Emin returned an hour later. He didn't just walk; he moved with the heavy, metallic scent of Pack authority still clinging to his skin. He looked like a man who had just sold his soul for a hall pass.
"The trade gate is clear," Emin reported. His voice was low, vibrating with the effort of the lie. "The Alpha command held. They think we're tracking a high-value Coven asset. We move now."
He spared a brief, intense look for Ravenna. A silent thank you for the anchor she'd provided. Then his gaze snapped to Asher. The Rogue was vibrating. Not the good kind.
"Rogue," Emin warned. "If you contaminate the bond with that terror again, I will restrain you myself."
"Try it, Alpha," Asher countered. His eyes were already searching the ruins ahead. "You need my paths to get past the wards. My paths are what matter. Keep your hands off the merchandise."
The Dead Zone wasn't just a ruin. It was a magical dumpster fire.
It wasn't natural decay. It was the wreckage of magic itself. Ancient Coven wards, half-blind and senile, flickered across the sky like dying embers, casting a sickly green light over a landscape that tasted like ozone and old blood.
Asher led them with a caution that felt wrong. He wasn't being careful; he was being haunted. After two hours of weaving through rusted girders and shattered stone, he stopped.
"Nyzor blocked the main tunnels," Asher hissed. He scanned a series of heavy iron doors. "Anti-Lycan wards. They weren't expecting a ghost. They were expecting a tank."
Damaris stepped forward to inspect the glowing, vomit-colored energy. "Crude. But it'll fry your nervous system if you sneeze on it. This requires surgery, not a sledgehammer."
"We don't have time for a lecture, Warlock," Emin growled.
Asher pulled out a smoked mirror. He tapped a complex, silent rhythm on the glass. "We need a fixer. Someone who knows how to navigate broken spells and doesn't give a damn about titles."
A moment later, the shadows spit someone out.
Alda was slight, draped in patched leather, moving with the wary grace of a wolf that had survived too many traps. Her eyes were the color of faded denim and twice as hard. She looked at the group—lingering on the Alpha's shoulders and the Warlock's tailored suit—and then she looked at Asher.
A shadow passed between them. Something old. Something rotten.
"Asher," Alda rasped. Her voice sounded like gravel in a blender. "You bring impressive baggage. A high-rank Alpha and a true-blood Warlock? You've clearly decided that trouble is better in bulk."
"We need passage," Asher said. He didn't do small talk. "Nyzor is sealing the zone. Open the drain tunnels."
Alda smiled. It was a cold, calculating expression. "Passage for a lord and a dog? That price buys me retirement. Five relics. Upfront. Or I leave you to the broken magic."
Emin opened his mouth to bark, but Damaris silenced him with a sharp gesture.
"We will pay," the Warlock said. His tone was clinical. "Speed is the only currency I care about right now."
Alda nodded. "Smart Warlock. Follow me. But if either of the heavy-hitters touches the power, I leave you for the patrols."
They moved deeper into the maze. The air grew colder. Asher was a live wire, his movements jerky and wrong. Ravenna felt the constant, painful pressure of his hidden fear through the bond.
He knows this place. And he'd rather be anywhere else.
As they passed a shattered wall, Alda paused. She let Emin and Damaris walk ahead, then she snagged Asher's arm. She pulled him into a corner for a low, rapid-fire exchange.
"I saw something in Cinderport," Alda whispered. The urgency in her voice made Ravenna's skin crawl. "A high-rank Nyzor operative. He's not Lycan, Ash. He's pure Coven blood. I haven't seen that face since the night you ran."
Asher went rigid. His breath hitched—a silent, physical gasp of absolute, soul-deep terror.
"No," Asher choked out. His voice was thin. Brittle.
"Yes," Alda insisted. Her eyes were hard. "He's hunting the Stone. He's leading the charge. You need to know, Asher. The ghost is back. And he's working for the enemy."
The name wasn't spoken. It didn't need to be.
Asher's control didn't just slip. It shattered.
The raw, paralyzing terror he'd been strangling exploded outward. It hit the Mate Bond like a physical blow. A crushing wave of betrayal, needles in the dark, and absolute despair.
The synchronization they had fought for was gone in an instant.
It's him. The source of the rot. He's here.
Ravenna gasped. She fell to her knees, clutching her chest. It felt like her heart was being squeezed by a cold, iron fist. The influx of Asher's panic was too much; she couldn't breathe.
"Ravenna!" Emin roared. He was at her side in a heartbeat.
Asher looked at her. He saw the pain he was causing. He saw the shame of his own exposure reflected in her wide, watering eyes.
He did the only thing a rogue knows how to do. He cut his losses.
With a violent, desperate wrench, Asher slammed his mental shields up. He didn't just dampen the emotion; he severed the connection.
SNAP.
The bond didn't just go quiet. It recoiled. A sharp, physical crack of energy that left Ravenna breathless and hollow. The terror was gone, replaced by a cold, agonizing void.
Asher stared at Ravenna. His eyes were wide and haunted. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't say he was sorry.
"Never mention the past again, Alda," Asher hissed. His voice was dead.
He turned his back on his injured Mate, the furious Alpha, and the calculating Warlock. He strode past Alda and vanished into the narrow path deeper into the Dead Zone.
The price of Asher's secret had just been paid: A physical injury to his Mate, and a total, agonizing disconnect from the bond.
His fear wasn't a variable anymore. It was the enemy.