Page 15

Dawn breaks gray and cold as I trudge back into Silvercreek, my boots squelching in the mud from last night's rain.

Every muscle aches from the cramped shelter and restless sleep after Fiona left, but the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. I can still see her face in the darkness—tear-streaked and furious, demanding answers I can't give.

The Pack Building is already buzzing with early morning activity when I push through the double doors. James looks up from a stack of patrol reports, his expression shifting from professional focus to concern when he takes in my bedraggled appearance.

"Rough night?" he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.

"Trial's complete," I say curtly, grabbing a towel from the supply closet. “We both got back.”

"Separately, I'm guessing."

I ignore the knowing look in his eyes and head for the coffee station, needing caffeine more than conversation. The bitter brew does nothing to wash away the taste of failure, but it's better than nothing.

"Border reports came in an hour ago," James continues, following me to the desk area. "Three more checkpoints spotted on the access roads. They're getting bolder."

"How bold?" I ask, grateful for something concrete to focus on.

"Bold enough that Nic's calling an emergency pack meeting. Full assembly, including families." James hands me a thick file. "These are the latest intelligence summaries. Makes for some interesting reading."

I flip through the documents, my jaw tightening with each page. Edward Wright's face appears in several surveillance photos, always at the center of the anti-shifter demonstrations. The sight of him makes my wolf pace restlessly, memories of his cold threats echoing in my mind.

End this relationship immediately, or I will ensure she meets the same fate as her mother.

He's here, actively working against us, and Fiona has no idea how much danger she's walking into simply by existing in the same territory. The irony isn't lost on me—six years ago, I pushed her away to protect her from her father, and now that same threat has followed her home.

"Meeting's at ten," James says, studying my expression. "You okay to present the security briefing?"

"Yeah." I close the file, my hands steadier than I feel. "I'll be ready."

***

The main hall fills quickly, pack members streaming in with expressions ranging from concerned to outright worried. It's rare for Nic to call a full assembly—the last time was when the Cheslem Pack was drawing close, preluding the danger that almost brought our pack to its knees.

I take my position near the front, scanning the crowd as people settle into their seats. Luna sits beside Ruby, her usual easy smile replaced by tension as they murmur with one another, heads ducked together.

And then I spot Fiona.

She's seated toward the back, Maisie tucked close against her side.

Even from this distance, I can see the protective set of her shoulders, the way her hand rests on her daughter's arm like she's ready to pull the girl behind her at the first sign of trouble.

Fiona's dark hair falls in waves around her face, and despite everything between us, the sight of her makes my chest tighten with longing.

Maisie is drawing in a small notebook, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. When she looks up to whisper something to Fiona, there's something about the gesture that tugs at my memory—the tilt of her head, maybe, or the way she gestures with her free hand while speaking.

She reminds me of someone.

The thought floats through my mind unbidden, but before I can examine it further, Nic calls for attention.

"Thank you all for coming on short notice," he begins, his voice carrying easily through the packed hall. "I want to address some security concerns that have come to our attention."

He outlines the situation carefully—anti-shifter activity increasing in neighboring towns, organized demonstrations, the need for enhanced precautions. His tone is measured, calm, designed to inform without inciting panic.

"These measures are precautionary," Nic emphasizes. "We have no specific threats against Silvercreek at this time."

I catch James's eye across the room. We both know it's more serious than Nic is letting on, but there's no point in terrifying families unnecessarily. Still, I notice several parents pulling their children closer, and Fiona's grip on Maisie tightens visibly.

"Travel outside pack territory should be limited to essential business only," Nic continues. "We're implementing a buddy system for anyone who must leave our borders, and we ask that you inform security of your departure and expected return times."

An older pack member raises his hand. "What about the children's school? Some of the human kids from town attend classes here. Some of our children go to schools outside of Silvercreek."

"We're reviewing all external programs," Nic replies diplomatically. "Safety is our top priority."

