The decision, once spoken, felt less like a choice and more like stepping off a cliff. The air in Rourke's workshop grew heavier with its weight.
Kaelen didn't offer reassurance or thanks. He simply gave a short, sharp nod, as if she'd confirmed a suspicion. "Rourke, secure the route. We move in five."
Rourke grunted in acknowledgment and slipped out the back door into the alley, melting into the fog with an ease that spoke of long practice.
Silence descended, broken only by the distant, ever-present hum of the city and the frantic beat of Elena's heart. She stood awkwardly, her arms wrapped around herself, feeling exposed and utterly out of place amidst the greasy tools and silent machinery. Kaelen leaned against the wall, eyes closed, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. He was listening, his entire body a tuned instrument sensing vibrations she couldn't perceive.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked, her voice small in the cramped space.
"Somewhere you won't be easily found." He didn't open his eyes. "By them, or by other things."
"Your… pack?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "A holding point. The main den is outside the city. Too far, and too exposed for a move tonight." He opened his eyes then, the gold glint assessing her. "You'll see enough of them soon enough. Try not to stare. And don't challenge anyone. They'll see it as weakness, or an invitation."
Before she could ask what that meant, Rourke returned, giving a single nod. "Clear. Two blocks. Van's waiting."
They left the workshop, moving through a labyrinth of back alleys and service passages that Elena never knew existed. The fog was their ally, cloaking their movements. After two tense blocks, a plain, dark panel van idled in the loading bay of a closed print shop. The side door slid open as they approached.
The driver was a woman with a severe blonde braid and eyes that scanned the street with a sniper's calm. She glanced at Elena, her expression unreadable, then focused on Kaelen. "Alpha. Sebastian's been on the comm. Wants a debrief."
"He can wait," Kaelen said flatly, ushering Elena into the windowless back of the van. The interior smelled of old vinyl, coffee, and that now-familiar undercurrent of wildness. Rourke climbed in after them, pulling the door shut, plunging them into near darkness broken only by the glow of the driver's console.
The ride was short but disorienting. Elena lost all sense of direction. They stopped, the engine cutting off. The door slid open again, revealing not a street, but the interior of another building—a vast, high-ceilinged space that smelled of motor oil, concrete, and… pine disinfectant?
They were in a garage, or a warehouse bay. But it had been converted. Dividers created separate areas: a living space with worn couches and a large kitchenette, a gymnasium-like area with mats and heavy-looking equipment, and a row of closed doors along one wall. Industrial lights hung from the rafters, casting pools of harsh white light. The air was warm, circulating with the hum of powerful HVAC units. Music—something with a driving, aggressive bassline—played softly from a speaker somewhere.
And there were people.
A young man with a shaved head was meticulously cleaning a complex-looking crossbow at a workbench. Two women sparred slowly on the mats, their movements fluid and silent, a dance of controlled power. A group of three sat around a table littered with maps and laptops, their conversation stopping as Kaelen entered. All eyes turned to them. The music was quickly muted.
The attention was a physical pressure. Elena felt every gaze rake over her, noting her civilian clothes, her obvious tension, the scent of fear and city grime that clung to her. She saw curiosity, wariness, and in a few faces, a flicker of open disdain.
A man unfolded himself from a chair by the kitchenette. He was older than Kaelen, with silver threading his dark hair at the temples, and he moved with a deliberate, almost elegant slowness. He wore a crisp button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, and his smile didn't reach his cool grey eyes.
"Kaelen. You've brought us a guest." His voice was smooth, cultured. "And caused quite a stir in the process. The DPAC channels are buzzing. 'Significant kinetic event' in the old district. They're calling it an unprovoked incursion by an 'unknown hostile pack.'" He stopped a few feet away, his gaze settling on Elena. "I'm Sebastian Blackwood. And you must be the spark."
Elena said nothing, instinctively recoiling from the polite venom in his tone. This was the uncle, the conservative voice.
"She's under my protection, Sebastian," Kaelen said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He didn't stop moving, leading Elena toward one of the closed doors. "She stays. End of discussion."
