Chapter 2

I walked the half mile to Elder Hollis's cabin through the snow.

His porch light was still on. He was the oldest wolf in Ironridge, the one who'd taught me to read the mountains before I could even shift. He let me talk without interrupting once. When I finished, he set his coffee down.

"You want to renounce Ironridge."

"Yes."

"You're within your rights. No mark, no blood oath. You were never sworn to this pack." He said it slowly, the way he said everything that mattered. "It takes hold the moment you cross our line. After that, the pack link lets you go."

"I understand."

"And Knox knows?"

"He will." I almost laughed. "Eventually. Whenever he looks up."

Hollis was quiet for a long time.

"The river crossing," he said finally. "The Blackthorn ambush. Every plan that won us this war came off your kitchen table. And at the alliance council, when the other Alphas stood up to thank Ironridge, the one who stood up to take it was Knox."

I didn't say anything.

"When our last Beta stepped down, I wanted you in that seat. You sent me Grady instead. I never understood why."

"Because a Beta sits across the table from her Alpha," I said. "I wanted to sit next to him."

He looked at me over his glasses for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"How long do you have?"

"Two days."

"Then I'll only say one thing. Wherever you land, this porch light stays on for you."

Our house on the ridge was dark when I got back. His boots weren't by the door. I heated the last of the weekend's chili and ate it out of the pot, standing at the stove.

My phone buzzed. The pack chat.

Brielle had posted a photo. Snow drifting past the old watchtower at the top of the ridge, and in the corner of the frame, the sleeve of a man's jacket around her shoulders.

Three years. One war. Thank you for never giving up on me, Alpha. Best night of my life 🤍

Posted thirty minutes ago. Sixty-four reactions already. So much for driving her home.

I put the phone face down and went to the desk in the spare room. The bottom drawer was full of letters. Two years' worth, from packs all over the continent that had heard who drew Ironridge's maps and wanted me to draw theirs. I'd never answered most of them. Knox had answered a few for me.

The one I pulled out was on heavy grey paper. Greywater, on the coast of Maine. Their Alpha had written to me every winter.

Five years ago, Greywater asked Ironridge for help with a rogue band. Knox led the strike. He gave the order to charge a few seconds too early, and a sixteen-year-old Greywater wolf died ten feet in front of him. Their elders ruled that the boy hadn't followed orders. Nobody blamed Knox. Nobody except Knox.

He came home and went straight to our council. No ties with Greywater. No visits, no trade, no shared hunts, ever. If they refused, he'd step down as Alpha.

The council gave him what he asked for.

After that, nobody in our house said the word Greywater. When their first letter came for me, he opened it before I did and sent back the answer himself.

There was an email address at the bottom of the page. I wrote two lines and booked the first flight out of Missoula the day after tomorrow.

Knox had broken every promise he'd ever made me except one. He'd sworn he would never set foot in Greywater.

Good. He could keep that one.