The mark appeared at dusk.
It burned itself into the sky above the treeline, red as fresh blood against the fading light—three slashes through a crescent, vast enough for every pack within miles to see. Ancient magic. Council magic. The kind meant not just to warn, but to condemn.
Ivy stared upward, her breath shallow.
"They've marked me," she whispered.
Darius did not look at the sky. He was already moving, scanning the forest, calculating routes, distances, probabilities. "Yes."
Her laugh came out sharp and humorless. "That was fast."
"You embarrassed them," he said. "They don't forgive that."
She turned to him, anger flaring. "You saved me. That's why they did this."
"No," Darius replied evenly. "They did this because you're dangerous."
"I'm an Omega," she snapped. "I don't command armies. I don't even have a pack."
"You have a name," he said. "And a bloodline they failed to erase."
The symbol pulsed once more before fading, but its meaning lingered like a death sentence etched into the air.
Ivy felt suddenly, acutely exposed. Every wolf who saw that mark would know: Ivy Thorne was condemned. Shelter her, and you would share her fate. Kill her, and you would be rewarded.
She swallowed hard. "So what now?"
Darius finally looked at her.
"You disappear."
She scoffed. "I already tried that."
"Not like this." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "From this moment on, every Council blade is aimed at your throat. You cannot move alone anymore."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you think I'll just follow you?"
"I think," he said calmly, "that you enjoy breathing."
She hated him for how easily he made sense.
A distant howl echoed through the forest—answered by another, and another. Not a call of unity.
A call of pursuit.
Darius's hand closed around her wrist. "Move. Now."
They didn't stop running until the ground turned rocky and the trees thinned into jagged spires of stone. An old sanctuary lay hidden between the cliffs—a ruin from before the Council, its wards faint but still breathing.
Darius pushed the heavy doors shut behind them, sealing the space with a gesture that made the air hum.
Ivy yanked her arm free. "Don't touch me."
"Then stop bleeding," he said flatly, nodding to her arm.
She looked down. Blood soaked her sleeve, dark and sticky. She hadn't even felt it.
"Sit," he ordered.
"I don't take orders from executioners."
"You do if you want to live."
She hesitated—then sat.
Darius worked efficiently, tearing fabric, binding the wound. His touch was precise, impersonal, but Ivy was painfully aware of the closeness. The tension pressed in, thick and electric.
"You disobeyed the Council," she said quietly. "Why?"
His hands stilled for half a second.
"They were wrong."
"That's it?" she challenged. "Two centuries of obedience, and suddenly you grow a conscience?"
His gaze flicked to hers, sharp. "Don't mistake defiance for mercy."
She held his stare. "You killed my father."
"Yes."
The word fell heavy between them.
"And you expect me to trust you?"
"No," he said. "I expect you to survive."
Silence stretched.
Then Ivy said softly, "They're not just hunting me."
Darius straightened. "Explain."
"The mark," she continued. "It's not only a sentence. It's a signal. To the ones who remember."
His jaw tightened. "The wolves who don't answer to the Council."
"Yes." She met his eyes. "And to the ones who hate it."
Outside, the howls grew closer.
Darius turned toward the door.
Too late.
The ward shattered.
Figures poured into the ruin—wolves bearing no insignia, eyes glowing with hunger and something worse: purpose twisted into fanaticism.
At their head stood Lena.
Ivy froze. "Lena…?"
Lena's expression was calm. Resolved. "You should have run farther."
Darius stepped in front of Ivy without thinking, blade already in hand.
"So," he said coolly. "This is where you chose to stand."
Lena's gaze flicked to him, assessing. "I didn't choose the war," she said. "I survived it."
"You're leading rogues," Ivy said, voice breaking. "You're helping them hunt me."
"I'm helping them burn the Council's world down," Lena replied. "You're collateral."
That word cut deeper than any blade.
The attack came fast.
Stone cracked. Steel rang. Darius moved like a storm unleashed, cutting through attackers with brutal efficiency, but there were too many. Ivy fought beside him, instincts screaming, every movement driven by rage and grief.
Then—
Lena lunged past Darius.
Straight for Ivy.
Ivy didn't dodge fast enough.
The blade sank in—not deep, but deliberate.
Lena leaned close, whispering, "I'm sorry. But you were never meant to survive this."
Darius roared.
The sound was not human.
When the dust settled, the rogues fled—dragging their wounded, vanishing into the night.
Lena was gone.
Ivy collapsed to her knees, blood slick on her hands.
Darius caught her before she hit the stone.
For the first time, his control cracked.
"They marked you," he said hoarsely. "And now they've chosen sides."
Her vision blurred. "So have you."
"Yes," he said. "I have."
Above them, the clouds swallowed the moon.
And far away, the Council smiled.
The executioner had betrayed them.
And war had finally found its spark.