Once Betrayed, Twice Shy

I hear it

FARAH

I hear it before anyone tells me.

The training ground goes quiet first — that particular quality of silence that falls over a space when everyone in it receives the same information simultaneously through whatever channel Lycans use that I don’t have access to. Daria stops mid-correction, her hand still raised, her head tilting in the way that means she’s listening to something beyond the range of human hearing.

Then she looks at me.

The look tells me everything before she opens her mouth.

“Go inside,” she says.

“What’s happening?”

“Inside, Farah. Now.”

There’s no room in her voice for argument — not the usual hard edge she uses when she thinks I’m being inefficient, something sharper than that, something that has urgency in it. I go. I don’t run because running feels like panic and panic is not useful, but I move quickly through the side entrance and into the corridor and immediately understand that something significant is happening because the palace has changed texture entirely.

Guards moving in formation. Servants pulled back from the outer corridors. The particular controlled energy of a place that has shifted from peacetime to something else in under a minute.

I find Liss in the inner hallway, pale-faced, clutching a stack of linens she’s clearly forgotten she’s holding.

“Liss.”

She looks at me. “They’re saying there’s been an incident at the northern checkpoint,” she says. Voice low. “A group. They got through the first barrier.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. I heard—” she stops. “I heard it’s not just a border probe this time.”

I look at the outer corridor. At the guards moving through it. At the shape of the response — the direction people are moving, the posts being taken up, the geography of where the threat is and where the palace’s vulnerable points are.

I’ve been paying attention for months. I know this layout better than anyone who wasn’t born here has a right to.

“Where’s Marcus?” I ask.

“With the Alpha, I think. They left—”

“Together?”

“Yes.”

I think about three words and a location. About Caspian’s face in the kitchen when he read the message and the way he moved immediately, completely, all the warmth of the morning folding back into the king without a seam.

I think about the northern checkpoint. About the pattern of the border activity over the past weeks — not random, not opportunistic. Building. Each incident slightly larger, slightly better coordinated than the last. Someone practicing. Someone finding the edges of the response.

Someone who now knows exactly how long it takes to mobilise and from which direction the main force will come.

“Liss,” I say. “Where are the children kept during an alert?”

She blinks. “The south hall. Below ground. Why—”

“Go there,” I say. “Right now. Don’t stop.”

She goes. I watch her disappear around the corner and then I turn and look at the palace around me and think.