Chapter 6 · Silver at the Gate

The gunshot snaps me awake.

Not close—maybe half a mile out, past the trees where the ridge drops. But I know that crack. Silver rounds don't sound like lead. They're sharper. Meaner. Like they're cutting the air instead of pushing through.

I'm up before I'm breathing. Archive floor cold under my feet. Phone says 4:47. The file's still open on the table—Marcus's handwriting, my parents' names, *Eliminated* stamped across their faces.

Another shot. Closer.

Then the howl.

It rips through the compound like a siren, low and furious, and every wolf answers. The sound crawls up my spine and digs in. My legs want to run. My teeth ache. I taste blood where I bit my tongue.

I grab the file. Shove it in my jacket.

The door slams open.

Cain.

Shirtless. Barefoot. Eyes full gold. No human left. Just Alpha. Just rage.

"They're here," he says.

I don't ask who.

"How many?"

"Twenty. Maybe more." He grabs my wrist. His hand's burning. "Marcus is at the gate."

My stomach drops.

"He's—"

"Calling for you. By name."

I yank free. My heart's slamming so hard I feel it in my teeth.