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TILDA

I stand between my past and my future…and it’s clear now who the villains are.

Enid’s voice is sharp, tinged with panic. “Did you bring them here?”

“Enid, it’s okay,” I say, turning back to her, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just calm down.”

Her wide eyes dart between me and Reyes, suspicion and fear clouding her expression. “This doesn’t look okay, Tilda!”

Reyes keeps coming, unbothered by the rifle trained on him. The wind carries his scent to me—earthy, grounding, familiar—and for a moment, I feel a flicker of relief. But then I see the way the others are staring, the tension in their postures, the nervous murmurs spreading through the small crowd behind the gate.

Reyes halts when the red dot finds its mark on his chest. He raises his hands slowly, palms out, his voice carrying across the prairie. “I just want to talk,” he calls, his tone calm but firm. “I’m here with Tilda.”

I don’t know if his powers have some kind of sway over them, but the red dot on his chest wavers. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s had a gun held on him, maybe even from before the Convergence.

“You one of them?” a voice calls from the watchtower. I vaguely recognize it—maybe Tom, an old farmer who joined us from New Braunfels a few years ago.

“They don’t want to hurt us,” I call out, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I feel. “We just want to talk to the mayor.”

For a long, agonizing moment, there’s no response. The silence presses down on me, every second dragging out as that damn red dot stays fixed on Reyes’ chest. My breath lodges in my throat, and I glance at him, hoping his unshaken posture will calm me.

Then, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and unmistakable: “You the only wolf here?”

My stomach twists. Mayor Patrick McAllen. My former commander during the Crusades. The man who trained me to follow orders without question. He’s a reasonable man—at least, he used to be—but he’s also the person I’ve been most afraid to face. The one who could dismantle this entire fragile plan with a single word.

And he’s been watching the whole time.

Not a great sign.

“Yes,” Reyes calls, his voice calm. “I swear, we’re only here to talk. I don’t mean you or your people any harm.”

I glance up at the watchtower, where the glint of a rifle catches the dull red light of the Celestial Curtain. The sights are unwavering, locked on Reyes like the gunner is waiting for permission to pull the trigger. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I wonder if Patrick will give that order.

It would be so easy for him to end this right now. To erase us both.

I clench my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to yell.

Or beg.

The silence stretches out again, brittle and suffocating, like the world is holding its breath along with me. All the hopes I’ve built with Reyes hang in the balance.

Finally, Patrick steps into view, his silhouette sharp against the gloom. “Keep your guard up,” he barks, his voice carrying the same no-nonsense authority I remember from the old days.

The rifle doesn’t lower. The tension doesn’t break. But at least he’s come out.

I take a shallow, steadying breath, wishing I could reach out to Reyes—grab his hand, feel his warmth, remind myself that we’re in this together. But I don’t move. We can’t let them know what’s between us, not yet.

Patrick’s boots crunch against the dirt as he approaches, his eyes scanning Reyes with the sharp precision of a man who’s seen more battles than he’d like to admit. His gaze flicks to me next, and there’s recognition there—a flicker of something that might be trust or might be judgment. I can’t tell yet, and it makes my stomach churn.

“Howdy, Tilda,” Patrick says, lifting his chin. “Thought you were a goner.”

He’s wearing the same damn ten-gallon hat he always does, his sleeves rolled up and his jeans snug on his hips. He’s about sixty, with balding with bushy grey eyebrows and a scruffy beard. He’s been in charge of Homestead as long as I can remember, a sometimes hard, but fair ruler. There was a time when he used to say me and Enid were like daughters to him.

I hope that will carry us through this conversation.

“Not as dead as you imagined,” I say. “I would’ve been, if the Austin pack had been everything we thought they were. But they never laid a hand on me, even though I went to their camp with…violent intentions.”

Patrick chuckles—like it’s funny that I approached the den with a rifle and intent to kill. Reyes doesn’t blink an eye. “I didn’t authorize that mission, if I’m remembering correctly,” Patrick says.

“You didn’t,” I say. “I assume that’s why you didn’t send anyone after me?”

“Correct,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Your sister here has been keeping an eye on you, though. Told us you were okay, even though the damn wolves shot you.”

I frown. “Is that what David told you?”