Throughout the briefing, my gaze keeps drifting back to Fiona and Maisie.

The little girl has abandoned her drawing to listen intently to the discussion, her small face serious beyond her years.

When she turns to ask Fiona a whispered question, there's something familiar in her expression—the furrow between her brows, the way she chews her bottom lip while thinking.

The question nags at me, but I can't place the resemblance. Perhaps it's just the circumstances that make me see connections that aren't there.

Nic opens the floor for questions, and the discussion continues for another thirty minutes.

Security protocols, evacuation routes, and communication procedures.

I answer questions about patrol schedules and response times, my voice steady and professional even as part of my attention remains fixed on the woman and child in the back row.

When Fiona catches me looking, our eyes meet across the crowded room.

For a moment, something unguarded flickers in her expression—fear, maybe, or worry that goes deeper than general pack security concerns.

Then her walls slam back into place, and she looks away, but not before I see her unconsciously pull Maisie closer.

She's scared. The realization hits me like a physical blow. Not just generally concerned like the other parents, but genuinely terrified. And given what I know about Edward Wright's involvement with the anti-shifter group, her fear makes perfect sense.

Does she know he’s behind this? Perhaps she’s heard something from him, or knows of his activity in recent years. Perhaps she knows nothing at all. She still doesn't know the real reason I left her all those years ago, after all. And I can't tell her without putting her in even greater danger.

The meeting ends with Nic's assurance that additional security briefings will be scheduled as needed. Pack members file out in small groups, voices low as they discuss the implications of what they've heard.

I want to approach Fiona, to offer some kind of reassurance, but she's already moving toward the exit with Maisie in tow. Her posture screams stay away , and given how badly I handled things last night, I force myself to respect her boundaries.

Instead, I turn my attention to the immediate crisis, following Nic toward the security office where we can speak more freely.

"How bad is it really?" James asks, catching up with us in the hallway.

Nic glances around to make sure we're alone. "Bad enough. The group has moved beyond demonstrations. They're conducting active surveillance now."

"On what?" James asks.

"Us. Our territories, our routines. They're gathering intelligence." I pull out my phone, showing them photos taken by scouts earlier this morning. "Trail cameras, motion sensors, even what looks like radio frequency monitoring equipment."

James studies the images, his expression darkening. "This isn't random hate. This is organized."

"Gets worse," Nic says grimly. "We've confirmed the group's leadership structure. We still don’t know many names, but we know they’ve got backing from some serious money. Someone wants this to happen.”

My blood runs cold, but I keep my expression neutral. The others don't know about my history with Fiona's father, and revealing it now would only complicate an already dangerous situation.

"What's their endgame?" James asks.

"Unknown. But given their level of preparation, I doubt they're planning to stop at protests and property damage." Nic's jaw tightens. "I want perimeter patrols doubled, and I need volunteers for a reconnaissance mission this afternoon."

"I'll take it," I say immediately.

Nic nods. "Take three others. James, coordinate with the other pack alphas in the region. We need to know if this is isolated to our area or part of something bigger."

We spend the next hour planning patrol routes and communication protocols. It's almost noon when a scout bursts through the security office door, his face flushed from running.

"Northern border," he gasps. "Armed humans setting up some kind of equipment. At least four of them, maybe more."

I'm on my feet before he finishes speaking. "Show me."

***

The northern forest is dense with old-growth pines that provide excellent cover for both surveillance and counter-surveillance. I lead a team of four through the undergrowth, our movements silent despite the urgency driving us forward.

We smell them before we see them—human sweat, gun oil, and the acrid tang of fear-adrenaline. The scent trail leads to a small clearing where four men are setting up what looks like a motion sensor network, their equipment spread across the forest floor in haphazard piles.

These aren't professionals. Their gear is mismatched—hunting rifles, consumer-grade electronics, camouflage that's more fashion than function. But they're armed and clearly hostile, which makes them dangerous regardless of their training level.