The Response
1745 Words
Reghan POV
The forest is too quiet.
Not in the natural way it settles when nothing disturbs it, but in a way that feels shaped, as though something has passed through and left behind just enough absence to be noticed.
I slow before I reach the clearing.
Not enough to stop, only enough to observe.
Behind me, the patrol adjusts with the change in pace. There are only three of them tonight, Garron, Rhevik, and Kael, but that is more than enough to feel the shift move cleanly through the group. Their steps quiet instinctively, their attention sharpening as the air itself seems to tighten around us.
The scent reaches them as it does me.
Not wolf.
Not prey.
Her.
It lingers faintly beneath the rest, out of place and yet impossible to ignore, and something in me reacts to it before I decide whether it should.
Garron moves slightly closer on my right, his gaze sweeping the trees ahead with practiced precision.
“You feel that?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
There is no reason to deny it.
Rhevik shifts behind us, his attention narrowing as he studies the space beyond the clearing. “This isn’t clean,” he says. “It feels contained.”
Kael exhales under his breath, a faint edge of unease slipping through his usual ease. “Feels like we’re being funneled.”
We are.
I take another step forward.
“Stay back.”
The words are calm, but there is nothing uncertain in them.
For a moment, no one moves.
“Reghan,” Garron says, not quite questioning, not quite agreeing.
I glance at him.
“Stay back.”
This time, the meaning settles fully.
He studies me for a moment longer than necessary, weighing instinct against command, before the tension in his posture shifts. He does not like it, but he accepts it. Behind him, Kael and Rhevik exchange a brief look before stepping back as well, though neither of them turns away from the clearing. Their attention remains fixed forward, alert and ready.
“She’s been pushing deeper,” Garron says after a moment. “This isn’t random.”
“I know.”
“And you still intend to walk into it alone.”
“Yes.”
The answer does not change.
A quiet exhale leaves him.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But if this turns...”
“It won’t.”
Not because there is no risk.
Because I understand it.
That is the difference.
Or at least, it should be.
They remain where they are, reluctant but steady, their attention following me as I move forward.
I do not look back again.
The terrain narrows exactly where I expect it to. The trees draw closer together, guiding movement into a cleaner line before opening again ahead. It is a controlled space, one that limits approach and reduces reaction time.
Efficient.
Intentional.
A good place to guide someone through.
A better place to wait.
My gaze lowers briefly to the ground.
The signs are there, though easy to miss if not expected. A slight disturbance in the soil that does not align with natural movement. A shift in the leaves that breaks the pattern just enough.
She is here.
And she expects me to follow.
A faint trace of amusement settles beneath the surface of my focus.
I continue forward anyway.
The moment she moves, I am already aware of her position.
Not because I see her immediately, but because the space changes. The stillness tightens just slightly before she steps out of it, and my body reacts before thought catches up, attention narrowing with a speed that feels too close to instinct.
The blade comes fast.
Faster than before.
Cleaner.
More precise.
She has adjusted.
Good.
I shift just enough to let the strike pass, my hand rising to catch her wrist as the motion redirects. The contact is controlled, minimal, requiring no more force than necessary.
Her second strike follows without hesitation.
Better.
Closer.
This time, the blade connects.
Not with skin, but with fabric, slicing cleanly through the side of my shirt before I step back, breaking the line of her momentum.
For a brief moment, the shift in distance changes everything.
She notices.
Of course she does.
So do I.
Closer than before.
Too close, if I were measuring only the fight.
But that is not what unsettles me.
It is the brief, sharp awareness that comes with it, the way proximity alters something beneath the surface before I can name it, the way my focus tightens too far, too fast, around her and nothing else.
She presses forward immediately, using the opening, her movements tightening as she forces the fight into a narrower space.
There is no hesitation in her now.
No testing.
Only intent.
For a few seconds, I let it continue.
Her rhythm sharpens, each strike following the last with less space between them. She has removed distance as an advantage, replaced it with pressure.
She believes that is where she gains control.
It is not.
The moment she commits fully, I step forward.
The change disrupts her rhythm immediately.