Enid glances back toward the gate, her brow furrowed. I catch a glimpse of David lurking in the shadows, the damn coward unwilling to come out.

Patrick’s eyes narrow, skepticism hardening his expression. “That isn’t what happened?”

“Nope,” I say, planting my hands on my hips, my tone sharp. “It was an accident. David got spooked and shot me in the gut.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence before Enid’s jaw drops, her wide eyes darting toward the gate. “David? You…you shot my sister?”

From behind the gate, David’s voice is barely audible, like he’s trying to disappear into the woodwork. “I was aiming for the…uh…monster behind her. I just…I haven’t had a lot of practice.”

“Jesus Christ,” Enid hisses, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You shot her?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have put a gun in his hand, Tilda,” Patrick cuts in, his voice laced with disapproval. His eyes pierce me, the weight of old authority bearing down hard. “You should’ve known better.”

“Fair,” I admit, my tone clipped. “That’s on me.”

Patrick’s gaze doesn’t soften, but he shifts focus, his attention sliding past me to the figure looming just a few steps back. His lips press into a thin line as he sizes Reyes up, and the air between us grows taut, like a drawn bowstring.

“And now you’ve brought another problem to my doorstep,” Patrick says, his voice low and even. His eyes linger on Reyes, cold and calculating. “You must be the famous Father Garza.”

There’s a condescension in his tone that makes me want to spit. Reyes doesn’t budge, though, staying still as a statue with his hands in the air.

“I am,” Reyes says. “And I’m here to negotiate, if you’re willing to talk.”

Patrick twists his mouth in a sneer. “What could you possibly have that we want?”

Reyes cocks his head, a small smile on his face. “Medicine.”

A few people murmur on the other side of the gate. Enid isn’t the only one who needs meds—we have quite a few elderly folks in Homestead, too, and they need a clinic as badly as my diabetic sister.

“I can procure a reliable supply line of medical supplies from the city,” Reyes says, “if you’re willing to give us something in return.”

“Like what?”

“Livestock and fresh produce,” Reyes says. “And I can offer you something else.”

“I’m listening,” Patrick says.

“Unfiltered sunlight.”

That catches his attention, but not for the better.

“And how do you propose we make that happen?” Patrick asks. “The only way I could think of is by taking down the Celestial Curtain.”

“Exactly,” Reyes says. “I’m willing to offer air protection from the Resistance. Deliveries by helicopter. Fulll sunlight for your people.”

“How do we know you won’t just come in and take what we have?”

“Patrick,” I interrupt. “Don’t be stupid. They don’t have any interest in doing that; he wants to help Enid, to help all of us.”

“And I presume he wants to help Enid because you’re whoring yourself out to him?”

I press my lips together, forcing a measured inhale through my nose. My chest tightens with the weight of Patrick’s scrutiny, and my nerves coil tighter with every passing second. I knew this wasn’t going to go well. I knew it was a bad idea.

“My relationship with anyone in the pack has nothing to do with this,” I say, my tone sharp but controlled. “Be reasonable. This is a good deal for all of us. The Heavenly Host doesn’t give a damn about us anymore, Patrick.”

His expression hardens, the lines of his face cutting deeper. “Don’t talk that way, Tilda,” he says, his voice low, like a warning.

My frustration simmers, threatening to boil over. “We have to be pragmatic,” I say, forcing each word out carefully. “People are going to die if we don’t do something.”

Patrick crosses his arms, his stance rooted and unyielding. “I know how to take care of my people.”

Something in me snaps. “This isn’t a dick-measuring contest ,” I snarl, my voice rising with exasperation.

“Tilda—it’s okay,” Reyes says. He still hasn’t moved an inch. That red light is still on his chest, the tension winding up in my chest every second he’s in danger. “We can’t guarantee shipments unless the Curtain is down. We would prefer to bring you into our network so that we can move supplies quickly.”

“So you’re asking us to give up our alliance with the Heavenly Host to make an alliance with the Resistance?” David demands from inside.

“Father,” Patrick says, piggybacking on David. “You should know better than anyone—that’s sacrilege.”

Reyes grimaces, and I can sense his mounting frustration in addition to his fading hope. There’s something else there too…anger at David, rage for shooting me in the stomach all those nights ago.

