The pack gathered in the great hall as word spread. No one slept now—tomorrow would decide everything.
"You're insane," Raymond said flatly when Marcus announced the plan. "Taking the child into combat—"
"The child who ended the Shadow War?" Echo's twelve bodies spoke in unison. "The one who taught us wholeness? She's more qualified than any warrior here."
"It's still wrong," Jennifer argued, her partial merger giving her unique perspective. "Using a pup as a shield—"
"I'm not a shield," Luna interrupted, standing on a table to be seen. "I'm a bridge. And tomorrow, the bad shadow needs to learn what happens when you try to break bridges."
Senna, the burn-scarred refugee, stepped forward. "I'll go too. As witness. Someone needs to record what really happens, in case..." She didn't finish, but we all heard it: in case you all die.
"I'm going," I said, brooking no argument. "As advisor and mate."
"We're not mates," Marcus said quietly.
"No. But Declan doesn't know that. Let him think we're unified. Let him underestimate what desperation and love can do." I met his eyes steadily. "Because tomorrow, I choose you. Not as the wolf who broke me, but as the one who's trying to rebuild. Partners, yes. But also..."
"Also?" His voice held desperate hope.
"We'll see if we both survive."
The night became a blur of preparation. Wolves sharpening weapons they couldn't use. Healers preparing for casualties. Refugees and pack members working side by side, united by shared danger.
The Winter Alpha pulled me aside. "I've found something. Not a cure for the Silencer, but..." She handed me a vial of silvery liquid. "Moonwater, blessed during an eclipse. It won't stop possession, but it might... interfere. Make the Silencer work harder for control."
"Might?"
"Better than nothing." She studied me with ancient eyes. "You love him still. Despite everything."
"Love isn't enough."
"No. But sometimes it's a start." She placed a cold hand on my shoulder. "Tomorrow, remember—the Silencer feeds on will. But will and choice aren't the same thing. Even the possessed can choose, if reminded what choice feels like."
Near dawn, I found Marcus standing where we'd been mated years ago. The sunrise painted everything in shades of possibility.
"If we die today—" he started.
"We won't."
"But if we do." He turned to me, shadows dancing with dawn light. "I need you to know. Every moment since the rejection, I've loved you. My shadows knew it. My wolf knew it. Only my pride was too stupid to admit it."
"Marcus—"
"Let me finish. Please." His voice cracked. "I know I destroyed us. I know words can't fix that. But if today is all we have, then know this—you were never defective. You were perfect. And I was the broken one for not seeing it."
I stepped into his arms, letting myself have this moment. Tomorrow we might die. Tonight, we were just two wolves who'd found and lost and maybe found each other again.
"I love you too," I whispered. "Goddess help me, I never stopped. I just learned to live with the pain."
"After tomorrow, no more pain. Whatever happens." He pulled back to meet my eyes. "We face it together?"
"Together."
Luna found us there as full dawn broke, tugging on our hands. "Time to go. The bad shadow is already at the circle. It's excited. It thinks we're walking into a trap."
"Aren't we?" Marcus asked.
Our daughter smiled—that terrible, beautiful smile that promised revolution. "Yes. But not the trap it thinks."
The march to the Challenge Circle felt like a funeral procession. Our entire pack came—shadow-touched and traditional, refugees and residents. If we fell, they'd need to run. But they came anyway, bearing witness.
At the circle's edge, three packs waited. Declan stood at the center, but I knew immediately the Winter Alpha was right. Something else looked out through his eyes—ancient, hungry, utterly without mercy.
"The diseased Alpha comes at last," Declan's voice carried wrongness, like multiple tones fighting for dominance. "Ready to die for your aberrations?"
"Ready to fight for our future," Marcus replied steadily.
"Then let us begin. Single combat. To the death. Winner takes all."
But as Marcus stepped into the circle, Luna's small voice carried with impossible clarity:
"You're not Declan. You're just an empty thing that forgot how to feel. But don't worry..." Her power flared, twilight-bright. "We're going to remind you."
The real battle was about to begin.
And everything—everything—depended on a three-year-old girl's ability to make the unfeeling feel again.