The moon was half-full that night — a sliver of silver hanging over Blackridge like a crooked blade. The air was thick with pine and prophecy. Something ancient stirred beneath the soil, and the pack could feel it in their bones.
Caleb Thorn stood alone at the forest's edge, staring into the dark like it owed him answers.
Behind him, the town slept restlessly, its people haunted by dreams they couldn't remember and whispers they couldn't place. The veil between the waking world and something far older had thinned. And Caleb knew: they were running out of time.
The wind shifted.
And with it came the scent of her.
Not blood.
Not decay.
But power.
Lena wandered barefoot through the ruins of an old stone chapel, long swallowed by vines and time. Her eyes glowed softly in the dark, and the earth seemed to move with her—alive, yet afraid.
She paused in front of a shattered altar.
Something inside it called to her.
She knelt, placing her hand on the broken stone, and whispered words no child should know. The air shimmered. Cracks spread through the stone, revealing a sigil beneath—glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
A memory that was not hers flickered in her mind: wolves bowing before a black flame… voices chanting in a tongue that seared the soul… an Alpha burning from the inside out.
She smiled.
Back in Blackridge, Caleb collapsed to one knee as pain ripped through his skull.
His vision blurred.
The world spun.
And then—
A flash.
A field of white snow.
His hands, dripping with blood.
A voice: "You should've let me die with them."
Another flash.
A younger Caleb, standing over three lifeless bodies — two packmates, and a child. His heart breaking. His eyes wild. And a shadow behind him, whispering promises of salvation if only he would listen.
He staggered back into the present, gasping, clutching his chest.
Elias appeared beside him. "The Hollow remembers," the old man rasped. "And now… it wants you to remember too."
"I didn't open it," Caleb hissed. "Not then. Not now."
"No," Elias said, helping him stand. "But it still knows your name."
Inside the Pack House, the tension was rising.
Ronan sat in the war room, flipping through old scrolls, maps, anything that could make sense of the Hollow's return. Lucien paced like a caged wolf.
"We're wasting time," Lucien snarled. "We should've hunted the girl the moment she showed."
"She's just a child," Marla said calmly. "We don't even know what she is yet."
"She's marked," Lucien shot back. "The same sigil burned into that boy's arm? That's not coincidence. That's corruption."
"Or protection," Elias said, stepping into the room with Caleb. "The Hollow corrupts. But it also chooses."
Lucien glared at Caleb. "And what are you now, Thorn? Chosen or cursed?"
Caleb looked him dead in the eye. "Depends on who you ask."
Later that night, Caleb stood on the roof of the Pack House, looking out over the tree line. A figure joined him.
Bex. Fast, sharp, and fearless.
"Never thought I'd see you back here," she said, arms crossed.
"I never thought I'd return," Caleb replied.
"You left without saying goodbye."
He looked at her, truly looked. She was older now — the teenager he used to train had become a warrior. Her scent still carried the warmth of pine and ash. Familiar. Grounding.
"I thought it was the only way to keep everyone safe."
"You thought wrong," she said. But her voice wasn't cruel. Just tired.
She handed him a folded note. "Found this tucked in the Hollow journal. Not in Elias's handwriting."
Caleb unfolded it.
"Blood seals the Hollow. But betrayal breaks it."
Beneath the words was a symbol.
One he recognized instantly.
A crescent moon.
Wrapped in chains.
The same symbol branded on the boy.
The same one that appeared in his vision.
Someone from the pack had opened the Hollow.
And they had done it from the inside.
Miles, the branded boy, woke just after midnight. His screams echoed through the infirmary, and when Marla rushed in, he was thrashing, eyes rolled back, mouth foaming with black mist.
He wasn't alone in his mind anymore.
He spoke in three voices — one male, one female, one in a tongue no one living could translate.
But one word rang clear.
Over and over.
"Alpha."
By sunrise, Caleb had made his decision.
They had to find Lena before the Hollow claimed her completely.
But as he left the Pack House, Bex stopped him.
"There's something else," she said, pulling him aside. "Someone's been going into Elias's records. Old texts. Prophecy scrolls. The ones locked in the lower vault."
"Who?"
She hesitated. Then handed him a name.
He stared at it, disbelief creeping across his face.
Ronan Hale.
His Beta. His brother in all but blood.