*Kieran*
The valley was too quiet.
Not the gentle hush of fresh snow or the soft padding of wolves moving through trees.
A charged silence.
Like the air before a storm.
We felt it in the way the pups clung closer to their mothers. In the way birds took off in sudden flurries, spooked by something we couldn’t see. In the way the treaty stone hummed without being touched, a low, constant vibration in the back of my skull.
Northridge was moving.
They weren’t subtle anymore.
Rafe caught sight of them twice on the southern ridge, dark shapes slipping between trees where they had no business being.
Edda scented fresh piss on a marker that had been ours for generations.
Mara woke three nights in a row from dreams she wouldn’t describe, sweat slick on her brow despite the cold.
“They’re restless,” she said. “Hungry. Their dreams stink of blood.”
“Whose?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Not theirs,” she said.
Two days after the town hall, just after dawn, the wrong howl split the air.
I was outside the cabin, hauling in wood, when it rang out across the valley—long, mocking, edged with something that made my fur prickle even in skin.
Cassian.
Not from the north.
From the east.
Too close to Hollow Creek.
Rafe burst from the trees, half-shifted, eyes wild.
“Hollow,” he panted. “They’re at Hollow.”
My stomach dropped.
Hollow Creek was the little stream that cut across the old forest road three miles from the village. A favorite spot for the pups to splash in summer. A good hunting ground for rabbits.
No one went there alone anymore.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Smoke,” he said. “Gunshots. Northridge scent everywhere. Human, too. Rangers.”
“Rangers?” Sage repeated from the cabin doorway. She was already pulling on her jacket, hair shoved into a hasty ponytail. “Kim?”
“Didn’t see her,” Rafe said. “But they had trucks. Radios. One of them smelled like your office coffee.”
Sage cursed.
“Edda,” I barked. “Get to Mara. Wake Kellan. No one leaves the inner ring without backup. Pups stay in the dens. Now.”
She bolted.
I turned to Sage.
“You’re staying here,” I said.
“The hell I am,” she snapped. “If rangers are involved and Northridge is playing games, you need someone who can translate.”
“This isn’t a town hall,” I growled. “This is teeth. Claws. Blood.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s exactly why you need me. If Kim’s people see something they shouldn’t, I can…spin. Distract. Lie. Whatever it takes. You can’t do that. Not in their language.”
She wasn’t wrong.
I hated that she wasn’t wrong.
“You don’t shift,” I bit out. “You don’t run ahead. You don’t argue with me in the field. If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say get down, you get down, even if you think I’m being overprotective.”
“Overprotective is your brand,” she said. “But yes. I hear you.”
“Rafe,” I said. “You stay in skin. We go as ‘concerned locals.’”
He grimaced. “I hate pants.”
“You have to wear them,” I said. “For me.”
He sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
We shifted just enough to move faster—heightened senses, a bit more power in our legs. Not full fur. Not with humans nearby.
We ran.
Sage kept up surprisingly well, boots crunching in the snow, breath puffing in ragged clouds.
Fear spiked off her in waves.
So did something else.
Determination.
We reached Hollow Creek in under ten minutes.
The smell hit me first.
Smoke.
Gunpowder.
Blood.
And something worse.
Burnt fur.
The creek itself was half-frozen, a weak trickle of dark water between ice-crusted banks. On the far side, a ranger truck sat skewed at an angle, one tire in the ditch, driver’s side door flung open.
A body lay in the snow beside it.
My heart lurched.
For a split second, I thought it was Kim.
Then I saw the hair—short, light. The uniform. The name patch.
PETERS.
Blood soaked his jacket.
Too much.
Two other rangers crouched beside him, hands pressed to the wound, talking into radios.
Across the creek, closer to the trees, a second body sprawled in the snow.
Fur.
Dark.
Still.
Northridge.
Even from here, I recognized the line of his jaw.
Levi.
Ronan’s brother.
His throat was a ruin.
A third shape slumped by the water’s edge, human.
Young.
Jeans.
Flannel.
I caught a flash of a familiar hat.
Tyler.
Alive.
Barely.
He clutched his arm, blood seeping between his fingers.
Jess knelt beside him, face white, hands slick with red.
“Tyler,” Sage breathed.
She started forward.
