The moon was hidden that night, cloaked behind the thick veil of storm clouds that pressed low over the Silvercrest hills. It was as if the heavens themselves had turned their gaze away, unwilling to witness what was about to unfold.
Amara moved like a shadow through the dungeon halls, Elara's weight slung carefully over her shoulder. The younger wolf's breathing was shallow, each inhale thin as paper. The faint scent of wolfsbane still clung to her, sharp and metallic. Amara's wolf growled low within her chest, urging her to move faster.
The stone corridors twisted like the roots of an ancient tree, each passage leading deeper into the dark. The guards stationed above wouldn't notice her absence for long — Garrick was buying her time, but even his authority had limits.
As she reached the last turn before the southern exit, Amara pressed her back to the cold wall, listening. The rain outside had begun to fall in earnest, pattering softly through the cracks in the old stone. No footsteps. No voices. Only the steady whisper of water and the ragged sound of Elara's breathing.
Amara adjusted her grip and whispered, "Stay with me, Elara. Just a little longer."
Elara stirred weakly. "It's… cold."
"I know," Amara murmured. "But we're almost out."
She took another step—and froze.
A torch flared at the end of the corridor. Two guards rounded the corner, talking in low voices. Amara pulled Elara into the nearest alcove, pressing them both into the shadows. Her hand went to the dagger at her hip.
"…Elder Taren said the Alpha wants the girl cleaned up before dawn," one of the guards muttered. "They'll hold the ceremony at sunrise if the weather clears."
"Sunrise?" the other scoffed. "Bit fast, isn't it?"
"You don't question the elders," came the sharp reply. "You follow orders."
Their footsteps grew louder.
Amara's grip tightened on her dagger. If they looked this way, she'd have to move fast—strike once, silence them both before they could sound the alarm. Her pulse thudded in her ears.
But fate, for once, seemed to side with her.
A sharp crash echoed from above — a clatter of metal, followed by a barked order. Both guards snapped their heads up.
"What was that?"
"Kitchen, maybe. Go!"
They sprinted off toward the stairwell, leaving the passage clear.
Amara let out a shaky breath. "Bless you, Garrick," she whispered.
She slipped from the shadows and hurried toward the southern tunnel. The narrow passage curved downward, its walls damp and lined with moss. It had been built long before her time — a relic of the first Silvercrest Alpha, used as an escape route during the old wars.
The tunnel opened into a small stone chamber, and there — by the flickering light of a single torch — stood Beta Garrick.
He turned at her approach, relief flickering briefly in his eyes before he took in the sight of Elara limp against her shoulder. "Is she—"
"Alive," Amara said. "Barely. They poisoned her."
Garrick's jaw tightened. "I should have expected that. The elders won't risk her resisting."
He moved to help, easing Elara down against the wall. Her skin was pale, her pulse faint but steady. He looked at her — truly looked — and for the first time, regret softened his features.
"She's just a girl," he murmured. "All this fear, all this scheming… for her."
Amara's voice was low. "You've seen what she is, Garrick. You heard what your Alpha said. She's not just a girl. She's a wolf who can heal, who can change fates. That's why they're afraid. And that's why Kael wants her back."
Garrick rubbed a hand over his face, the weight of his decisions pressing down. "And that's why Roran will kill us both if we fail."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small bundle — a dark cloak, food wrapped in linen, and a vial of antidote that shimmered faintly blue in the dim light. "Give her this when you reach the ridge. It should counter the wolfsbane completely."
Amara took it, nodding once. "What about you?"
"I'll stay," he said grimly. "Someone has to slow them down. They'll come for you the moment the guards notice the missing prisoner."
Amara's wolf bristled. "They'll kill you."
"Maybe," he said. "But if she escapes — if Kael reaches her before they do — maybe Silvercrest will still have a future worth saving."
Amara's throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to refuse, but the look in his eyes silenced her. Garrick wasn't just the Beta tonight. He was a father, a leader, and a man trying to atone for his Alpha's sins.
"Go," he said softly. "Before dawn catches you."
Amara hesitated only a heartbeat before pulling Elara into her arms once more. "Thank you, Garrick. For everything."
He managed a faint, bitter smile. "Don't thank me yet."
Then he turned away, drawing his sword as footsteps echoed distantly down the hall. The guards had noticed.
Amara bolted into the tunnel, her boots splashing through shallow puddles. The air grew colder the closer she came to the exit — the scent of pine and rain seeping through the cracks above. The first glimpse of open sky made her chest tighten with relief.
The forest stretched wide and dark beyond the old gate. Rain streaked the leaves, silver under the faint glow of lightning.
She shifted Elara's weight and pressed a hand against her cheek. "We're out," she whispered. "We're free."
But even as she said it, she knew freedom was only a heartbeat away from pursuit.
Behind her, faint and distant, came the sound of steel clashing — Garrick's voice raised in command, shouts echoing through the tunnels.
Amara ran.
Branches whipped at her face as she tore through the forest, the storm closing in overhead. Elara stirred once, murmuring something incoherent.
"Hold on," Amara gasped. "I won't let them take you."
Somewhere ahead, she heard it — the faint, unmistakable howl of a wolf. Not Silvercrest. Lower, rougher… familiar.
Blackridge.
Kael's wolves were close.
She stumbled to a stop beside an old birch tree, heart pounding. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Lightning split the sky, casting brief light over the ravine ahead — and there, through the sheets of rain, Amara saw the dark figures moving between the trees.
Wolves. Four, maybe five. All large, scarred, and unmistakably from Blackridge.
Amara's instincts warred within her. She could hide and risk being hunted by Silvercrest patrols, or step forward and trust the wolves she'd once been trained to kill.
Then Elara stirred again, weakly whispering, "Kael…"
Amara exhaled. "Looks like fate made the choice for us."
She stepped into the open, raising one hand in signal — a sign of truce, old as the packs themselves.
The largest wolf stopped. His eyes glowed amber in the stormlight. Slowly, he shifted — revealing Ryden beneath the rain, his expression both cautious and furious.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Amara," she said breathlessly. "Silvercrest captain. I have something your Alpha wants."
Ryden's gaze flicked to the limp girl in her arms. His eyes widened slightly. "Elara?"
Amara nodded. "She's alive. But if you want her to stay that way, we need to move. Now."
From behind Ryden, a familiar presence stirred — Kael, tall and silent, his cloak heavy with rain. His gaze locked on Elara, and for a moment, all the fury in the world seemed to fall away, replaced only by quiet, aching relief.
"Bring her," he said softly. "She's coming home."
Amara hesitated. "Home?"
Kael's eyes hardened. "To the pack she was stolen from."
Behind them, distant howls rose from the Silvercrest side — pursuit, angry and fast.
There was no time left to think.
Amara handed Elara carefully to Kael. His arms closed around her as if afraid she might vanish again. He gave one curt nod to Ryden.
"Burn the trail," Kael ordered. "No one follows."
As Ryden turned to obey, Amara glanced back toward the forest — toward the faint glow of Silvercrest's torches drawing closer.
She whispered under her breath, "Forgive me, Garrick."
Then, without looking back again, she followed Kael into the storm — into the wild darkness that promised freedom, and war.