Shannon arrived before sunrise and found Tristan waiting on the porch.
"You're ready?" Shannon asked, a quick smile breaking through.
"Are you sure you want me to come?" Tristan asked.
"Yes," Shannon said. "This isn't about proving anything to them. It's about you seeing what's out there."
The wolves had only just woken. Shannon and Tristan arrived in time to meet Kim and Mira, both burdened with heavy gear. Bran stood off to the side with his arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Here, carry half the gear," Kim said, tipping his chin toward the packs.
The path into the woods narrowed under bare branches. The air felt sharp against Tristan's skin, goosebumps rising. No one spoke much except Kim, who pointed out old patrol routes and the places where markers should have stood. Bran stayed at the rear, silent, his gaze an almost physical weight.
They found the first snare about an hour in: rusted, half-buried in leaves, and much like the one from the day before. Mira marked the location with a strip of chalked cloth for later removal.
The second snare was different. Clean wire. Tight knots. The metal scent is still fresh.
"This isn't old," Bran said.
Shannon crouched beside it. "Fresh work. A week at most."
Tristan knelt too. "It's placed where the ground dips. Whoever set it knew how to hide it."
Two more snares followed in short order, both new and set with care.
"This isn't good," Kim said, voice low. "Feels like a grid."
"Could be someone mapping our patrols," Mira added.
The trail sloped into denser woods. A darker hush settled over the trees, and the light thinned. Tristan spotted a scrap of cloth tied deliberately to a low branch. He pulled it free and turned it in his hands. The fabric was travel-tough, with a faint stitched mark at the corner that you couldn't miss.
"This isn't from random hunting gear," Tristan said. "It looks personal."
Shannon studied the symbol. "Not one I recognize."
A thin whistle cut through the still air.
Bran's head snapped up. Without a word, he shifted into wolf form. Muscles bunched, and then he exploded into motion, a blur of gray fur vanishing between the trunks.
Kim's hand went to his blade. "That wasn't a bird."
"We're not alone," Shannon said, voice low. "Stay close to me."
They moved quickly yet carefully, following Bran's tracks until the brush gave way to a small clearing. A rough shelter sat against the base of a pine, its interior recently cleared.
Inside lay maps sketched on rough paper. Thick lines marked the borders of the pack's land. On one map, Tristan's name stood out in block letters. On another, a quick but unmistakable sketch captured Shannon's face.
Tristan froze. "Why would they…"
Shannon folded the papers. "We'll figure it out later."
Kim picked up a small pouch. "Food supplies. Still fresh. Whoever camped here left recently."
Mira circled the edge of the clearing. "Footprints heading west. One person, maybe two."
Bran returned, shifting back to human form. His expression was tight.
"You found something," Shannon said.
"I know the scent," Bran replied.
"Who?" Shannon asked.
Bran hesitated. "Someone who shouldn't be alive."
Silence settled over the clearing with the weight of a stone dropped into water. Shannon did not press further, not here. "Pack up," he ordered. "We're leaving. Whoever it is will know we found their camp."
They fanned back into the trees. As Tristan adjusted his pack, a faint movement caught his eye behind a broad oak. He stilled. A dark figure stood very still, watching. For an instant their eyes met. The figure turned and slipped away as if the forest itself had swallowed him.
Tristan's pulse stumbled and did not right itself for a while.
Back in the pack's territory, the group split. Kim and Mira went to file their report. Bran walked off without a word, heading for the training yard, then veering away before anyone could stop him.
In Shannon's quarters, Tristan sat while Shannon unfolded the papers from the camp. The sketches were too detailed to be casual, too deliberate to be coincidence.
"Why me?" Tristan asked quietly.
"Agreed. Why you?" Shannon asked just as softly.
Kim returned with food and news. "Bran's avoiding questions, but he's on edge. More than usual."
After Kim left again, Tristan asked, "What is Bran hiding?"
Shannon did not answer immediately. A short while later, Kim returned and eased the door shut behind him. "You should know that Bran lost his older brother to human hunters years ago," he said. "The scent he picked up today matches someone who was supposed to be dead."
The words settled in Tristan's stomach like cold iron. "So if it's true, he's seeing a ghost."
"Or someone dangerous is back," Kim said.
Night fell. A messenger knocked and handed Kim a folded paper. "Found this at the border," the messenger said. "Pinned to a tree."
Shannon opened it. The handwriting was neat; the message was razor-sharp.
"We know what you are. We'll come for you when he can't protect you."
The note was addressed to Tristan.
Shannon's jaw tightened. He read it again and then looked up. "You're not going anywhere alone."
"I'm not a prisoner," Tristan said, heat rising in his voice.
"You're under threat," Shannon replied. "That changes things."
Kim suggested increasing the guards around the cottage. Mira argued for setting a trap for the intruder instead. Bran called both options a waste of time for someone who might already be inside their borders. The discussion sharpened until Shannon ended it with a look.
"We're not acting on impulse," he said.
Later, when they were alone, Tristan asked, "Do you believe the note?"
"Yes," Shannon said.
"Does my being here put your pack in danger?"
"That is my decision to make," Shannon said, tone softening. "You stay where we can protect you."
Tristan waited for more, but none came. The quiet between them held everything that did not need saying.
Later still, Mira stopped by with a proposal: a controlled meeting under guard to learn the intruder's motive. Kim thought it was worth the risk. Bran called it foolish. "Why would an intruder agree to a guarded meeting?" he said flatly.
Frustration tightened Tristan's chest. He found himself agreeing with Bran. Whoever had watched them would not sit down politely to talk.
When evening deepened to full dark, Tristan slipped out of the territory. He carried his hunting gear and a lantern, and he moved by habit along the quieter track toward the western woods. The forest seemed to lean in, listening.
He did not hear the footsteps until it was too late. A trained assailant found him first.
A hand clamped over his mouth, and he was dragged backward into the trees.