I grabbed her arm.
“Wait,” I hissed.
She jerked, eyes wild. “He’s—”
“Alive,” I said. “If he weren’t, you couldn’t help him. If you run in there now, you tip the balance. Let me see first.”
Rafe’s nostrils flared as he scanned the treeline.
“No Northridge close,” he murmured. “They ran. Fast.”
Of course they had.
Hit and run.
Leave enough wreckage to start a fire.
Peters groaned.
One of the rangers—Rodriguez, I recognized the scent vaguely from bar nights Sage had described—swore into his radio.
“We need a medi-evac now,” she snapped. “Officer down, wolf attack confirmed, one civilian injured, one wolf deceased. Repeat, wolf deceased. This is not a drill.”
I froze.
*Wolf deceased.*
Levi.
But to them, he was just…wolf.
“Fuck,” Sage whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She yanked her arm free.
Before I could stop her, she jogged toward the truck, one hand raised.
“Rodriguez!” she called. “It’s Holloway!”
The ranger’s head snapped up.
Her eyes widened.
“Doc?” she said. “What the—how did you—”
“I was doing a run,” Sage lied smoothly, breathing hard. “Got a call on the radio about a situation near Hollow. Came as fast as I could. What happened?”
“Wolf attack,” Rodriguez said grimly. “Came out of nowhere. Big male. Tagged. We were responding to a report of…trespassers. Kids, probably. He went for Peters, then the kid. We fired. Hit the wolf. Peters went down. Kid got nicked.”
“Nick—he’s *bleeding out,*” Jess snapped, voice thin. “Do something!”
Sage knelt beside her.
“Jess,” she said gently. “Look at me.”
Jess’s eyes were huge, pupils blown.
“Sage?” she whispered. “It—it was—he—it—”
“I know,” Sage said. “You’re in shock. That’s okay. You did the right thing bringing pressure to the wound. Keep doing that. Don’t let up. Can you do that?”
Jess nodded jerkily.
“Tyler,” Sage said, turning to him. “Hey. Stay with me.”
He laughed weakly. “Hey, Doc. Didn’t expect to see you at my near-death party.”
“Yeah, well,” she said. “You throw terrible parties. How bad?”
He grimaced. “Hurts. A lot. Wolf came out of nowhere. Blue tag on his neck. Big bastard. Didn’t look right.”
“‘Didn’t look right’ how?” Sage asked, but her eyes had flicked to me for a fraction of a second.
She knew.
We all did.
That wasn’t Blue Tag.
That was a Northridge wolf wearing Blue Tag’s collar.
Levi.
I swallowed bile.
“Too big,” Tyler said. “Jaw wrong. Eyes…weird.”
“Haziness is normal with adrenaline,” Sage said calmly. “You can unpack that later. Right now, breathe with me, okay? In…out…”
As she grounded the kids, Kim’s voice crackled over Rodriguez’s radio.
“Chopper’s en route,” she said. “ETA fifteen. Is the wolf body secure?”
Secure.
Levi.
I looked at him.
He lay on his side, fur matted with blood, eyes open and clouding.
His body had already started to stiffen in the cold.
He wouldn’t shift back.
Not now.
Not with that much damage.
Not without someone to guide the change.
They were going to take him.
Bag him.
Study him.
Test his blood.
His DNA.
Find nothing unusual except…everything.
“We can’t let them take him,” Rafe hissed under his breath.
“I know,” I said.
“How?” he demanded. “We can’t exactly drag a hundred and fifty pounds of wolf into the trees while they’re watching.”
“Not like this,” I said.
Mara’s presence brushed the back of my mind.
Not words.
Energy.
*I’m coming.*
I exhaled.
“Sage,” Kim’s voice said from the radio. “You there? Over.”
Sage glanced at Rodriguez.
“Can I?” she asked, nodding at the device.
Rodriguez hesitated.
Then handed it over.
Sage pressed the button.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m here. Over.”
“You picked a hell of a day for a hike,” Kim said dryly. “Situation report?”
“Ranger Peters is hit bad,” Sage said crisply. “Torso. Rodriguez is holding pressure. Civilian male with arm laceration, conscious and talking. One wolf down. Big. Collared. Looks like…Pack A.”
