The heavy oak doors of the grand hall slammed back against the stone wall with a crack like thunder.
"Wren!"
Nolan’s voice cut through the cold corridor. Heavy, rapid strides echoed on the flagstones behind me.
I didn't stop. I kept walking toward the annex lockers, the black band of Ravenscar tied firmly around my wrist. The fabric was rough against my pulse, grounding me.
His hand caught my shoulder, fingers digging deep into the wool of my jacket. He spun me around, forcing me back against the arched stone pillar.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Nolan’s face was flushed, his amber eyes blazing with wounded pride. "You don't walk away from me. Not like that. Not in front of the entire assembly."
"Take your hand off me, Nolan," I said, my voice level.
He let go, but he didn't back away. Instead, he crowded my space, dropping his tone into the low, persuasive register he always used when he wanted me to bend.
"Look at me," he commanded softly. "You think I wanted to leave you down there? It was strategy, Wren. Pure strategy."
I looked at him, feeling an odd, hollow detachment. "Strategy."
"The council elders were watching every breath I took," he said, gesturing back toward the assembly hall. "The Alpha seat isn't handed down by blood alone. If I took an Omega as our fifth, the traditionalists would have torn my leadership apart before we even left the gates. Brielle has the bloodline. She satisfies the council. You know how politics work here."
"So you gave her my slot."
"It's a title, Wren. That's all it is," he said, frustration creeping back into his voice. "I did it to protect my position—to protect *our* future. Once I take the Alpha seat after the Hunt, nobody will question who I bring to my side. You just had to wait."
"I waited two years," I said. "And you traded my name the second it bought you an advantage."
Nolan let out a sharp, impatient breath, running a hand through his hair. He looked at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum over a broken toy.
"Fine. You're angry. You have a right to be," he conceded, extending an open palm toward me. "We'll deal with that later. Right now, I need the updated trail ledger. Brielle needs the snowpack margins for the northern shelf before morning drills."
I stared at his open hand.
"The map Nolan unrolled out there was the primary survey," he continued smoothly, entirely confident in his entitlement. "You spent two months refining the switchback elevations. Hand over the field notes. Those routes were mapped on Silvercrest territory, funded by Silvercrest provisions. They belong to the pack."
Without a word, I reached into the side pocket of my leather satchel.
Nolan’s jaw relaxed slightly, a faint flicker of smug satisfaction touching the corners of his mouth. He expected me to cave. He had spent months training me to absorb the blows and quietly clean up after his ambitions.
My fingers wrapped around the small, weathered notebook bound in black waterproof oilcloth. Every drop of ink inside was mine—crevasse depths, shifting scree, wind tunnels that could rip a wolf off a cliff face.
I pulled it out.
Nolan reached for it.
Before his fingers could graze the edge, I dropped the book straight into the deep interior compartment of my pack, pulled the heavy brass zipper shut, and fastened the buckle tight.
Nolan’s hand froze in midair.
"I mapped those ridges with my own boots while you were drinking in the high hall," I said, meeting his stare without blinking. "Not another line. Not another elevation. From this second forward, I won't revise a single coordinate for your team."
The muscle along his jaw ticked violently. "Wren, stop playing games. You’re embarrassing yourself, and you’re jeopardizing the pack. Give me the notes, and we can pretend this Ravenscar stunt never happened."
He reached for the strap of my satchel to take it by force.
A shadow fell over both of us.
The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop three degrees in an instant. The faint scent of crushed cedar and frost pushed past Nolan’s heavy pine scent.
Ronan stood just behind Nolan’s left shoulder, arms crossed over his massive chest, a wall of pure muscle. Asher leaned against the adjacent pillar, tossing a hunting knife between his hands with casual malice. Elias watched from three paces back, his hand resting loosely on the hilt at his hip.
And right beside me stepped Cassian.
The Ravenscar Alpha didn't draw a weapon. He didn't raise his voice. He simply placed himself between me and Nolan, his sheer presence forcing the Silvercrest heir back half a step.
"Get your hands out of her space," Cassian said.
