The explosion painted the sky orange.
They barely made it to the treeline before the lab went up in a roar of fire and shrapnel, a towering column of flame ripping through the forest like a scar across the night.
Willa didn't flinch.
She watched the fire burn, face illuminated by the glow, her eyes unreadable.
Cade stood beside her, quiet. Watching her more than the flames.
Sadie whistled low. "Well, that was satisfying. Also, mildly terrifying."
They drove back in silence, smoke curling into the stars behind them. Willa rode up front, one arm braced against the window, her wound stitched and padded thanks to Sadie's heavy-handed field kit.
Cade sat beside her, one hand on the wheel, the other casually resting on the console between them—close enough to touch, but not quite.
Not unless she chose to.
She didn't.
But she didn't move away either.
Back at the Hollow Inn, the parking lot was quiet. The neon sign still buzzed overhead. Like nothing had changed.
Roman was waiting outside, arms crossed, Grace perched on the porch rail beside him, a shotgun resting on her thigh.
Willa climbed out of the truck and tossed Roman the bloodied hard drive.
He caught it midair.
"Report?"
She met his eyes. "Lab's gone. They sent something… made. A copy of me."
Roman's jaw tightened. "And?"
"It's dead."
Grace stood. "And the Council?"
Willa shrugged. "Probably pissed."
"Good," Roman said, pocketing the drive. "Let them be."
Inside, the inn smelled like whiskey and salt. A fire crackled in the hearth. Warm. Familiar. It shouldn't have felt like safety—but it did.
Cade trailed behind her, quiet.
Sadie made straight for the bar and poured three fingers of something gold. "I'm gonna find a bath and then sleep until the end of days."
She gave Willa a wink. "Try not to wake the whole damn building tonight."
Willa raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I would?"
Sadie just smirked. "Oh, honey. You don't know what you want yet. But your face does."
She vanished up the stairs.
Willa turned.
Cade was watching her again.
Always watching.
"You gonna hover all night?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"You want to be helpful?" she said, voice low, teasing. "Try not staring at me like you're thinking about dragging me back to your room."
He stepped closer.
"Who said I'd ask first?"
Willa's breath caught.
Then she smiled.
Tired. Sharp. Just a little dangerous.
"I'm not afraid of you, Cade."
"I know," he said, gaze dropping to her mouth.
"That's the problem."
The inn quieted as the hours dragged on. Most of the locals filtered out. The flicker of firelight danced across the old wooden floors, casting shadows that shifted with every breath.
Willa sat at the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass she hadn't touched in ten minutes. The whiskey was warm, forgotten. Her thoughts spun like smoke—lab images, synthetic eyes, the cold echo of her own voice twisted into a weapon.
Behind her, Cade moved like a storm just barely restrained. Silent. Waiting.
She felt him before he spoke.
"You should rest."
"I'm fine."
"You're stitched, sore, and twitchy every time someone moves too fast. That's not 'fine.'"
She turned, slow, tilting her chin up. "You're getting real comfortable giving orders lately."
He didn't back down. "You look like you're trying to crawl out of your own skin."
"I'm used to that feeling."
His eyes flashed. "You shouldn't be."
He stepped forward until the space between them shrank to nothing. One hand reached out, fingers brushing her shoulder, testing—never forcing.
Willa didn't flinch.
But her throat tightened.
"You need me to back off," Cade said, voice low, "say the word."
Her body screamed yes.
Her mouth?
Stayed silent.
He leaned in, breath warm against her jaw. "Didn't think so."
Her hand landed on his chest—not pushing, not pulling. Just there, like she needed something solid.
"I don't know how to do this," she said. "Not when everything in me says I should hate you for making me feel like this."
He rested his forehead against hers. "You don't hate me."
"No," she whispered. "That's the problem."
His hand slid down her arm, slow and reverent, fingers lacing with hers.
Then he guided her back, step by step, until her spine met the old wooden beam beside the bar. His other hand came to rest at her hip.
Trapping her—but not caging her.
She could leave.
She didn't.
"You're fire, Willa," he murmured. "And I've burned before."
"Then why tempt it?"
He leaned in until his lips just ghosted hers.
"Because you're the only thing worth getting scorched for."
She surged up.
Mouth on his, all teeth and tension. It wasn't soft. Wasn't gentle.
It was war.
He met her with equal hunger—hands gripping, mouth claiming, heat pouring between them like lightning trying to escape.
But just before it tipped into something uncontrollable, Willa broke the kiss.
Breathing hard. Eyes wide.
Cade waited.
She swallowed. "Not yet."
He nodded, voice rough. "When you're ready."
And he stepped back.
Not far.
Just enough to let her breathe.
Let her want.
By morning, the fire in the hearth had long since died, and the scent of woodsmoke had sunk into everything.
Willa stood in the backyard behind the Hollow Inn, facing the edge of the woods. The sunrise filtered through the trees like fingers through lace. She didn't move.
Didn't need to.
She could feel it.
The shift in the air.
Something coming.
Something old.
Behind her, boots crunched softly on the dewy grass.
Roman.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
Willa didn't turn. "Didn't feel like dreaming."
He stepped beside her, silent for a beat.
Then: "The Council's regrouping. That explosion will have rattled them, but it won't stop them. They'll escalate."
"Let them," she said. "I'm done running."
Roman gave her a long, sidelong look. "You sure about that?"
Willa turned toward him now, slowly. "You knew, didn't you?"
"Knew what?"
"That the lab was active. That they were still… making people like me."
Roman didn't answer.
Which was an answer in itself.
Willa's voice dropped. "You son of a—"
"I protected you the only way I could," he cut in, calm but not unkind. "Black Hollow's a haven, but it only stays that way if the Council believes we're not a threat. You burning their lab puts a spotlight on all of us."
"So you just let them keep doing it?" she demanded. "Let them build more like me—more soldiers, more monsters?"
"I didn't let anything happen," he said, steel creeping into his voice. "I bought you time. And you did exactly what I hoped—you ended it."
Willa's fists clenched.
"I'm not your weapon."
Roman's mouth twitched. "No. You're a fuse. And they lit the match a long time ago."
Before she could say more, a voice behind them said, "We've got a problem."
Cade.
He looked more wolf than man this morning—dark stubble, sharper eyes, tension in every line of his shoulders. He was holding a phone. Not his.
Sadie's.
"She's gone," he said. "Left before dawn. No note, just a message: 'Tell Willa I had a debt to pay. Don't come after me.'"
Willa's heart sank. "She went after Rell, didn't she?"
Roman's face darkened.
Cade looked at her. "We have to move."
Willa nodded once. "Pack a bag. I'll drive."
Then she paused. Eyes narrowed.
"Wait. Do you feel that?"
Cade tilted his head. Listening.
Roman went still.
Then—a howl.
Long. Low. Broken.
Not close.
Not far.
Willa's skin prickled.
"That wasn't just a wolf," she said.
Cade met her eyes. "No. That was a call."
Roman's voice dropped to a growl. "Your past is coming home, Mercer."
Willa turned toward the woods again, jaw tight.
And for the first time in hours… she smiled.
"Good," she whispered. "Let's show it what Black Hollow really is."