugging Lira’s hum into place.
The land answered.
Not everywhere. Not all at once. But in small, stubborn pockets, the hum lost its frantic edge.
Wolves slept deeper. Fewer nightmares sent patients stumbling into the infirmary in the middle of the night. The pups’ play-fights grew rougher again, laughter ringing instead of trembling.
Yet every time Lira closed her eyes, she still felt the raw silence of the ravine waiting like a toothache.
“It’ll crack if we don’t go,” she muttered one afternoon, bent over a map with Corin and Mara at the infirmary’s central table.
The parchment was covered in lines—some ink, some charcoal, some faint scratches where someone had changed their mind and scraped away.
“We go when we’re ready,” Corin said, his finger tracing the triangle of reinforced stones near Ash Ridge.
“We’ll never feel ready,” Lira said.
“Then we go when I decide the odds aren’t stupid,” he replied.
Mara snorted. “That’ll be a first.”
“Half our western web is humming right,” Corin continued, ignoring her. “The rings nearest the ravine are still… off. We reinforce those. Then we go.”
“Rings won’t matter if the surge decides to… move,” Lira said. “It’s patient, not fixed.”
“How far can it move if we start cutting its ropes?” Bram’s voice came from behind her.
She hadn’t heard him enter.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, hair damp from training. His shirt clung to his chest in patches. His scar tugged his mouth into that almost-sneer she’d learned meant he was thinking too hard.
“It’ll move where the web lets it,” Lira said, drawing a finger along the sketched lines. “Right now? Thornfell. Ashridge. Maybe further. Packs we don’t know about.”
“Then we make our web tighter,” he said. “Give it fewer choices.”
“It’s still going to *fight,*” she said.
He met her eyes. “Good,” he said. “I like it when the enemy has teeth. Then I know where to bite.”
Mara sighed dramatically. “You are all very inspiring,” she said. “And very annoying. Eat. Then tie. Then you can fantasize about biting abstract concepts.”
***
That evening’s tie was at the northwestern edge of Ashridge—closer to the ravine than they’d dared adjust so far.
The stones here were tall and thin, like crooked teeth. The ground sloped gently down toward the dip where Tansy had been found. The air tasted… thinner.
Lira’s skin prickled as they approached.
“Feels like we’re tugging the edge of a scab,” she whispered to Bram as they knelt by the first stone.
He shot her a quick, sharp look. “You always had a gift for pleasant metaphors,” he said.
“It’ll bleed if we’re not careful,” she said. “And the ravine is right there to drink it.”
His jaw clenched. “Then we’re careful.”
Rane set the tone, starting with a low, almost conversational howl. Corin joined, then Garron, their voices weaving. Bram’s came slower, more hesitant at first, then settling into a steady, aching thread.
Lira hummed.
The rune-stone under her palm warmed. The rope tugged slightly, as if pulled from the other anchors.
The hum—
It didn’t smooth.
It hissed.
“Pull back,” Mara snapped, hand landing on Lira’s shoulder.
Lira tried.
The magic *clung.*
Not to her. To the rune-stone. To the rope. To the tie.
The song shifted. The wolves’ howls wavered without meaning to, thrown off by the discord.
The land under her palm felt… slippery. Like trying to stand on ice over deep water.
Her emptiness echoed.
Not with belonging.
With… *attention.*
It had noticed them.
The web. The ravine. The surge.
It had noticed this new ring.
“Stop,” Lira gasped, voice cracking over her hum. “Stop. It’s—”
The rope snapped.
Not physically. Not where the wolves could see.
In the magic.
The line that should have softened between the three stones kinked, tightened, then snapped like an over-stretched string.
Lira’s emptiness screamed.
Heat—or cold, she couldn’t tell—shot up her arm. Her vision went white at the edges.
Bram’s howl cut off mid-note. His hand slammed over hers on the rune-stone. “Lira!”
The surge that wasn’t a surge yet but *wanted* to be clawed at her emptiness, looking for purchase.
It found his wolf.
Not directly. Through their thread.
Her breath torn from her lungs. “No,” she choked. “Not him. Me.”
Idiot.
But instinct screamed *protect him.* Even now. Especially now.
She yanked.
It was like grabbing a handful of nettles and squeezing.
Magic ripped from the half-formed knot in the rope and slammed into her hollow.
She’d expected pain.
She *got* pain.
But this time, it came with… taste.
Ash. Iron. Old oaths. The memory of Tansy’s alpha cutting his palm and laughing as the stone drank.
Lira gagged.
“Let go!” Mara snarled.
“I can’t,” Lira gasped. “If I— it’ll—”
The knot *fought.*
Unlike Bram’s tangled surge, which had wrapped around his wolf in confused panic, this was… focused.
It knew what she was. Or thought it did.
It poured in, trying to fill her, to use her emptiness as a channel to spread.
She refused.
Instead of letting it flow, she… *compressed.*
She pulled her emptiness tight around it, like a fist closing. Squeezed.
The knot screamed.
