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Caitlynn turned to leave. She stopped after three steps, looked back over her shoulder.

“He’s stubborn,” she said. “Always has been. Don’t try to wait him out. He’ll outlast you every time.”

“He already has.”

Caitlynn’s mouth pulled sideways, as though she had to force down a laugh that would most certainly not be appropriate at this moment. “That won’t change soon.”

Then Caitlynn walked back toward the hall, her footsteps fading on the stone floor, the sound of the gathering rising briefly as she opened the door and disappeared inside.

Sloane stayed in the corridor. She pressed her back flat against the wall, tipped her head against the stone, let the cold of it seep through her skull. The bond hummed low within her. Chris was in the hall. She could feel the warm, steady pressure of his presence through the bond, unhurried, patient, pointed in her direction without demanding she respond.

She stayed there for a long time. Then she straightened, pulled her collar higher out of habit, and walked back toward the hall.

She didn’t sit at the back.

She found an empty seat in the third row, beside a woman from the supply team who glanced at her, glanced away, then shifted her bag to make room. Sloane sat down. She kept her spine straight, her hands in her lap.

Across the hall, Chris caught her eye. He didn’t smile. He dipped his chin a fraction, the same not-quite-nod Olivia had given her across the dining hall days ago. A small thing. An acknowledgment that she was here, visible, taking up space she hadn’t been willing to claim a week ago.

She held his gaze. Then she looked at the candles still burning in the ceremonial circle: the gold light steady against the stone walls, the embers of a ritual that had bound her name to his whether she was ready for it or not.

Chapter 9 - Chris

The eastern boundary ran along a ridge thick with Douglas fir, the ground beneath still soft from two days of rain. Chris walked three paces behind Viktor, watching the older man’s hand trail the iron stakes that anchored the ward line. Every thirty feet, Viktor stopped, pressed his palm flat against the metal and closed his eyes.

Chris counted twelve stakes before Viktor spoke.

“The resonance is intact.” Viktor pulled his hand back, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. “Full strength. No degradation, no tampering.”

“Then how did he get through?”

Viktor didn’t answer. He moved to the next stake, crouched beside it, pressed both palms to the iron. His eyes closed again. Chris watched the concentration settle into Viktor’s face. He had learned to trust this, though he had found it rather absurd at first.

“The matrix Caitlynn built runs dual-source,” Viktor said, standing. “Alpha blood and witch magic, layered. It should detect any wolf crossing the perimeter. Banished or not.”

“It didn’t.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you.”

They kept walking. The ridge curved northeast, dropping toward the creek bed where the terrain narrowed between granite outcroppings. Chris could see the residential cottages through the trees, the roofline of unit fourteen where Sloane was sleeping. Or not sleeping. He could feel her through the bond, a low static hum beneath his ribs, present even at this distance.

He looked away from the roofline.

“Marcus used suppression tech.” Chris stepped over a root, keeping his voice level. “During the assault. Olivia’s report flagged it. Some kind of compound that masked the wolf signature, made his people invisible to the wards for short windows.”

Viktor stopped walking. He turned, his grey eyes sharp.

“Yes. The suppression compound was experimental. Marcus had resources. Funding, a chemist on his payroll, access to black-market ward tech.”

“Garrett Mercer cannot possibly have any of that, can he?”

“Not that we know of.” Viktor looked at the tree line, then back at Chris. “But he walked through a ward system that should have lit up every alarm on the compound. Twice in one week, without leaving a trace.”

Chris let that sit. A bird called from the canopy above them. The creek ran below, swollen from the rain.

“If Marcus’s tech is circulating,” Chris said, “if it got out after his crew scattered, it could be on the black market. Any exile with the right contacts could get their hands on it.”

Chris lifted a brow. “That could explain why this is happening now. Why he keeps managing to breach the wards in a more… direct, obvious way.”