The forest was still when they set out. Mist clung to the undergrowth, curling low and pale as breath. The patrol moved in silence — four wolves in human form, cloaked against the chill, boots crunching frost-bitten leaves.
Elara walked at the rear, her senses stretched thin. The river wasn't far now. She could hear it — a low, steady murmur that blended with the rhythm of her pulse.
Every scent was sharper out here: pine and wet moss, old bark and the faint metallic tang of water. It was the kind of quiet that hummed with hidden things.
"Stay alert," the lead scout whispered, lifting a hand. "Shadowfen's scent is faint, but it's here."
Elara inhaled carefully. He was right — there it was, threaded between the earth and air. Musky. Wild. Untamed. It set her wolf on edge, fur bristling just beneath her skin.
They've crossed here before, her wolf murmured. This place remembers them.
The group fanned out along the riverbank. The water gleamed like glass, reflecting the silver sky. Elara crouched, running her fingers through the mud where paw prints had been half-washed away.
"Fresh," she said quietly. "Less than a day old."
The scout frowned. "Too close for comfort."
As they continued downstream, something shifted in the air. A prickle danced along Elara's spine — instinctive, electric. She froze.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered.
The others stopped. "What is it?"
She scanned the opposite bank. Trees stood like sentinels, shadows deep and watchful. But she couldn't see anything. She could only feel it — a presence, vast and silent, watching from beyond the mist.
Then, for the briefest moment, her wolf went still. Not with fear — but recognition.
Him.
Her breath hitched. "We need to move," she said, voice low.
The others didn't argue. They finished their sweep quickly, tension thickening with each step. When they turned back toward the pack lands, Elara glanced once more at the far bank — at the darkness that felt alive. Nothing moved. But she knew something — or someone — had been there.
By the time they returned, dusk had painted the sky in bruised colors. Elara walked the last stretch alone, letting the forest's quiet wrap around her.
Her wolf had gone silent, but her chest ached with that strange, unfamiliar pull. It wasn't the bond she'd lost — it was something older, deeper, and far more dangerous.
When she reached her cabin, she lit a single candle and sank to the floor. The flickering light threw shadows against the walls, soft and restless. She pressed a hand to her chest, where her mark should have been — where Kieran's rejection had burned it away.
"I don't want to feel this," she whispered.
Her wolf stirred again, a low rumble in her mind. Then stop running from it.
Elara's throat tightened. "What if it's another trap? Another pain waiting to happen?"
Not all bonds destroy, her wolf replied softly. Some rebuild what others broke.
The words lingered long after the voice faded.
Outside, the wind shifted — carrying with it a scent she didn't recognize. Wild, clean, edged with smoke and moonlight.
Her pulse stumbled.
She stood, crossing to the open window. The forest stretched below, quiet except for the river's distant murmur. But beneath it, she felt the same presence — the same unspoken awareness — brushing against the edges of her soul like a whisper through glass.
Somewhere beyond the river, a wolf lifted its head to the moon.
And Elara's heart answered — though she didn't yet understand why.