“Blue Tag?” Kim’s voice sharpened.
Sage hesitated.
“Collar says yes,” she said. “But behavior…seemed off.” She glanced at Tyler. “Witness reports jaw structure and eye color inconsistent with known individual. Over.”
“You’re already doing a behavioral differential,” Kim muttered. “Overachiever. Okay. Don’t touch the body. I’m sending a team from Bozeman to collect. We’ll need to run necropsy, check for rabies, anything else. Over.”
Ice slid down my spine.
“You can’t let them cut him open,” Rafe said, low.
“If they find anything…wrong,” I said, “they’ll come looking for more.”
Sage’s throat bobbed.
She pressed the button again.
“Kim,” she said carefully. “We need to talk about that. Over.”
“Not now,” Kim snapped. “We’re in triage. Keep everyone stable. Don’t let Kurt anywhere near the scene. I’ll brief you when I get there. Over.”
The line clicked.
Sage handed the radio back, fingers shaking.
Rodriguez shot her a look.
“Blue Tag?” she asked. “You sure?”
Sage swallowed.
“Not as sure as I’d like to be,” she said.
She met my eyes.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed.
She knew what I was thinking.
I knew what she was.
There was one person in this valley who could change that body before the humans touched it.
Mara.
“I need to…check the perimeter,” Sage said abruptly, standing. “See if there’s more wolves nearby. We don’t want another hit while we’re…vulnerable.”
Rodriguez frowned. “You sure that’s a good idea? You’re not armed.”
“I have bear spray,” Sage lied. “And two legs. I’ll stay within shouting distance. You can yell if anything moves.”
Rodriguez hesitated.
Then nodded. “Fine. But don’t go far. I don’t want to explain to your boss why you got eaten on my watch.”
“Same,” Sage muttered.
She moved toward the trees, steps steady.
Rafe and I slipped around the other side of the clearing, using the creek edge and the truck as cover.
Once we were out of human earshot, Sage hissed, “Can Mara…do something?”
“Yes,” I said. “If she gets here before Kim’s retrieval team.”
“How long?” she asked.
“Fifteen minutes for the chopper,” Rafe said. “Longer for the truck from Bozeman. Mara’s closer. She felt the hit. She’s running.”
He shut his eyes briefly, scenting the air.
“There,” he said. “Half a mile. Coming in hot.”
“Okay,” Sage said, swallowing. “Okay. Game plan. We…create a distraction. Something that pulls the rangers away from the body long enough for Mara to…do whatever she does.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked. “Fake heart attack? Bear attack? Spontaneous combustion?”
She chewed her lip.
“Fire,” she said.
Rafe choked. “You want to start a forest fire to—”
“No,” she snapped. “Controlled. Small. Near the truck. Make them worry about it spreading. Get them to move the wounded. We buy Mara…two minutes. Three, max.”
“Fire freaks them out,” I said slowly. “They’ll rush to put it out.”
“They’ll have to,” Sage said. “Truck fuel. Ammo. They can’t risk a bigger explosion.”
“She’s right,” Rafe said reluctantly. “Humans are very attached to their machines.”
“Can Mara shift him without…notice?” Sage asked. “From here?”
“If she touches him,” I said. “The change will look…weird. Abnormal. But if she times it with the smoke, the movement—”
“We might make them doubt their own eyes,” Sage finished.
“It’s risky,” I said.
“Everything is risky,” she snapped. “We’re way past the point of safe choices.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Again.
“Fine,” I said. “Rafe. You handle the fire. Small. Contained. Smoke heavy. Sage, you get Jess and Tyler clear. Use your ‘concerned adult’ voice. I’ll…anchor Mara.”
Rafe grinned, feral. “Finally, a plan I enjoy.”
“Do not burn down my research site,” Sage hissed.
“I make no promises,” he said.
He peeled off toward the truck, moving like any human might—crouched, hands full of snow, muttering about checking for fuel leaks.
I could practically see the mischief sparking off him.
Sage jogged back toward the kids.
I slipped deeper into the trees, following the humming thread of Mara’s presence.
She broke through the undergrowth a moment later, half-shifted, breath steaming, hair wild, eyes blazing.
“Where,” she demanded.
I nodded toward the clearing.
“Levi,” I said. “Throat. Dead.”
