To Break a Wolf

Chapter 5: The Road to Manoshee

The farther Callum drove, the more the world Mira had known felt as though it was unraveling behind her, just as a loose thread would.

Pavement gave way to gravel. Gravel to dirt. Civilization wasn’t only fading, it had already disappeared. The trees grew taller, older, pressing in on either side, ancient guardians who’d seen too much to be impressed by one more outsider.

The SUV bumped over ruts and roots as the road narrowed to something that barely qualified as a path. If Callum noticed, he didn’t show it. His hands stayed steady, eyes on the winding track ahead, jaw set as though carved that way.

Mira shifted in her seat, trying to release the tension coiling in her spine, but it wasn’t the road making her nervous, it was the silence. That low, humming kind that lets your thoughts echo a little too loudly.

“So,” she finally said, the sound of her voice abrupt in the stillness, “am I going to get any information before we arrive? Or do I just keep hoping this doesn’t end with me chained up in someone’s off-grid murder cabin?”

Callum didn’t flinch. “You watch too many horror movies.”

“And you’re avoiding my question.”

A flicker of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes didn’t leave the road. “We’re heading to a private settlement. It’s remote. Not on any maps.”

“Super reassuring,” she muttered. “Do you guys use stone tablets for Google?”

“Most people never find it.”

“That’s not helping.”

“It’s not dangerous,” he said, too calm to be believed.

“Said every cult member ever.”

He gave a short, amused exhale but didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s not a cult. It’s a pack.”

She leaned back in her seat, eyebrows raised. “Right. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“Not a cult,” he repeated, this time with a full grin. “Just… not what you’re used to.”

“I’m starting to pick up on that theme,” she muttered, watching the forest blur past the window.

A pause stretched between them.

“So what exactly am I doing here?”

“You’ll find out soon.”

“Not an answer.”

“You’ll get one when we arrive.”

Mira narrowed her eyes. “Cool. So this is a super exclusive, wildly under-explained Airbnb, where I might get a curse instead of a five-star review?”

Callum huffed a laugh. “Something like that.”

“You’re the worst tour guide.”

“And yet,” he said, throwing her a sideways glance, “you’re still in the car.”

She scowled and turned back to the window, but couldn’t help the tiny curl of a smile that followed.

The trees had thickened again, with wider trunks and dense underbrush of moss and wild ferns. Everything seemed to have grown in silence, untouched by time. Sunlight filtered through in broken shafts, catching golden in the mist and making the forest look as if it belonged to another world entirely.

A glint of water appeared through the trees. A stream, glass-clear and winding beside the road, stones visible even from here. Wildflowers exploded in patches wherever the light touched—yellow, violet, red, nature’s version of stained glass.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Callum said softly. “It is.”

The reverence in his voice was quiet but undeniable. The wilderness wasn’t just home for him. It was sacred. That knowledge settled in Mira’s chest, a weight, heavily taking root.

The road dipped suddenly, curving along the edge of a steep incline. Mist curled along the valley floor below, resembling a breath against a mirror. Mira leaned forward instinctively, hand braced against the dash.

Nestled between the peaks was a village.

Not a town. Not a settlement in the modern sense. A village.

Wood cabins clustered along paths carved into the earth itself. Chimneys smoked lazily. Windows flickered warmly. A few figures moved through the open clearings, slow and unhurried, at ease. There were no fences. No visible borders. Just plenty of open space, trees, and sky.

“Is that—?”

“Somewhere most people never see,” Callum answered.

She couldn’t name what she was feeling. It wasn’t awe or fear. It sat deeper than that, somewhere between the ribs. A quiet pull, almost as if her bones had been here before, even if her brain insisted otherwise.

The SUV rumbled past the first row of cabins. Smoke drifted through the trees, earthy and clean. The scent of pine, cedar, something else vaguely herbal. Not manufactured. Not performative.

Real.

The road opened into a wide clearing framed by weathered buildings. A lodge sat at the center, long, low, and built with rough-hewn logs—the kind of place where decisions got made and secrets probably lived.

Callum pulled the vehicle to a stop beside it and cut the engine.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Mira stared out the windshield, her pulse steady but hard, as if her heart was bracing for impact, the kind you don’t see coming until after it hits.

Callum turned toward her. His voice was low but sure.

“Welcome to Monashee.”

She didn’t answer. There was no need to. The moment she stepped out of the car, she knew in her world would shift. Whatever version of herself she’d carried up that winding road, it wouldn’t leave the same way if it left at all.

She opened the door and stepped into the unknown.