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Maya followed Kieran through the dense forest, her hiking boots catching on exposed roots as they traveled westward toward Silvercrest territory. Her backpack, filled with the rescue remnants of her research, bounced against her spine with each step. The early afternoon sun filtered through the canopy in golden splinters, casting dappled light across Kieran's broad shoulders as he forged ahead.

"How much farther?" Maya asked, brushing her hair away from her face.

Kieran glanced back, his eyes assessing her. "You tired already?"

"Just curious." She matched his pace, refusing to show weakness. "I'm trying to calculate our position relative to pack boundaries."

"You're always the scientist, aren't you?" His lips quirked into that half-smile that sent heat pooling in her stomach. "We crossed into Silvercrest territory about fifteen minutes ago. The archives are housed beneath the old meeting hall."

Maya evaluated each sensation in her body as they walked—the heightened awareness of scents and the strange pull she felt toward the tall, imposing man leading her through the woods. Was this what having dormant shifter genes felt like? Or was it simply the aftermath of that earth-shattering kiss they'd shared?

"Tell me more about these archives," she prompted, her scientific mind hungry for details. "How far back do they go?"

"The oldest texts date back to the 1500s," Kieran replied, ducking under a low-hanging branch and holding it aside for her. "Oral histories go back even further. My great-grandfather was obsessive about documentation—he established the modern classification system."

Two hours later, they approached a modest stone building half-buried in the hillside. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned storage shed, but Kieran led her to a hidden entrance at the rear.

"Stay close," he commanded, his voice lowering to that authoritative tone that simultaneously irritated and aroused her. "If we're caught, the punishment is severe."

"What level of severe are we talking?" Maya whispered as they slipped through the doorway.

"Exile for me." His jaw clenched. "Something worse for you."

Once inside, the archives were a labyrinth of oak shelves and glass cases illuminated by soft amber lights. The air smelled of aging paper, leather bindings, and secrets. Maya's fingers itched to touch everything.

"Focus on the genetics section," Kieran directed, pointing to a corner filled with leather-bound volumes. "I'll keep watch."

Maya's scientific training took over as she methodically searched through the texts. Most referenced pureblooded lineages and pack hierarchies, but yielded little about dormant genes. Finally, she found a slim volume with a faded spine.

"Kieran," she called softly. "I found something about hybrids, but it's frustratingly vague."

He moved to her side, his heat enveloping her in the cool archive. "That term went out of use centuries ago. It was considered... derogatory."

"What does it mean exactly?" Maya flipped through brittle pages.

"Half-bloods. Children of wolves and humans." His voice was tight and uncomfortable.

Intrigued, Maya dug deeper, pulling down older volumes with increasingly ornate bindings. In the oldest section, she discovered a chest of scrolls sealed with wax emblems.

"Should I..." she began, but Kieran had stepped away to check the entrance.

Maya's curiosity won out. She carefully broke the seal on the largest scroll and unrolled it on the reading table.

The ancient text was illuminated with gold leaf and intricate illustrations showing wolf shifters and humans living side by side. Detailed accounts described unions—both marriage and mating bonds—between species.

"Oh my God," Maya breathed, her heart racing. "Kieran, these aren't just records. They're celebrations. Look at this!"

Reluctantly, he approached, his eyes widening as he scanned the text.

"These unions were once common," she continued, her excitement building. "Encouraged, even. Until..." Her fingertraced the date. "Three hundred years ago, when the High Council forbade them."

On the final page, an illustration showed a human woman with fiery hair standing between two worlds, wolves at her feet and humans at her back. Beneath it, words in an ancient script glowed faintly in the dim light.

"What does this say?" Maya asked, pointing to the text.

Kieran's face had gone pale. "It's the Lunar Prophecy. 'When the blood of both worlds runs through the one who bridges understanding, the old ways shall return and harmony restored.'"

The implications hit Maya like a physical jab. She stared at the illustration, at the red-haired woman who could have been her mirror image.