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Pepper breathes in once. “A carved tooth?”

“I think so.” My stomach turns. “You think it was the Love Stone?”

Pepper’s eyes are wide when she answers me. “Yes? Maybe?”

I don’t know why the confirmation turns my blood cold.

Theo reaches across Pepper and rests his hand on my chest. “You okay?”

I check because he asks as if the answer is about me more than fear. “I’m steady enough.”

Pepper presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Do you want to write it down?”

“Yes. But if I sit up, someone will make a concerned alpha sound.”

Theo grunts.

“See?” I say.

Pepper reaches for her phone on the bedside table instead. “Dictate.”

So I tell her what I remember while rain beats the roof and Theo keeps his hand over my heart. Pepper types fast, hair falling in her eyes. When I finish, she stares at the screen.

“What?” I ask.

“The dream gives us instructions for behavior,” she says softly. “It’s not just the symbols. The alpha doesn’t pursue. The beta doesn’t call. And she walks away by choice.”

Theo’s scent goes hard.

I cover his hand with mine. “Nobody is asking you to like it.”

His eyes stay on Pepper. “But someone may ask me to do it.”

She doesn’t sugar-coat it for him. “Maybe.”

Morning comes gray after that sobering dream. The storm hasn’t ended so much as changed tactics. Rain still falls, but the worst thunder has moved off. The yard is a mess of palm fronds, drowned leaves, and standing water. The dock shines slick and dark. Beyond it, the cemetery looks blurred at the edges, every grave marker washed pale.

Pepper makes coffee while Theo checks the camera feeds at the kitchen table. I sit beside him, wrapped in a blanket because the dream lingers.

She sets a mug in front of me. “Drink.”

“I’m being bossed around by a woman in frog socks.”

“These socks are badass.”

Theo’s hand stops on the laptop.

“What?” Pepper asks.

Theo turns the screen toward us. At 2:13 a.m., the east gate camera froze. Static fills most of the frame, but in the lower left corner, caught between two streaks of rain, a motorcycle waits outside the cemetery gate. I can’t make out the rider. It’s just the ominous shape of the bike, angled toward the entrance like a threat with wheels.

Theo clicks to the next clip. 2:17 a.m. It’s gone.

Pepper’s mug lowers to the table without a sound.

I lean closer. “Storm could have messed with the feed.”

“Maybe.” Theo’s mouth goes flat. “If that bike was there to watch the house, whoever sent it may know we’ve seen the footage by now.”