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LANDON

T he cabin was half-collapsed, a mess of splintered wood and creeping moss where the roof had caved in long ago besides the back room where they had spent the night.

No one had lived here in years—maybe decades.

But somehow, it didn’t feel empty.

Not to Landon.

The forest didn’t feel empty either.

He could hear everything.

He stepped outside into the cool morning air and could feel the slow breath of the earth underfoot, the rustle of pine needles brushing against each other like whispered secrets.

Birds didn’t sing near him.

Not this deep in the mountain.

Even the wind seemed to quiet when it moved through the trees around him—like it knew who he was.

Like it was waiting.

He stepped through the open threshold of the abandoned cabin, boots crunching over old leaves and forgotten glass.

He’d found this place by instinct more than memory—just kept driving up the old fire roads until the urge to stop hit him in the gut like a punch.

And now, here he stood.

In a hollowed-out shrine to what used to be.

His breath came easier out here.

His thoughts, clearer.

His chest was still warm from the night before.

From Sonya.

The memory of her was still etched into his skin—her touch, her voice, the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just a man falling into something bigger, but someone meant to rise in it.

They hadn’t spoken much after.

Words hadn’t mattered then.

It had been raw. Real.

Like something ancient waking up inside both of them.

And now, something else was waking up.

Landon stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes.

The silence wasn’t silence.

Not really. It was full of energy.

Pulling at him. Wrapping around his bones.

His skin itched. His teeth ached.

The power was like a fever just beneath the surface.

He gritted his jaw. Let it in.

And the world responded.

The ground vibrated—not loud, not violent, but present.

Roots shifted below the surface.

A tree outside creaked low, the trunk bending slightly toward the cabin like it wanted to look inside.

Like it recognized him.

The air itself thickened around him, heat rising off his skin in waves.

“Okay,” he muttered.

“You’re real. You’re here.”

He didn’t know who he was talking to.

The forest? His bloodline?

The damn ghosts of Lycans past?

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he wasn’t afraid.

His fingers curled into fists.

Not out of rage—but resolve.

He remembered when his hands used to shake.

When he used to doubt himself every time he walked into a room full of people louder or surer than he was.

But that guy?

That guy was gone.

Buried somewhere beneath tree bark and the whisper of wolves in his blood.

Outside, he stepped into a beam of sunlight, shirt damp with sweat, heart pounding in his ribs.

Something flickered across the forest floor—a shimmer, like heat off pavement.

He crouched, running his fingers through the soil.

It was warm. Vibrating.

Like the forest was alive with him.

He stood slowly, golden light catching in his eyes.

His reflection in a nearby window—a cracked pane leaning against a tree—showed eyes not hazel, but molten gold.

No fear.

Just fire.

He could feel Sonya’s presence even from miles away.

Like a tether, like a promise.

He wasn’t doing this for glory.

He wasn’t doing it for vengeance.

He was doing it for her.

For every kid like him who grew up not knowing who the hell they were.

For the packs tearing each other apart because someone told them to obey or die.

He didn’t want a crown.

But if one was rising out of the dirt toward him, he’d wear it the right way.

And he wouldn’t kneel to anyone.

As the sun rose higher, the forest thickened with sound again.

Birds chirped in cautious bursts.

Leaves shivered in response to a breeze that hadn’t touched his skin.

The world didn’t fear him.

It welcomed him.

And he understood, now, what Sonya had meant when she’d said his blood was waking up.

Because it wasn’t just his blood.

It was everything.

Everything was waking up.

And Landon was done running from it.