Chapter Three
1660 Words
The wind carried the scent of pine and rain—sharp, clean, unsettling in a way Amelia couldn’t quite explain.
It was early, just after sunrise, and the forest hadn’t fully woken. She moved through the trees with a woven basket tucked under one arm, gathering mushrooms for Miri, the healer. Dew clung to her boots, and her breath clouded in the morning air.
This was her rhythm now. Wake up early. Help where needed. Stay useful. Stay invisible.
Still, something felt off.
Birdsong came late. The usual chatter of squirrels and soft c***k of shifting branches was quiet. The woods weren’t silent—they were watching.
She paused beside an old elm, eyes scanning the undergrowth. Nothing moved. Just a stillness that pressed in like a held breath.
Amelia crouched, fingers brushing over damp leaves to pluck a cluster of chanterelles.
She should go back.
But her body wouldn’t move. Not yet.
Something was coming.
She could feel it in her blood.
Back at the compound, the training field buzzed—but it was an edge-of-your-seat kind of energy. The Warriors weren’t laughing today. Even Nate, usually the loudest voice in the sparring ring, moved quieter than usual.
“Don’t say it,” he warned, brushing dirt off his pants. “I know I landed wrong.”
Amelia arched her brow. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Liar.”
She handed him a flask of water and leaned against the fence beside him, scanning the others.
“Something’s different today,” she murmured.
Nate nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Patrols doubled. Beth says they found more tracks—bigger this time. Almost human, but wrong.”
“Rogues?”
“There was no scent. Just impressions. And something dead in the river. Like… drained.”
Her stomach turned.
“Alpha Landon said not to worry,” he added. “But he’s been tense. You can feel it.”
She could. In the way orders were delivered. In the sudden curfews. In the silences between conversations.
Amelia had grown up here. She knew what it looked like when wolves were preparing for war—only no one would admit they were doing it.
That evening, she found Lila in the greenhouse. The other girl was elbow-deep in soil, planting seedlings with practiced care.
“Did you hear?” Lila asked without turning. “The traders from East Hollow were late. Said someone was shadowing them on the ridge.”
Amelia knelt beside her and started untangling roots. “Do you believe it?”
“I believe they were scared.”
A silence settled between them. Lila finally looked up. “Have you ever thought about leaving?”
Amelia blinked. “Leaving the pack?”
“Just… going. Seeing what’s beyond the ridge. Living among humans. Where there’s no wolves? No ranks. Just… choice.”
Amelia’s breath caught.
She had thought about it. More than once. But she never said it out loud. Not here. Not where everything was built on bloodlines and bonds.
“I couldn’t,” she said softly.
Lila stared at her. “Because of Nate? Or because of guilt?”
Amelia didn’t answer.
She didn’t know.
That night, she dreamt of eyes in the dark—watching her from the treeline. She saw trees bending as if something massive passed through them, but no sound followed. Just breathe. Just presence.
When she woke, sweat cooling on her neck, the scent from her dream lingered—pine and smoke.
She sat up slowly.
That same scent.
The one from the night by the river.
It was back.
Faint. Distant. But real.
She rose, heart pounding, and stepped to the window.
The forest lay silent beneath the moon.
But something was out there.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if it was coming for the pack—
Or just for her.
The next morning dawned cold and grey, the sky painted in thick clouds that pressed low against the hills. Rain threatened the horizon, and the pack moved with cautious efficiency.
Amelia found herself back in the supply shed, checking bandage stock and sorting herbs for Miri. She kept her hands busy, but her thoughts wandered—to dreams of trees bending and the scent of pine and smoke. It wasn’t just in her mind now. She was sure of it.
Something had returned.
The door creaked open behind her, and she turned, expecting Mara or Nate.
Instead, a stranger stood in the doorway.
Young. Maybe early twenties. Pale grey cloak damp from morning mist, dark hair curling slightly at the collar. His boots were well-worn, and a short scar cut through one brow, faint but recent. His eyes—light amber, sharp—swept the room like he was mapping it.
“Sorry,” he said, voice low but even. “I was told I could drop off some supplies here.”
Amelia straightened slowly. “You’re with the East Hollow traders?”