My hand closes around her wrist again, firmer this time, cutting off the motion before it completes. My other hand settles against her arm, controlling the rest of the movement with ease.
She stills.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But it is enough.
Close like this, the difference is clear.
Her control. Her precision. Her restraint.
And beneath it something that does not align.
Something that does not fit cleanly into hunter instinct or simple aggression.
I tighten my grip slightly, not enough to hurt, only enough to hold.
“You planned this,” I say.
Her gaze lifts to mine, steady and sharp.
“Yes.”
There is no hesitation in the answer.
No attempt to deflect.
“That was your mistake.”
Something shifts behind her eyes.
Small.
But unmistakable.
I loosen my hold just enough to see how she reacts.
She does not retreat.
She adjusts.
Still pushing. Still adapting.
There is something in that which should make this simpler than it is. She is dangerous. She is inside my territory. She is learning too quickly and pushing too far.
That should be enough.
Instead, the awareness under my skin tightens again, not into alarm, not into threat, but into something far more inconvenient.
Attention.
Too focused. Too narrow.
I step back before she can complete the movement, breaking contact entirely.
This time, she does not follow immediately.
She watches.
Understanding beginning to settle in.
“You knew,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly.
“You’re not as subtle as you think.”
Her jaw tightens.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
She was closer this time and she knows it.
“That,” I add evenly, “was better.”
She does not like that. I see it.
“This ends the same way,” she replies.
“It hasn’t yet.”
Her grip tightens around the blade.
“Next time.”
There is no doubt in it.
No hesitation.
I hold her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
That is the mistake.
Because the longer I hold it, the less this feels like a simple assessment of threat and skill, and the more it becomes something I should not be standing still long enough to feel.
A pull.
Not strong enough to name.
Not weak enough to dismiss.
Just there.
Quiet. Persistent.
Wrong.
So I step back.
This time, I turn first.
Not disappearing immediately, but leaving at a measured pace, allowing the space to settle between us before the forest closes again.
They are exactly where I left them.
Garron is the first to step forward, his gaze moving over me quickly before catching on the clean tear in my shirt.
“Well,” he says dryly, “that’s new.”
Kael lets out a low whistle. “She got close.”
“Yes.”
Rhevik's expression tightens slightly. “Too close.”
We begin walking back without further discussion, the forest settling around us once more, though the tension does not entirely fade.
“You walked into it,” Garron says after a few steps.
“Yes.”
“On purpose.”
“Yes.”
The repetition earns me a longer look.
“You want to explain that?”
“No.”
Kael huffs quietly, something like amusement slipping through. “That’s reassuring.”
Garron does not react to that.
“She’s adapting,” he says instead. “Faster than she should.”
“I know.”
“And you’re letting her.”
“I am.”
Silence follows, heavier this time.
What I do not say is that I can feel it now more clearly than before. Not just her movements. Not just the shape of her choices.
Her.
Lingering where she shouldn’t.
Settling in my awareness too easily.
“This is going to turn into something we’re not controlling,” Garron says at last.
I do not answer.
Because that is already true.
The packhouse is quieter when we return.
Vaelis is there, seated near the long table, her attention shifting immediately as we enter. Her gaze moves over us quickly before settling on the cut in my shirt, then lifting to my face.
That is all she needs.
“What happened?” she asks.
“She set a trap,” Garron answers.
Vaelis’ expression sharpens slightly.
“And you walked into it.”
I do not deny it.
“Yes.”
A brief silence follows, filled not with confusion, but with assessment.
“You’re letting her get closer,” she says.
“I am.”
Garron leans back slightly, his arms crossing.
“And you don’t see a problem with that.”
“No.”
That answer comes too quickly.
Vaelis notices.
Of course she does.
Their gazes remain on me a moment longer than usual. Not questioning entirely. Not comfortable either.
“This isn’t just another hunt,” Garron says quietly.
No. It isn’t.
I do not respond.
Because there is nothing useful in explaining something that is still unfolding, especially when I do not yet understand the shape of it myself.
What I do understand is this:
She set the trap.
I walked into it, and for all the ways she is becoming more dangerous, I am noticing the wrong things.
That is the part I do not trust.
- Writer
