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ONE

MAYA

Maya's fingers nimbly secured the motion-activated camera to the pine tree. Despite the fading afternoon light, her movements were precise and efficient. The golden-hour sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees surrounding the Cascade Mountains, casting dappled shadows across her freckled face. She stepped back to examine her handiwork, tucking her copper-red hair behind her ear.

"Well, that's the sixth one this week," she muttered to herself, making a notation in her weathered field journal. "If these wolves don't start giving up their secrets, I'll need to reconsider my entire research career."

The breeze rustled the pines around her, carrying the earthy scent of loam and decay. Maya inhaled deeply, feeling that familiar, inexplicable connection to these woods that had drawn her here weeks ago. Something about this particular pack had captured her attention in ways she couldn't articulate to her academic peers.

She flipped through her journal, scanning her meticulous notes and detailed sketches. The evidence was mounting, pageafter page documenting behaviors that defied conventional wolf research.

"Complex sentinel rotations," she read aloud, tracing her finger along a diagram. "Coordinated hunting patterns with deliberate diversionary tactics. Strategic territory marking that changes based on human activity."

Maya closed the journal with a snap. Her research was veering into territory that would make her colleagues raise skeptical eyebrows. She'd already faced enough academic derision when proposing her communication theory.

"Dr. Collins, wolves don't have language," she mimicked her department chair's dismissive tone. The memory made her jaw clench. "They operate on instinct, not cognition."

She checked the camera angle one final time, ensuring it covered the clearing where she'd observed multiple pack gatherings. The setting sun glinted off the lens, reminding her that darkness would soon fall.

"Well, Professor Hammond, explain how a 'mere instinct' told the alpha to station sentries in a perfect hexagonal pattern around their meeting site." Maya adjusted her heavy leather backpack filled with equipment. "Or how they've developed at least seventeen distinct vocalizations that consistently correlate with specific pack behaviors."

A twig snapped somewhere in the underbrush behind her. Maya froze, her senses immediately heightening. This deep in the forest, encounters with wildlife were expected, but caution remained prudent. She slowly turned, scanning the darkening woods.

Nothing.

She exhaled. "And now I'm jumping at shadows. Perfect."

The data she'd collected over the past weeks scrolled through her mind as she gathered her equipment. These wolves exhibited collaborative problem-solving beyond anything documented inscientific literature. They communicated across distances with a nuance that suggested complex information transfer, not just simple warnings or location signals.

Maya crouched to examine fresh paw prints in the soft earth. "Look at the deliberate placement," she whispered, pulling out her phone to snap a quick photo. "They're not just walking—they're following a pattern."

Her scientific mind battled with observations that seemed impossible. These weren't just smart wolves. These were wolves that demonstrated something approaching human reasoning. Their pack hierarchy showed flexibility based on situation rather than rigid dominance. Even more baffling, they seemed aware of her observation, occasionally leaving what appeared to be intentional signs—like the perfectly preserved deer leg positioned directly in front of her previous camera.

The shadows lengthened around her as she packed up. That sense of being watched prickled along her spine again—more intense than usual. Maya glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes narrowing as they scanned the tree line.

"I know you're out there," she called, surprising herself with the boldness. "And sooner or later, I'll figure you out."

Maya trudged back to her van as darkness swallowed the forest. Fatigue pulled at her limbs after another twelve-hour day stalking the movements of her wolf pack. The silvery glow of the waxing moon lit her path, casting long shadows between the pines. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being followed—had felt it for days now—but chalked it up to the natural unease of being alone in the wilderness.

Her modified Sprinter van appeared through the trees, a sanctuary of steel and comfort amid the primeval landscape. Maya had transformed the interior into a functional living space with a fold-out desk, compact kitchen, and the crown jewel—her mobile research station. The university grant hadn'tcovered these modifications. Those had come from her modest inheritance. Money well spent, in her opinion.

"Home sweet temporary home," she muttered, unlocking the door and flicking on the solar-powered lights.

The familiar scent of coffee grounds and dried pine needles greeted her. She tossed her backpack onto the narrow bed and grabbed a protein bar. Dinner of champions. Her ritual after field work never varied. Download footage, analyze data, document observations, and sleep. Repeat tomorrow.

Maya settled into her ergonomic chair and plugged the memory cards into her laptop. She stretched her neck while waiting for the files to load, rubbing at the knot forming between her shoulders.

"Come on, come on," she urged the progress bar on the screen. "Show me something extraordinary."

The first thirty minutes of the camera footage—from the camera positioned near the rocky outcropping where she'd documented unusual pack gatherings— revealed nothing unusual. Deer passing, raccoons investigating her scent markers, and a juvenile wolf touching its nose curiously to the camera. Standard wildlife behavior. But then, when the thirty-first minute marker clicked by, what she saw on the screen made her sit upright instantly.

"Holy shit."

Maya's fingers froze over the keyboard. The footage showed a clearing bathed in moonlight two nights ago, during the full moon. A man walked into frame, tall and powerfully built. He moved with predatory grace, his shoulders broad beneath a dark shirt. He stopped, seeming to scent the air, before turning slightly toward the camera, completely unaware of its presence before him.

"Who the hell are you?" she whispered, leaning in closer to the screen.

The stranger's face was partially shadowed, but she could make out a strong jawline shadowed with stubble and the glint of unusually bright eyes. Then something impossible happened.