He nodded once, setting down a leather satchel. “Jerem. We came through the southern ridge last night. Late.”
She stepped forward, inspecting the contents automatically—dried medicinal roots, ground charcoal, beeswax. Standard trade items.
But something was off.
“You came through the ridge?”
“Is that a problem?”
She shook her head, but her chest tightened. “No. Just… patrols were active yesterday. Most travelers avoid that route.”
Jerem shrugged. “Didn’t have much choice. Weather hit us harder than expected. Lost time on the mountain trail.”
His explanation was clean. Logical.
Still, something in his posture—too still, too quiet—didn’t feel like a trader.
He watched her with a kind of calm interest that made her uneasy. Not predatory. Not flirtatious. Just… observant. Like he was trying to see beneath her skin.
“I haven’t seen you before,” she said.
“I don’t usually travel with the main caravan.” He lifted a brow. “You always this curious?”
“Only when things don’t quite add up.”
He smiled faintly, not denying it. “Well. If I’m unwelcome, I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re not unwelcome,” she said quickly, unsure why she said it.
He turned to leave, then paused. “You’re Amelia, right?”
She froze.
“How—?”
“Landon mentioned your name when we arrived. Said you were… dependable.”
A strange pause lingered in the air. Like that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Like there was something more he could’ve said—but didn’t.
Then he was gone.
The shed door closed with a soft thud.
Amelia stood still for a long time, staring at the satchel he left behind.
Jerem.
Just a trader.
Just passing through.
But her gut said otherwise.
And later that night, when the wind changed again and the dreams returned, it was not only eyes in the dark that watched her now—
It was his.
The forest felt different again by morning.
Amelia walked the outer perimeter of the compound with a basket of dried herbs for the infirmary, her thoughts still tangled from the dream. Miri had asked for more fever root, but Amelia was mostly out here for the silence.
Except she wasn’t alone.
As she approached the bend near the southern trail, she caught movement—a blur of motion just past the trees.
She froze.
Not a patrol. Not someone from her pack. She could tell instantly.
This figure moved differently. No heavy footfalls. No scent trail.
Just stillness.
And eyes.
They met hers for a single heartbeat.
Then the figure was gone.
Amelia stood there, breath short, staring into the trees where he’d stood.
Who was that?
Later that day, when she reported it to Alpha Landon, he didn’t look surprised. Only tired.
“We’ve had signs,” he said simply. “Tracks that vanish. Scent trails that start and stop like someone’s cutting them on purpose.”
“Do you think it’s a rogue?”
“I think it’s something we haven’t dealt with in a long time.”
He didn’t say more. But he added an extra guard to the southern ridge and shifted the patrol schedule.
Amelia wasn’t sure if it made her feel safer—or more exposed.
The next day, the greenhouse was unusually quiet when she returned from the infirmary.
Lila wasn’t there.
Instead, a boy knelt by the beds of blooming nightshades, carefully pruning each stem like he’d done it a thousand times. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with skin the color of dusk and hair tied in a short braid. She’d never seen him before.
He looked up as she stepped in. His eyes were startling—green, but not bright. Heavy, thoughtful.
“You’re not from here,” she said before she could stop herself.
He gave a single nod. “Jerem.”
“That’s not a name from our bloodlines.”
“It’s not.”
She waited, but he didn’t offer more.
“Visiting?” she asked.
“Temporarily.”
“From where?”
He didn’t answer immediately, just focused on trimming the last of the nightshade.
Then: “Gerold’s pack.”
That stopped her.
Gerold’s pack was something between myth and warning. A powerful Alpha who ruled beyond the mountains. Wolves whispered about his harsh laws and his unmatched strength. But no one in Amelia’s pack had seen one of his scouts—until now.
“What are you doing here?”
Jerem stood and dusted his hands. “Watching.”
“For what?”
He met her gaze. “To see if your pack is ready.”
Her heart jumped.
“Ready for what?”
But he was already walking past her, out the door, vanishing into the trees.
That night, the howls returned—low, stretched, mournful.
And this time, Amelia wasn’t sure if they were warning cries… or summons.
- Writer
