Page 12

12

CALLUM

I ’ve trained rookies before.

Run drills. Given patrol routes. Broken down survival tactics like it’s just another language, one anyone can pick up if they’re not too full of themselves to listen.

But this isn’t that.

Kendall moves like she’s trying not to shake apart. She’s sharp-eyed, alert, instinct-driven as hell—but everything in her posture screams tension. Not the scared kind. The barely-holding-it-together kind. It’s in the set of her jaw. The way her shoulders twitch when the wind shifts.

And I can’t stop watching her, which is a problem.

A big one.

Because Edmund’s leaning against the far wall of the tunnel, arms crossed, gaze heavy on both of us like a lion watching rival cubs circle.

And Elias is gone—off to patrol solo so we have a believable cover story to bring back to the pack. He won’t blow my cover. He never has. But it means I’m alone with her.

And this kind of alone? In this cold, quiet space?

It’s dangerous.

“You’re staring,” Kendall says, breaking the silence.

Her voice is low, annoyed. But there’s heat underneath it. The kind that burns slow.

I blink, snap out of it. “Just watching your stance. You’re too stiff.”

She snorts. “Maybe that’s because I’m being hunted like a rabid dog.”

“Could be,” I say evenly. “But stiffness slows you down. Gets you seen. Seen gets you dead.”

She rolls her eyes, but adjusts her weight.

Better.

“Alright,” I say, stepping back and motioning for her to follow. “First thing—PEACE watches the obvious paths. Alleys, overpasses, train platforms, anywhere with a good view of multiple exits. You want to move? You stay low, you stay layered, and you never go where a camera can see your face.”

“You think I’ve never played hide and seek before?”

I glance at her. “Not with trained supernaturals and government-grade surveillance, no. Big Brother is always watching.”

Edmund snorts and earns a snarling stare from Kendall.

“Hm, think I’ve heard that one before,” he says with a side smile that only seems to anger Kendall more.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it, deciding against a comeback.

“Keep going,” she mutters to me.

We walk through the tunnels. I keep my pace steady, neutral, hands loose at my sides. But I feel her beside me like lightning brushing the edge of my skin. Always fucking lightening with her. With this. Fucking fate.

It’s quieter now, just the echo of our steps and the drip of water from somewhere deeper. She doesn’t fill the silence, and I don’t offer much more than I need to.

“Next,” I say, stopping at a rusted-out maintenance grate. “Scent masking. You’re strong. Untrained. That makes your scent broadcast like a flare.”

“And what, you’re gonna teach me to smell like not me?”

“Exactly.”

I pull a small pouch from my jacket and toss it to her. She opens it and recoils.

“What the hell is that? It smells like swamp ass.”

“Charred rosemary, iron powder, dried foxglove. Mix it into your clothes. Rub it into your skin. It dulls your signature. Doesn’t hide it completely, but it’ll buy you time.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Gross.”

“Effective,” I say, stepping closer. “If someone catches your scent and you don’t have that on you, run first. Don’t ask questions. Don’t try to explain.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ve been told to put you down.”

Her expression darkens. “Even your pack?”

I meet her eyes. “Especially my pack.”

That sits between us for a second.

“I didn’t ask to be this,” she says quietly.

“No one does.”

She shifts her weight again, fidgeting with the pouch. “You don’t talk like them. Not form what my dad or the news has said.”

“I’m not like them.”

“You sure about that?”

I pause. “Not as sure as I used to be.”

I shouldn’t say that. Shouldn’t give her more than she needs to survive. But something about her—sharp and raw and trying so fucking hard not to break—makes me slip. Just a little.

I gesture to the grate. “Down there leads into the secondary tunnels. Avoid them unless you're desperate. Too easy to trap someone in a bottleneck. If you're being chased, go up. Climb anything metal, break through, surface where it’s loud and public. You’re safer in crowds.”

“I thought PEACE had surveillance everywhere.”

“They do. But they have rules. Paperwork. Human eyes. Sometimes bureaucracy’s the only thing keeping us alive.”

She huffs. “That’s bleak.”

“That’s reality.”

She leans against the wall, breathing slow, the tension bleeding into something tighter and heavier.

“I saw you before,” she says after a beat. “Three nights ago. Under the bridge.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t follow me.”

“I tried but thought better of it.”

Her head tilts. “Why didn’t you?”

I meet her gaze. “Because I didn’t know what I’d do if I caught you.”

The silence goes sharp again.

Her lips part. Something flickers in her eyes—recognition, maybe. Or the start of it.

She exhales slowly. “Does it ever stop feeling like your skin doesn’t fit?”

“No,” I admit. “But you get used to it.”

Edmund clears his throat from the shadows. A soft, sharp sound.

Reminder.

Boundaries.

“We should wrap up,” I say, stepping back.

She straightens. “Same time tomorrow?”

I hesitate. “Probably not the best idea to meet two days in a row. I can meet you in three days time though. Here, same time. You can train with your father until then. Try not to let others around you note any differences though is my last advice for the day.”

She looks strained by my input but nods.

“I’ll bring more of the masking blend. And something for the scent trails. You’ll need to practice doubling back.”

She nods again, but doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

That pull, it stretches between us like a wire I’m terrified to separate.

“I’ll see you then,” I say.

I walk away before I do something stupid.

Like tell her what she already is to me.