“The Heavenly Host gave up on us long ago,” I hiss. I’m getting angry now. I can’t help it. “We don’t have an alliance. We’re alone.”

“But we ain’t turncoats, Tilda,” Patrick says, his voice flat and final. “My answer is no. We’re done.”

He turns to walk away, dismissing me like I’m nothing, and instinct takes over. I lunge forward, grabbing his wrist, my grip tight and desperate. It’s not a threatening movement–just one last plea for Patrick to see reason–but it sparks a chain reaction. Enid sees it, her eyes widening as she steps toward me, her voice high with panic. Reyes moves too, his massive frame shifting closer, the pull of him like gravity.

I’m caught in a storm of conflicting loyalties—between my sister’s fear, Patrick’s stubbornness, and Reyes’ steady presence. The weight of this choice—this impossible, cruel choice—crushes me.

But then, everything explodes.

The laser sight on Reyes’ chest wavers, the gunman in the watchtower struggling to track the chaos below. Time slows, every detail burning into my brain—the red dot jittering over his heart, the faint tremble of the rifle barrel, Reyes’ calm, unreadable face as he steps toward me.

I see it coming.

“Reyes—!” I scream, but it’s too late.

The gunshot shatters the air, deafening, final. Reyes stumbles, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his body jerks backward. His knees hit the ground, and for a second, I think he might collapse entirely.

“No!” The word rips out of me, raw and agonized, as if the bullet tore through me instead. My chest seizes, my vision blurring with tears. It was an accident—I know it was an accident—but that doesn’t dull the white-hot fury or the bone-deep fear coursing through me.

And it gets worse…because then the prairie erupts with motion.

Wolves—sleek, massive, and lethal—burst from the grass, their forms dark and terrible against the red-hued light of the Curtain. They were following us. I thought the paranoia in the forest was my imagination, but now it’s clear: they’ve been trailing us the whole time, waiting for this moment.

A flash of white fur streaks toward Reyes, violet eyes shimmering in a snarling face. Another wolf follows, golden and fierce. I don’t know them in these forms, but I can sense them— feel them. Elijah…

…and Frankie.

The wolves are closing in on Reyes, their snarls ripping through the stunned silence, and it dawns on me that Frankie might try to finish the job so she can take over the den. I lunge toward Reyes, feeling my nails get longer in preparation to strike, but Enid grabs my arm, her small frame deceptively strong as she pulls me back. Patrick takes my other arm, his grip like iron.

“Tilda, stop! It isn’t safe!” Enid cries, her voice cracking with fear.

“You can’t keep me here!” I scream, fighting against them, thrashing like a wild thing. “Let me go! Reyes?—!”

“It’s for your own good!” Patrick snaps, his face hard with conviction.

Elijah reaches Reyes first, powerful jaws locking onto his shoulder as he starts dragging him toward the trees. I strain to see where Reyes has been hit, but the shadows swallow him up, and all I can focus on is the ache tearing through my chest. I catch sight of a couple other wolves in the woods, watching with opalescent eyes, swirling into the blackness of the forest.

But the blonde wolf—Frankie—fixes her eyes on me, her body taut and poised like a coiled spring as she bares her teeth.

She’s not interested in hurting Reyes…she’s trying to save me.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Frankie, don’t?—”

But she moves anyway, stepping toward me, her eyes flicking between Patrick, Enid, and the gunmen in the tower. She’s coming for me, reckless and bold.

“Frankie, don’t !” I scream, my voice raw. “I’ll get out of this! Don’t put yourself in danger!”

She falters, one paw lifting hesitantly, and then the red laser sight lands on her chest.

She disappears into the grass like smoke, vanishing just before the rifle fires. My heart is a riot in my ribs, torn between relief and the crushing reality of what’s just happened.

I stop fighting.

I let Enid and Patrick drag me back toward the gates, my legs moving mechanically as my mind screams for me to turn back. The gate clangs shut behind us, the sound echoing like a death knell.

This is my home, I tell myself. They’ll hear me out.

But as the weight of the gates settles, and the voices of Homestead rise around me, I feel the sharp sting of doubt.

And the distant, haunting howl of wolves lingers in my ears long after the gate locks behind me.