It wasn’t sound. It was structure. A pattern trying to hold, suddenly unable to.
“Lira,” Bram’s voice, rough and scared, was right by her ear. His hand crushed hers against the rune-stone.
His wolf pushed through their bond, offering… weight.
Backing.
She used it.
She braced herself against his presence and *crushed* the knot.
It burst.
Lightning under her skin. She gasped, body arching. Mara’s hands were on her shoulders now, Corin’s grip like iron around her upper arm.
Then—
Silence.
Her emptiness rang.
She slumped forward.
“Fuck,” she whispered into the dirt.
The air was thick with the harsh pants of wolves shifting back.
“Lira,” Bram said, voice raw. “Talk to me.”
“I hate… this,” she muttered.
Mara barked a laugh. “She’s fine,” she announced. “If she can complain, she’s fine.”
“I’m not fine,” Lira protested weakly.
“You’re alive,” Mara said. “That’s my metric.”
Bram’s hands eased their white-knuckle grip. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said hoarsely.
She blinked, finally lifting her head.
The world swam, then steadied. Bram’s face hovered close—scar pale, eyes too bright. He looked… shaken.
“Sorry,” she whispered automatically.
His expression twisted. “If you apologize one more time for saving my territory, I’m going to bite you,” he said.
Heat shot through her that had nothing to do with magic.
She licked dry lips. “Empty threat,” she said, breathless.
His pupils blew. “Not entirely,” he murmured.
Mara cleared her throat pointedly. “Later,” she said. “Sexual tension on your own time. For now—what the hell was that?”
Lira dragged in a breath, forcing her thoughts away from the way Bram’s hand still covered hers.
“It… pushed back,” she said. “Not like before. Not just… strain. It *noticed* the tie and tried to… snap it. Use it.”
Rane’s ears flattened. “Like a trapped thing seeing a new hole,” she said. “Reaches for light. Even if it’s teeth.”
“Yes,” Lira said. “Exactly. It’s… smarter now. Or more aware.”
Corin’s jaw clenched. “Because we’ve been… poking,” he said. “Tugging lines.”
“Yes,” Lira said again. “We’re… waking it up. Or rather—we’re waking its attention to *us.*”
Garron swore softly. “We’re making ourselves tasty targets.”
“Fantastic,” Mara muttered. “We always wanted to be popular.”
Bram’s thumb stroked the back of Lira’s hand, his touch almost absent-minded but anchoring. “But you killed that knot,” he said. “Faster. Cleaner. Without… twisting me.”
She closed her eyes briefly. The aftertaste of it still coated her tongue. “Yes,” she admitted. “But it… hurt more. It… knew me.”
“Knows you,” Rane corrected. “Now. As… predator. And… prey.”
Lira’s skin crawled.
“So we don’t tie this ring,” Corin said. “Not yet. We back off. We reinforce the others.”
“It already tasted this one,” Lira said, nodding at the stone. “Even if we leave it… it’ll… pull. It knows the rope exists now.”
“Can we… untie?” Garron asked.
Rane shook her head. “Not clean,” she said. “Once you tie, it’s tied. You can… cut. But cutting hurts worse.”
“We don’t cut,” Mara said firmly. “We’ve seen what happens when you slice through old magic. We have enough broken wolves.”
Corin rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’re dancing on a rotten floor,” he muttered. “Step too hard, we go through. Step too soft, the rot spreads.”
“That’s optimistic,” Lira murmured.
He gave her a flat look. “You’re the one who keeps telling me to face reality.”
“Reality is an ass,” she said.
Bram huffed a weak laugh.
Corin exhaled. “We pull back for today,” he said. “Everyone rests. Tomorrow, we go back to the east and south rings. Ones that don’t bite. Let this one… simmer.”
“And the ravine?” Lira asked.
He met her gaze. “We don’t go near it again until we have to,” he said. “But that ‘have to’ just moved closer.”
Her emptiness shivered in grim agreement.
***
Back at the infirmary, Mara bullied Lira onto a bed and made her drink a foul concoction that tasted like burned bark and old socks.
“What is this?” Lira grimaced, swallowing anyway.
“Stabilizer,” Mara said. “Helps your channels stop screaming. Also makes you pee. So don’t go far.”
“Charming,” Lira muttered.
Bram loomed at the foot of the bed like an anxious mastiff.
“You can go,” she told him. “I’ll… sleep. Or stare at the ceiling. Or pee.”
He didn’t move.
“Mara,” he said, not taking his eyes off Lira. “What are the chances she… burns out? Doing this. Long-term.”
Mara’s hands stilled on the mortar she was cleaning. “Honest?” she asked.
“Yes,” Bram said, jaw tight.
“High,” Mara said bluntly. “If we keep asking her to drain knots like that. If we’re stupid and greedy and push too hard. Medium, if we’re careful. Low, if the gods decide to stop laughing and throw us a bone.”
Lira made a face. “Reassuring.”
Mara shot her a look. “You wanted honesty too,” she said.
