MARKED IN THE MIDDLE

WOLVES DON’T FORGIVE

There’s something about silence right before a storm. Like the world knows something bad’s about to go down, and it just… holds its breath.

That’s how it felt the morning we left the safehouse. Janie’s wards were holding, but barely. Whatever spell Kael had cast over the city was crawling through the cracks. Her sigils flickered at the edges like dying neon signs, and every now and then, I could hear this low humming—like the walls were trying to whisper secrets we weren’t supposed to hear.

I packed light, Just the essentials: charms, weapons, a burner phone, and of course, the pendant. Lira? She had nothing but that tired old backpack and an oversized hoodie that swallowed her whole. You wouldn’t look at her twice on the street, and maybe that was the point.

We didn’t speak much.

What was there to say?

Milo was still missing. The pendant was basically a blood-soaked nuke. And the woman who might’ve started all this? Still breathing. Still running. And now tagging along with me.

We took the back route out of South Viremont, cutting through the tunnels beneath the trainyard. The city above was too hot. Kael’s goons weren’t dumb—they’d be watching checkpoints, glamored as cops or maintenance crews, sniffing out anything unusual.

"Have you ever been to the Iron Market?" I asked as we stepped over a rusted rail line.

Lira shook her head. “He never let me leave Silver Ash territory. Said the outside world was… dirty.”

I side-eyed her. “Girl, you married a controlling sociopath, not a priest. Dirty’s where the fun is.”

She gave a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Iron Market was hidden in the bones of the city—an old underground subway station converted into a marketplace for everything magical and illegal. Potions, poisons, charms, forbidden books, even bottled emotions (don’t ask). It was also neutral ground. Mostly. You kept your fangs sheathed and your claws tucked in, or you got booted. Or worse.

Janie had sent word ahead. Told us to meet someone.

“Name’s Ashir,” she’d said, scribbling the name on my arm with a charm-ink pen. “He’s a black-market whisperer, Know things. Find things. Sells information like candy. Don’t piss him off.”

Cool.

Iron Market buzzed like a beehive when we got there. Smoke and spells hung in the air, and the whole place smelled like cinnamon, blood, and old secrets. We weaved through the stalls until we found him.

Ashir wasn’t what I expected.

He was tall, lean, dark skin glowing like polished stone, eyes the color of winter moss. He looked young, maybe twenty-five, but something in his stare made my bones itch. Like he’d been around a lot longer than his face suggested.

“You’re late,” he said, voice smooth as silk.

“Traffic,” I replied. “Underground rats were striking again.”

He didn’t laugh. Just stared at Lira.

“So Luna lives,” he murmured. “Didn’t think Kael was that sloppy.”

“She’s breathing. That’s the important part,” I said. “We need info. Fast.”

He motioned us into a back stall, pulled the curtain closed, and lit a single white candle. The flame burned blue. Pure truth magic. No lies in that space. Not unless you wanted your tongue to rot out of your skull.

I laid it out—the pendant, the attack, Milo’s disappearance.

Ashir nodded slowly, fingers steepled.

“Kael’s tightening his grip,” he said. “But not just on his pack. Something’s shifted. There are whispers from the Northern Ridge. Unrest. Even the Redmaw wolves are nervous.”

“Redmaw doesn’t get nervous,” I said.

“They do when the earth starts cracking beneath them.”

Lira’s voice was barely a whisper. “What do you mean?”

Ashir glanced at her, then leaned in.

“There’s an old prophecy—one even most Alphas pretend doesn’t exist. It speaks of a bloodline betrayal, a Luna returned, and a fracture in the unity of the packs that will shake the bones of the earth. Some believe the pendant is the key. Others say it’s a trigger. But one thing is clear…”

He looked at me, dead serious.

“You are not the only one looking for it.”

A chill wrapped around my spine like ice fingers.

“Who else?”

Ashir tilted his head. “Ever heard of The Hollow Ones?”

I stiffened. “Thought they were a myth.”

“Nope,” he said. “They’re very real. Packless wolves turned mercenaries. No code. No loyalty. Just muscle, teeth, and blood money. Someone’s hired them. They’re in Vermont now. And they know your face, Nora.”

Great. Freakin' fantastic.

Ashir gave us a location—an old blood ritual site near the cliffs called Ashgrove Hollow. Said someone might be meeting there. Someone who knew what Milo found. Someone who might be able to help.

Or kill us. Either way it sounded like a fun field trip.

We left Iron Market just before dusk, heading west. The cliffs weren’t far, maybe a two-hour hike. The forest there was thick and full of weird noises. Birds that sounded like they were laughing at you. Branches that moved when you weren’t looking.

“Did you believe what Ashir said?” Lira asked as we moved under the canopy.

“About the prophecy?”

She nodded.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Prophecies are like old soup recipes. Everyone adds their own spice. But… something’s definitely going down.”

We reached the cliff’s edge just as night fell.

Ashgrove Hollow was a ring of stones surrounded by dead trees. The ground inside was blackened, cracked like something had tried to claw its way up from underneath. Old blood stained the center. Ritual ground, for sure.

And in the middle?

A man.

He stood barefoot in the blood ring, shirtless, silver tattoos glowing faintly on his arms. His hair was long, wild, and his eyes—pale grey. Like fog trapped in a bottle.

“You’re late,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Must be a theme today.”

He didn’t smile, Just looked at Lira.

“You brought her,” he said. “That’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous seems to follow her,” I replied.

He stepped out of the circle, slowly, like something might snap if he moved too fast.

“My name is Veyric,” he said. “I served under Kael before he became Alpha. I know what he did. I saw what happened to her.”

Lira tensed. “You were there?”

“I tried to stop it, I failed. I’ve been hiding ever since. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I asked.

“For the pendant to resurface,” he said. “And for someone to be brave—or stupid—enough to bring her back.”

He looked at me.

“Looks like that’s you.”

Figures.

He explained everything. The blood ceremony Kael used to bind his Luna. The lie he told his pack about her death. The secret council of elders that helped cover it up. And the role Milo played—how he’d been smuggling documents, hiding evidence, trying to expose Kael from the inside.

Then he dropped the bomb.

“Milo’s alive,” Veyric said.

Lira gasped. “Where?”

“Held in the Deep Warrens beneath Kael’s estate. Guarded. Tortured. But alive.”

I clenched my jaw. “So what? We storm the estate and hope for the best?”

“No,” Veyric said. “We start a war.”

And just like that… the silence before the storm shattered.