"Protection?" Sebastian's eyebrow arched. "Or possession? The Conclave will have questions. A human, tangled up in a Purifier raid, now here? It reeks of complication. Of exposure."
Kaelen turned, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. The others had gone still, watching the interplay between their Alpha and his second. "The Conclave can file their questions. My concern is containing a potential hazard and gaining an asset. Or would you prefer she was dissected by DPAC, giving them a roadmap to everything she is—and by extension, to any of us she might have encountered?"
The word asset stung, but Elena understood its purpose here. She was a piece in a game, and Kaelen was stating her value.
Sebastian held his gaze for a long moment, then smiled again, thin and tight. "Of course, Alpha. Your judgment is, as ever, decisive." He gave a slight, mocking bow of his head before turning back to his chair, the dismissal clear.
Kaelen pushed open a door, revealing a small, sparse room. A single bed, a desk, a chair. A bathroom door stood ajar. It was clean, impersonal, like a cell in a very utilitarian monastery. "You'll stay here. Don't wander without an escort. The door locks from the outside."
Elena stepped inside, the reality of her situation crashing down. A prisoner in all but name. "How long?"
"Until you're not a danger to yourself and everyone around you." He leaned in the doorway, blocking most of it. "Your first lesson starts now. Sit on the floor. Close your eyes."
"What?"
"You're broadcasting," he said, tapping his temple. "Fear, confusion, anger. It's a static scream to anyone with the senses to hear it. It's what drew the Ghoul. It's what the Purifiers' scanners probably pinged on. You need to learn to quiet the noise."
Reluctantly, she sat on the cool concrete floor. Closed her eyes. The darkness behind her lids was immediately filled with the echoes of the day—the gunshot, the growl, the feel of his hand on her arm, the judging stares of the pack.
"Breathe," his voice came, low and steady. "Not from your chest. From your gut. Slow. In… and out. Find the center. The quiet place beneath the panic."
It felt impossible. Her mind was a storm. She tried to focus on her breathing, but the more she tried, the more frantic it became.
"You're fighting it," he observed, no sympathy in his tone. "Stop trying to control. Just listen. Listen to the hum of the lights. The drip of a faucet. The beat of your own heart. Find one sound and follow it."
Minutes crawled by. She heard the distant bassline of the music resume, a muttered conversation from the main room, the rush of blood in her own ears. Gradually, the sharp edges of her panic began to blur. A strange, heavy fatigue washed over her.
And then, she felt it.
A low, warm pulse, deep in her core. It wasn't her heartbeat. It was slower, thicker. And around it, flickering like faulty wiring, were threads of something else—cool, sharp, electric. The two sensations coiled around each other, restless and chaotic. The warm pulse felt old, rooted. The electric threads felt new, invasive, and hungry.
She gasped, her eyes flying open.
Kaelen was watching her intently. "What did you feel?"
"I… there's something there. Two things. One feels… deep. The other feels like it's tearing through me." She hugged herself, suddenly cold.
A grim satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "The old blood and the Breach-taint. At least you can sense them. That's a start." He straightened. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we see if you can touch them without setting the room on fire."
He stepped back and pulled the door shut. A key turned in the lock with a final, heavy clunk.
Alone, Elena sat on the floor, the afterimage of those inner sensations still vivid. The old blood and the Breach-taint. He'd named the chaos inside her. It made it more real, and more terrifying.
From the main room, she heard Sebastian's voice, carrying clearly now that she was still and listening. "…not a strategy, Kaelen. It's sentiment. Or worse, ambition clouded by a pretty face. She's a walking treaty violation."
Kaelen's reply was too low to make out, but the rumble of his voice held a warning.
Elena lay back on the hard bed, staring at the exposed pipes on the ceiling. She was among wolves, in every sense. And the only thing between her and their teeth was the volatile, mercurial will of the most dangerous wolf of all.
Outside, in the city, a siren wailed, a lonely sound in the fog. It felt like a farewell to everything she had been.