The forest was too quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that came with peace, but the kind that came before something broke.
Randall crouched low beside a half-uprooted tree, pressing his fingers into the damp soil. Blood. Cold, old, maybe a few hours. Definitely human. And definitely too far from where the bodies were found.
Behind him, Alpha Corbin loomed like a statue of iron and impatience. The older wolf said nothing, just watched. That was Corbin's thing, he didn't speak unless he had to. And he didn't waste time on men he didn't respect.
Which was fine. Randall wasn't here for Corbin's approval.
He was here because someone had to handle this. Because rogue packs didn't organize like this without someone pulling the strings. And because if someone was out there testing the kingdom's borders, Elinore's borders, they weren't going to get a second chance.
He rose to his feet, eyes sweeping the tree line. The moon was just beginning to rise, pale and bloated. The air was thick with old violence.
"Tracks split," Randall said, motioning west. "Two went off that way. The rest kept heading toward the cliffs."
Corbin nodded once. "We take the larger trail. The cliffline's a trap if we're not fast."
"I'm fast."
Corbin didn't respond.
Randall rolled his shoulders, already stripping out of his shirt.
"Try to keep up, old man."
He didn't wait for a reply. He shifted mid-step, fur rolling over his skin like water. It was instinct now. No thought, no hesitation. Just muscle, shadow, and speed.
The world sharpened as soon as he hit four legs.
Scents he hadn't caught before filled his senses. Blood in the underbrush, burnt wood, wet leather, the faint musk of adrenaline. Rogues. Five, maybe six. Running too hard to cover their scent trail.
He took off like a shadow breaking loose.
Branches tore past him. Roots blurred beneath his paws. The wind howled through the trees, but it couldn't catch him.
He was faster than it. Stronger. And he'd been bored for far too long.
A flash of movement ahead. A shape, then another.
He didn't hesitate.
He surged forward and slammed into the first rogue like a living blade, sending the wolf crashing into a tree with a crunch. It didn't get back up.
Another tried to lunge at his flank. Randall twisted mid-air, raking claws across its chest and dragging it down. The rogue snarled, kicked, and bit. But Randall was already gone, bounding off its ribs and into the next one.
This one was bigger. Faster, smarter.
It was almost a fight.
Almost.
Randall let it get close, then ducked low, his jaws locking around the wolf's leg and yanking it off balance before crushing its throat.
When he looked up, two more had appeared. Eyes wild, teeth bared, howling something too warped to be a language.
Behind him, Corbin barreled through the trees like an avalanche, catching one mid-lunge and tearing it off its feet. The sound that followed was all bone and blood.
The last one hesitated. Randall could feel it.
That flicker of fear. The split-second realization that it had made a mistake.
He didn't let it run. He leapt, slammed it into the earth, and pinned it there.
Not dead. Not yet.
He shifted, his claws digging into the rogue's shoulder as he pressed it down.
"What pack are you from?" he asked, voice low and rumbling with barely restrained control.
The rogue snarled up at him. Its eyes were bloodshot. Yellowed.
"Not… yours," it spat.
Randall's grip tightened. "You're not wild. Someone gave you orders."
The wolf's lips peeled back. "She won't save you."
"She?" Randall asked.
But the rogue's smile turned ugly. And then, its body convulsed.
Poison!
It had something tucked in its cheek. Whatever it was, it worked fast.
Within seconds, the rogue went still.
Randall stood slowly. Breathing hard.
"She."
He turned as Corbin approached, blood still dripping from one claw.
"That was controlled," Corbin said grimly. "Not a rogue. Not truly."
Randall nodded. "This wasn't random."
He didn't know who the rogue meant. A woman? A commander? A traitor?
But something cold settled in his gut.
This wasn't just an attack, it was a test. And whoever sent them wasn't afraid of being caught.
Randall stared down at the corpse, unmoving. The rogue's mouth was still stained with the blackish foam of whatever poison they'd taken. Not fast enough to avoid interrogation, but fast enough to keep them from talking.
He straightened slowly, wiping blood from his arm as he turned toward Corbin, who was already crouched over another body, sniffing the air.
"Same mark," Corbin muttered. "Same collar design, too."
Randall stepped closer. A thin leather band lay twisted around the dead wolf's neck, half-buried in the dirt. It was crude, hand-cut, and rough. But he could make out a symbol burned into it.
Not a pack crest, not even a house sigil.
A woman's silhouette. Head crowned with what looked like claws.
"Hell is this?" Randall murmured.
Corbin stood. "Not one of ours."
"Not from any loyal pack, either."
Corbin grunted. "You know what this means."
Randall nodded, expression sharpening.
"It means someone out there's building something new. And hiding it under our noses."
"Or worse," Corbin added, voice low. "Someone in Vareldis is letting them."
The wind shifted suddenly, carrying a new scent. Old ash, horses, faint rot. The remnants of a makeshift camp nearby. They followed it in silence, stopping when the trail opened into a small clearing. There were burnt coals, stripped bones, and shattered branches.
Then Randall spotted something half-buried in the ash.
He crouched, brushing away the soot until his fingers closed around cold metal.
A gold coin. Stamped with the seal of the Vareldis throne, the old crest with the three-headed wolf, but gouged through the middle, deep scratches cutting right across the royal mark like claws had raked it.
And smeared in blood.
He stood slowly, turning it in his hand, jaw tight.
"This wasn't dropped," he said. "It was left."
Corbin said nothing, but his silence was heavier now.
Randall slipped the coin into his pocket, eyes scanning the dark edge of the woods.
Let them send threats. Let them whisper rebellion from the shadows.
They wouldn't stay hidden for long.
And when they come for the throne, he'd be waiting.