Bram’s hands curled into fists. “What does burn out look like?” he asked, voice rough.
“Depends,” Mara said. “Could be she… goes catatonic. Emptiness eats more than just the wolf. Could be she… cracks. Loses… lines between self and magic. Could be—” She stopped.
“Could be what?” Bram demanded.
Mara’s gaze flicked to Lira. “Could be she… explodes,” she said. “Not literally. Metaphorically. All that built-up strain finds a way out. Through her. Through the land. Through the bond between you.”
Silence.
Lira stared at the ceiling. “I’d like to opt out of exploding,” she said.
Mara snorted. “Noted.”
Bram’s eyes were dark. “We can’t keep doing this to her,” he said.
“We don’t have a choice,” Corin said from the doorway.
When had he come in?
He stepped closer, the weight of his presence filling the small room. “We have options,” he said. “All of them bad. We pick the least bad. Right now, that’s Lira draining knots while we shore up the rest and plan a strike at the ravine. You want to propose a better path?”
Bram’s jaw worked. “I want her alive,” he said.
“So do I,” Corin said. “So does Cael, for that matter.” His gaze softened, briefly, on Lira. “So does the land, if its hum around her is any sign.”
She blinked. “The land… wants me alive,” she said skeptically.
“It responded to you,” he said. “It doesn’t waste energy on corpses.”
Mara huffed. “High praise.”
Lira dragged a hand over her face. “I’m in the room,” she muttered. “You could ask me what I want.”
Corin nodded. “What do you want?” he asked.
She thought.
Really thought.
Not just of fear. Or duty. Or guilt.
Of Bram’s wolf pressing into her emptiness during the song. Of Tansy’s haunted eyes. Of Cael’s careful pride. Of Idris’s clumsy gentleness. Of Mara’s rough affection. Of Rane’s old growl. Of Garron’s sideways loyalty.
“I want… fewer broken wolves,” she said simply. “If that means I… burn… a little, I can live with that. If it means I… vanish entirely…” She hesitated. “Then I want it to be… worth it.”
Bram made a strangled noise.
“That’s not good enough,” he said.
“It’s all we have,” she replied quietly.
His gaze locked on hers. “No,” he said. “We have more. We have… us.”
Heat pricked behind her eyes. “That’s… new,” she said. “For me.”
“Then we protect it,” he said fiercely. “We protect you. I won’t… stand by and watch you throw yourself into a ravine you can’t climb out of.”
“You did,” she said softly. “With your patrol. With me, that first time. You let me—”
“I didn’t understand then,” he cut in. “I do now.”
Corin rubbed his jaw. “We adjust,” he said. “Lira doesn’t touch any more near-ravine rings until we’ve tied at least ten more in safer zones. We bring Cael in sooner than planned. We share the drain. Maybe Thornfell has its own… emptiness. Or mages. Or something.”
Lira’s stomach clenched. “Thornfell’s witches won’t… like this,” she said. “They barely tolerated my tests. They see wild magic as… tool. Not… wound.”
“Then they can either learn or get out of the way,” Corin said flatly.
Mara eyed him. “Look at you,” she said. “Growing a spine in two directions at once.”
He snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”
Bram still looked unconvinced. But he exhaled slowly, some of the rigid lines easing from his shoulders.
“Fine,” he said. “We share the stupid. Not pile it all on her.”
Mara raised her mug. “To shared stupidity,” she said.
Lira laughed weakly. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, taking a sip of her foul brew.
It tasted marginally less like socks now.
***
That night, Bram didn’t lurk.
He sat on her cot openly, back against the wall, legs stretched out, hand in hers above the blanket.
“You’re… not subtle,” she whispered.
“Subtlety is for alphas,” he said. “We betas handle… blunt force.”
“That’s not comforting,” she muttered.
He studied her face. “You still taste like ash,” he said quietly. “Scent-wise.”
“Better than rot,” she said.
“Not by much,” he replied.
Their hands squeezed.
“What are you afraid of most?” he asked suddenly.
She blinked. “Now?”
“In general,” he said. “Magic aside. Stones aside. Packs aside. You.”
Her throat tightened. “Losing… myself entirely,” she said. “Not dying. Just… ceasing. Becoming… nothing but… channel. No thoughts. No… choices. Just… flow.”
He swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “That tracks.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Hurting my pack,” he said immediately. Then, more softly, “Hurting… you.”
Her chest ached. “You already have,” she said. “We’re both… tangled in this. Whatever happens… we’re going to hurt.”
He flinched. “You’re not good at… comfort.”
“I’m good at… reality,” she said. “Comfort comes after we survive.”
He huffed a laugh. “Morbid,” he said.
“Honest,” she replied.
He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing. “If you… do burn out,” he said, voice rough, “I’m going to drag you back from wherever you go and yell at you for leaving me with all this work.”
She squeezed his hand. “Deal,” she whispered.
He squeezed back.
In the dark, the stones hummed more steadily around Ashridge.
In the distance, the ravine listened.
And adjusted.
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