The humming is gone.

I wake to voices.

Low, careful. Not urgent, but not relaxed either.

It's still dark, still night, but soft light glows from beneath the door.

Despite the chaos and the terror that led to waking up in a bed that's not my own, my thoughts, hazy as they are, are calm. My pulse is steady. I don't know if it's because I know that Beau's cabin is safe, or that I'm safe and comfortable in my nest. I decide I don't like the word. Though the presence in my chest seems happy to be surrounded by softness and darkness and warmth.

More importantly, I know I shouldn't be awake, shouldn't be listening. My body still aches with fatigue, my head still throbs, but I strain my ears, all the while telling myself that it's none of my business. That I shouldn't be eavesdropping. I listen to the murmured greetings, the shift of feet across the wooden floor. I can make out familiar voices. Marcus, Caleb. A female voice.

Leaving the pile of pillows and blankets I'd so carefully arranged is harder than I expect, but I drag the softest of the blankets with me as I tip toe toward the door, press my ear to the smooth wood, peer through the tiny slit.

Inside, the group is sitting around the leather couch, the arm chairs. Shoulders taught. The fragments faces I can see—Nora, Beau, Caleb's profile—are lined with dark emotion. Worry, maybe. Fear. Exhaustion. Dislike.

"She's sleeping?" Marcus's voice is clear, though I can only make out his back. There's an edge of concern that makes me soften a little more toward him. I can picture the twitch of his mustache, the furrowed brow.

"Yeah," Beau answers. He rubs his face, his eyes. He sounds tired, and I wonder if he's slept. "She needs the rest."

There's a pause—a silence that feels uncomfortable, even through the door—before Nora leans forward. Her face, its high cheekbones and sharp jaw, looks fiercer with the concern written across it. Like she's preparing to fight, despite insurmountable odds.

"She knows, then."

My pulse quickens. There's something implied in the words that I don't like. As if my knowing is a problem.

"She's one of us," Beau says quietly. There's a thread of challenge in his tone that drowns out any exhaustion I thought I'd heard. There's not flash of gold in his eyes, not that I can see, but I can almost hear the growl of the wolf. "It's not an issue."

"Isn't though?" Caleb's voice is low, clipped. Even with only his profile, I can see ill-disguised disdain written in the curl of his lip. "She can't shift."

There's another pause. The way he says it. It's like he thinks I'm the monster, like there's something horribly wrong with me. Though I want to ignore it, the dark and primal feeling next to my heart—the thing Beau thinks is a wolf—doesn't like the words, the sentiment. There's a strange ember of arrogance and pride in this hidden shadow, an edge of ego that wants to challenge Caleb's perception of us, and a trace of hurt. I rub my sternum, trying to soothe the wounded feeling. Because Beau isn't leaping to our defense. He's quiet.

To my surprise, it's Marcus that speaks. "We don't know that. Not yet."

"She's not like us," Nora says immediately.

"No," Marcus agrees. He leans forward. "But haven't you noticed how your wolves respond to her?"

Silence follows. Then Marcus chuckles. "To be young and ignorant, again. You've probably not noticed, Beau, being that you've never really struggled with your wolf, but Caleb? Nora?"

Caleb shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Nora frowns. Marcus continues, "Or Owen, as an example?"

"I've been working with him," Nora says immediately. "We've been working on control."

Marcus hums in agreement. He waits.

Nora sighs. "But you're right. He should have ripped straight through his skin at the bonfire."

Beau fixes his stormy eyes on his uncle. "He listened to me," he says slowly. "He kept his head."

Marcus nods, but before he can explain, Caleb interrupts him. "You gave him an alpha command, Beau. That's all. Implying that she has some sort of power over us is ridiculous."

A low growl rumbles from Beau's chest at the sharp tone.

"Then explain your own wolf, Caleb," Marcus says, quiet but firm. There's a sharp edge of mockery that rings out. "Take a look inside at that ugly brute and tell me he's not easier to manage every time Rhea Dawson is near."

Caleb snarls.

I flinch at the sound.

It's all animal, that snarl. Not performative or exaggerated. An impossible sound to make with human vocal cords. And yet, it's real. Deep. Close to the surface.

The presence in my chest doesn't cower. If anything, it creeps a little closer to my skin, unfurls itself a little more. Like it's been waiting for an opportunity. Like it's not afraid.

Inside the room, no one else speaks right away. The silence is taught, but there's no crackle of charge in the air, no tearing of skin or sprouting of fur. Caleb, despite his anger, is still very much human.

"Feels a little muted, doesn't it?" Marcus laughs as Caleb growls in answer. "No, I think Rhea Dawson is something special."