Her face tightened.
“Ronan’s boy,” she murmured. “Of course. Cassian would send him.”
“Humans think he’s Blue Tag,” I said. “Collar.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“We have minutes,” I said. “Kim’s team is coming. They’ll take him. Cut him. Test him.”
She hissed softly. “We can’t have that.”
“Fire distraction,” I said. “Rafe’s on it. Sage is moving the kids. Can you…?”
She nodded once.
“Yes,” she said. “But it will be…messy.”
“I’ll cover you,” I said.
We moved.
By the time we reached the edge of the clearing, Rafe had already “accidentally” knocked over a gas can near the truck and flicked his lighter.
Flames licked up in a sudden whoosh, catching on spilled fuel.
“Shit!” Rodriguez yelled. “Fire!”
“Move, move!” the other ranger shouted. “Get Peters clear!”
Chaos.
They scrambled, lifting Peters as carefully as they could.
Sage grabbed Jess and Tyler, hauling them back toward the road.
“Come on,” she urged. “Back, back. Give them room.”
Smoke billowed, thick and dark.
The air filled with the acrid stench of burning plastic and gasoline.
The wolf’s body lay momentarily forgotten on the far side of the creek.
Mara moved like water.
She slipped from the trees, sliding through the smoke, hand already outstretched.
I followed, heart pounding.
She knelt by Levi, fingers pressing to his fur, just above the ruined throat.
Her other hand slammed flat into the frozen ground.
She closed her eyes.
Power thrummed.
I could feel it.
The air around her shimmered, heat waves in winter.
The snow at her fingertips melted, hissing.
She murmured under her breath, words in no language I knew.
Levi’s body jerked.
His fur rippled.
Bones groaned.
For a heartbeat, it looked like the shift from wolf to man—but wrong. Slower. Stuttering. Muscles bulged, then thinned. Joints popped. His snout shortened, then lengthened again.
His ruined throat…smoothed.
Not entirely.
A livid scar formed where the gash had been.
His eyes snapped open.
Blazing yellow.
He gasped.
Choked.
Sound tore from his reshaped throat—a garbled howl-scream that made the rangers whip their heads around even through the smoke.
“Fuck!” one of them shouted. “The wolf—what the—”
“Now,” Mara hissed.
She grabbed Levi’s face.
Forced his gaze to hers.
“Run,” she commanded.
Power crackled in the word.
Levi’s pupils blew wide.
He lurched to his feet, half-human, half-wolf, body wrong, staggering.
For a split second, he looked like Isandro must have.
Broken between shapes.
Pain lanced through me.
“Run,” Mara said again, voice like iron.
He ran.
Not toward the trees.
Toward the creek.
Toward the deeper forest beyond, away from the village.
Away from Hollow.
He crashed through the ice, water spraying, then scrambled up the far bank and disappeared into the smoke.
“Jesus Christ!” Rodriguez yelled. “Did you see—”
“Smoke,” Sage shouted back, voice pitched just right between panic and authority. “You’re seeing things. Get Peters clear. The truck’s gonna blow!”
Almost on cue, the gas ignited something larger.
A minor explosion rocked the clearing, sending a gout of flame skyward.
Everyone ducked.
No one looked at the creek.
No one saw Levi stumble, half-shifted and bleeding, into the shelter of the trees.
“Go,” Mara gasped, sagging. “I can’t…hold him. Not fully human. Not now.”
“I’ll track him,” I said. “Get Rafe and Edda to help. You—”
“Sleep,” she said. “Eventually.”
She staggered back, blending into the line of trees, smoke wrapping around her like a cloak.
I rejoined Sage as the chopper’s thrum grew louder overhead.
She was covered in soot, hair singed at the ends, eyes wild.
“You good?” I murmured under the roar.
“Define good,” she shouted back. “We just staged a supernatural jailbreak in front of federal agents.”
“Then yes,” I said. “We’re very good at bad ideas.”
She laughed, hysterical and brief.
The helicopter touched down in a swirl of snow and wind.
Medics spilled out.
For the next twenty minutes, the clearing was a flurry of motion—Peters loaded onto a stretcher, Tyler patched and prepped, rangers debriefed, fire doused.
No one mentioned a wolf getting up and running.