Nolan bristled, his Alpha aura surging to push back against the intrusion. "Stay out of this, Cassian. This is an internal Silvercrest matter. She’s an enrolled tracker under my jurisdiction."
"She’s wearing iron thread," Cassian replied, his slate-gray eyes cold and immovable. "Which makes her mine to protect."
"She’s reacting out of spite!" Nolan snapped, looking past Cassian to glare at me. "She belongs here! She’s been in my den, working under my command for years!"
Cassian’s expression didn't shift by a fraction of an inch. His voice was absolute, cutting through Nolan’s bluster like a winter blade.
"You rejected her," Cassian said. "You don't get to veto who chooses her."
Nolan’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning stark white. He looked at the four Ravenscar wolves flanking me, then back at the black ribbon tied around my wrist. The courtyard outside was still full of people; a physical brawl in the corridor would shatter what remained of his dignified Alpha persona.
"You're making a mistake, Wren," Nolan ground out through gritted teeth. "A fatal one."
"Step back, Vance," Ronan rumbled from the side, shifting his weight forward.
Nolan took one slow, venomous look at me before turning on his heel and stalking back toward the main hall.
***
The team locker rooms were dead quiet when I walked in fifteen minutes later.
I had already packed my cold-weather gear, my compass, and my climbing picks into a single duffel bag. I was reaching up to pull down my spare boots when the locker room door swung open.
Brielle walked in, her silver vanguard band gleaming on her upper arm. She had already changed into her training leathers, looking pristine and untouchable.
She stopped by the wooden bench, crossing her arms.
"You’re really going through with this little rebellion, aren't you?" she asked, her voice carrying that practiced, gentle condescension she always reserved for me.
I pulled my boots down and stuffed them into the bag. "I’m clearing my gear."
"Wren, be serious," Brielle sighed, stepping closer. "You made your point in the courtyard. Everyone saw you throw your fit. But this is the Moon Hunt. It’s not a game. Nolan was only trying to keep you safe. You can't survive the summit scramble, and you know it."
I pulled the zipper of my duffel shut and straightened up. "Is there something you need, Brielle?"
Brielle hesitated, her mask slipping for a fraction of a second. She glanced at my pack.
"The northern approach," she said, pitching her voice low and reasonable. "The map Nolan had on stage shows the old switchback, but the snowmelt this spring makes that pass too risky for a full vanguard run. Nolan said you found a secondary cutoff along the eastern spine."
A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. "He told you to come get it?"
"We're sisters, Wren," Brielle said smoothly, reaching out to touch my arm. "A competition shouldn't tear our family apart. If Silvercrest wins, our family’s standing rises. Just sketch out the bypass. You don't need it anyway—Ravenscar runs the western gorges, not the north face."
I stepped back, letting her hand fall into empty air.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the heavy brass key to my Silvercrest locker, and dropped it into her open hand. The metal clinked sharply against her skin.
"There's your locker key," I said. "Anything in the official Silvercrest records is yours to use."
Brielle stared at the brass key, her eyes narrowing. "Wren, the official records are six months out of date. The frost heave altered the lower gorge. Where are your latest notes?"
"They’re leaving with me."
"You're sabotaging your own pack!" Her voice rose, losing its sweet veneer. "You know I can't read the shifting ice without those baseline markers! If we hit a deadfall—"
"Then I guess you shouldn't have taken the navigator's spot," I said coldly.
I hauled my duffel over my shoulder, grabbed my satchel, and walked past her toward the exit.
"Wren!" Brielle called after me, her voice sharp with panic and anger. "You come back here!"
I didn't turn around.
The heavy iron doors of the training compound yielded beneath my hand, letting in the biting mountain wind. Outside, the black transport belonging to Ravenscar waited at the edge of the gravel drive, its engine rumbling low in the quiet evening. Cassian stood by the open passenger door, waiting.
As I reached the foot of the stone steps, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket.
I pulled it out.
The screen lit up with a single message from Nolan.
*You'll come back before the Hunt starts.*
I stared at the words, feeling the last lingering thread of an old, foolish loyalty snap clean in two.
Without typing a word, I locked the screen, slid the phone into my pocket, and walked toward the waiting wolves in black.