"You're making something out of nothing," Caleb snaps. His voice, however, is fully human. There's not trace of rasping wolf, no hint that he's losing control. "Wolves can shift."

Beau rumbles a little with that comment. His thundercloud eyes are narrowed on Caleb.

"It still doesn't explain why this pack is hunting her," Nora says. She's leaning forward on her elbows, her face tight. "What do they want with her?"

A beat of silence. Then Marcus sighs. "I have a theory."

He shifts in his chair. I hear the leather creak under his weight. My breath is starting to sound loud in my ears, my pulse picking up. Even if this is just a nightmare, a part of me needs to know the answer.

"There's only one pack I know of who runs like that. All male. Silent. Vicious. No true scent trail. Trained to hunt, to kill. Enforcement wolves."

Caleb scoffs. Nora's brow furrows. She asks, "From where?"

"Alaska," Marcus answers. "North of Denali. They used to call themselves the Lunar Pack. Not sure what they go by these days."

Beau sits up straighter. "That's a myth."

"Sure, are," Marcus chuckles. "But myths have a funny thread of truth in them, sometimes. I tangled with a few of the traditionalists up near Denali during my younger days."

"So some pack of extremists has sent soldiers to hunt her," Caleb says. "Because she's a threat."

Despite Marcus' theory that I calm their wolves, Beau growls so viciously that I fear he's a heartbeat from transforming.

"Down, boy," Marcus mutters, raising his hand. "Save the shift for someone who deserves it."

There's a different edge to Marcus' words. Despite the edge of laughter, there's something powerful in it. Like that day in his cabin, when Beau turned his voice into something heavy with command, sharp with authority. Beau's jaw stays tight, his fists remain clenched, but the growl quiets.

"She's not a threat," Beau says, his voice low, controlled. "Not to us."

Nora clears her throat. "To be fair, Beau, we don't know that. What if this control she's giving us is making our wolves weaker?"

There's an uncomfortable silence that follows. I expect Beau to get angry, but he's shifted to contemplative.

"Do you feel weaker, Nora?" His voice is calm. "Because if I'm clocking it right, I've covered over two hundred miles in five days and tangled with another alpha—a stronger alpha—with only a couple hours of sleep."

The feeling in my chest preens with an odd pleasure hearing Beau speak of his wolf. Like it's proud. In a way, I'm impressed with Beau, too, though I don't have anything to compare him to. Maybe his strength, his perseverance... maybe that's normal for a werewolf. I flinch, realizing that I've acknowledged it. That it's getting harder to tell myself that this is just a dream.

Nora doesn't answer right away. Then, softly, "No. But it might not just be about strength."

Marcus leans back. "Let's not get distracted. I'm not certain that Rhea was their original target."

Beau frowns, but he's not surprised like Caleb, not worried like Nora. There's a solemn understanding in the sharp angles of his face as he watches his uncle's face.

"Lila," he says softly. "I'd forgotten she was born near Denali."

Everyone is quiet.

Loosing an incredulous breath, Caleb grunts, "And you never asked why her family left their pack?"

It's Nora who bristles at his tone. "Do you think we need to interrogate every skittish wolf looking for something better? Were you interrogated when you showed up with your tail tucked between your legs?"

Caleb growls again. Nora bares her teeth.

"Enough." This time it's Beau's voice that's layered with authority. Though it's not directed at me, the primal thing inside my chest prickles with the command. Alpha.

Marcus doesn't seem particularly affected. He just grunts, ignoring the two snarling wolves. "Lila's always had trouble with shifting. If it's really the Lunar Pack, they'd have their reasons to send enforcers to cull her."

It sounds bleak, the way he says it. I picture Lila, shy and friendly. A shiver creeps up my spine.

Beau nods. "And then the caught Rhea's scent," he murmurs, "and shifted targets."

"That's the theory," Marcus says.

In the silence that follows, I pad back to my nest. I don't want to hear any more. I don't want to be pulled any deeper into this strange and brutal world. The way Marcus says cull—like it's a routine word, like it doesn't mean murder.

Inside my chest, the presence, the wolf, bristles in defense. Not just for Lila. For me.

Because if they're willing to hunt and kill her for being slow to shift—what would they do to someone like me?

I pull the blankets tight around me, wishing I could just drown out the world, the murmurs right outside the door. I wish I could just disappear into them, into the shadows, into sleep. My heartbeat is loud, my breaths stilted.

And then I hear it.

Clear. Firm.

"She's not the enemy."

Beau.

His voice is steady. Sure.

A thread of warmth glows inside of me, flickering against the fear.

"No," Marcus agrees. "But the pack that sent those wolves? They think she is."

The silence echoes.

If they think I'm the enemy...

What do they know that I don't?