No one, except maybe Jess and Tyler, saw more than a dead body twitch in the smoke.
And if they did, their brains would tuck it neatly into the category of Shock-Induced Hallucination.
Humans were good at that.
When it was over, when the chopper lifted with Peters and Tyler aboard, when the Bozeman truck had taken what was left of the “wolf”—a bloodstained collar and some fur from where Levi had lain—Kim found us.
She looked…exhausted.
The wind had chapped her face, hair snarled from the rotor wash.
She took one look at Sage—smoky, shaken, eyes too bright—and said, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Sage laughed weakly.
“You okay?” Kim asked.
“Peachy,” Sage said. “Just casually lying to my colleagues about spontaneous wolf resurrection. You?”
“We’re not talking about that,” Kim said. “Ever. Until I’ve had a bottle of whisky and a week of sleep.”
Sage blinked. “You…saw?”
Kim rubbed her temples. “I saw a dead wolf move in the smoke. I saw it get up and bolt. I also saw a fire, a bleeding friend, two kids in shock, and my entire career flash before my eyes. My brain has decided I’m hallucinating. I’m going to let it.”
Sage swallowed. “Kim—”
“Did you have anything to do with that?” Kim asked, not quite looking at her.
“With what?” Sage stalled.
“With the fact that the body we were supposed to bag and tag is now…somewhere in the woods,” Kim said. “Leaving us with a collar and a handful of fur.”
Sage met her gaze.
For a heartbeat, I thought she was going to tell the truth.
She didn’t.
“I had to get the kids back,” she said carefully. “I wasn’t watching the wolf. I was…watching them.”
Kim’s eyes searched her face.
Then she sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. That’s your story. Stick to it. I’ll…make it work.”
“Kim—” Sage tried again.
“No,” Kim said sharply. “Not now. Not…ever, maybe. I’m too old for this, Holloway. I signed up for wolves, not…whatever the hell this is.” She shook her head. “You’re lucky Peters is alive. That kid too. If either of them had died, this would be…a different conversation.”
“I know,” Sage whispered.
Kim looked between us—Sage and me.
Her gaze lingered on my face.
On my posture.
On the way I stood slightly between her and the trees.
She was smarter than I liked.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked finally.
“Ryan,” Sage said. “Tech. I told you.”
“Yeah,” Kim said slowly. “You did.”
She didn’t offer a hand.
She didn’t need to.
We both knew she’d already taken my measure.
“You two need to go,” she said. “Get back to your tower. Pretend this is just another entry in your field notes. Let me and my people deal with the reports.”
“Kim—” Sage said again.
She raised a hand.
“I trust you, Sage,” she said. “For now. Don’t make me regret that.”
Sage’s shoulders slumped.
“We’ll…get out of your hair,” she said.
“Please do,” Kim said. “Before I start asking questions neither of us can afford to answer.”
We left.
The silence between Sage and me on the trek back was different this time.
Not just tension.
Not just fear.
Guilt.
Relief.
A strange, awful gratitude that Levi was alive.
A gnawing dread about what that meant.
When we were finally out of human earshot, Sage exhaled hard.
“That was…insane,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Did we just make things…better?” she asked. “Or worse?”
“Both,” I said honestly.
She laughed, a short, sharp sound.
“Story of my life,” she muttered.
***
That night, the pack gathered to hear Mara’s account.
She sat by the fire, pale, a blanket around her shoulders.
Her hands shook slightly when she lifted her mug.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” Kellan said gruffly. “Not alone. Not that fast.”
“There was no time for a committee,” she snapped. “Your Alpha called, I answered. That’s how this works.”
Edda twitched. “Ronan’s going to lose his mind when he sees Levi,” she said. “Half-shifted. Scarred.”
“He should,” Mara said. “He should feel every inch of what his Alpha’s choices cost.”
Sage sat cross-legged beside me, back against the wall, notebook on her knees, though she hadn’t written anything down.
“You saved his life,” she said quietly. “Levi’s.”
Mara’s gaze cut to her.
“I altered his death,” she said. “That’s not the same as saving his life.”
“What do you mean?” Sage asked.
“I pushed him through the shift when his body wasn’t ready,” Mara said. “Tore him back from the edge. That kind of thing…leaves marks. On the mind. On the soul. He’ll be…different.”
“Halfway?” Sage whispered.
Mara nodded.
“Not fully,” she said. “Not like the ones we had to…put down. But there will be a…tug. A tear. Cassian will either use that or…destroy him for it.”
A chill slid down my spine.
“He’ll blame us,” Rafe said. “Either way.”
“Good,” Mara said.
Everyone stared.
She sipped her tea.
“Let him feel hunted,” she said. “Let him know we can touch his people. Save them. Ruin them. Force him to face his own reflection in them.”
“That’s…vicious,” Sage said, somewhere between impressed and unsettled.
“I healed his throat,” Mara said. “Not out of kindness. Out of strategy. Out of…need. I’m tired of us always reacting. This time, we made a move. It will cost us. But so will doing nothing.”
Kellan grunted. “We’re in it now,” he said.
“We’ve been in it,” Rafe said. “This just…raised the stakes.”
Sage rubbed her temples.
“I feel like I’m juggling knives,” she muttered. “While blindfolded. On a unicycle.”
“That’s an interesting image,” Edda said. “You ever ridden a unicycle?”
“No,” Sage said. “But I’ve seen YouTube videos.”
“Humans and their strange entertainments,” Mara sighed.
Sage dropped her hands.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Let’s…list what just happened. One: Northridge staged a wolf attack on rangers and a civilian. Two: they used a collared wolf to implicate your pack. Three: we hijacked their death and turned it into…something else. Four: Kim’s people are now officially on high alert. Five: Jess and Tyler saw something they can’t explain. Six: Cassian is down one warrior with a scar he didn’t choose.”
“Seven,” I added. “Town council has a fresh reason to be afraid.”
“Eight,” Mara said. “The old magic has tasted our hands again.”
Sage grimaced. “That sounds…ominous.”
“It is,” Mara said simply.
We sat with that.
The fire popped.
Snow tapped softly on the roof.
“Do you regret it?” Sage asked her. “What you did. Pushing Levi.”
Mara stared into the flames.
“I regret that a boy died today,” she said. “Whether he walks again or not. I regret that my hands remember too well how to twist between life and death. I do not regret denying your people a body to cut.”
Sage nodded slowly.
“What about you?” Mara asked. “Do you regret your fire?”
“I regret that I nearly torched a government truck,” Sage said. “And that I lied to Kim. Again. I don’t regret…distracting them.”
Mara’s lips twitched. “Good,” she said. “You’re learning.”
“I don’t want to be good at this,” Sage muttered.
“Too late,” Rafe said.
Kieran,” Mara said suddenly, eyes flicking to me. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About?” she pressed.
“Levi,” I said. “Ronan. Cassian. Kim. Kurt. Jess. Tyler. Us. The treaty stone. The tree. The old hill. The way everything feels like it’s…sliding.”
Sage’s hand found mine under the blanket.
Squeezed.
“Welcome to leadership,” she said softly.
I squeezed back.
“Do you think we did the right thing today?” she asked me. “Wrong question, I know, but… I need to hear you say it. Or not.”
I thought of Peters, alive.
Tyler, joking weakly.
Jess, trembling but upright.
Levi, half-broken but breathing, somewhere in the dark.
Cassian, feeling that tear in his pack.
Kim, choosing ignorance over truth, at least for now.
“Yes,” I said. “I think we did the only thing we could live with.”
She let out a breath I hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Then we…keep doing that.”
“Making impossible choices?” Rafe muttered.
“Yes,” she said. “Together. That’s the only way any of us gets out of this without…breaking.”
I looked around the fire.
Mara.
Rafe.
Edda.
Kellan.
The pups peeking from the den entrance.
Sage, warm and solid at my side.
My pack.
My world.
The old stories said an Alpha’s job was to protect at all costs.
They didn’t say the cost would be his own sanity.
Or his heart.
But as the snow fell and the wolves sang that night—songs edged with grief and defiance and something that might, against all odds, be hope—I felt something shift under my feet.
A fault line widening.
A path opening.
Toward war.
Toward change.
Toward whatever the valley would be with a human biologist in its core and a bone tree on its ridge.
Whatever waited, we’d face it.
Teeth bared.
Hands linked.
Later.
Always later.
***