The midnight air was a cold blade, and the fog had transitioned from a mist into a heavy, blinding shroud. Reid and Clara moved through the brush with the silence of ghosts. They couldn't use the main roads; Miller had warned them that the town council had authorized "civilian patrols" a polite term for angry men with flashlights and a misplaced sense of justice.
Reid carried the cedar box and a single rucksack. Clara carried her father's medical kit and the one journal that held the key to their history. They were walking toward the "Old Pass," a narrow, treacherous trail that led over the northern shoulder of the ridge and down toward the interstate.
"Stay close," Reid whispered, his hand reaching back to find hers.
He didn't need a flashlight. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated to capture the faint starlight filtering through the canopy. To him, the forest was a map of heat and vibration. He could feel the heartbeat of a squirrel fifty yards away; he could hear the slow, rhythmic drip of sap from a wounded pine.
They had been walking for two hours when the first beam of light cut through the trees behind them.
"They're on the fire-road," Reid hissed, pulling Clara behind a massive, moss-covered boulder.
Down the slope, the flickering beams of high-powered flashlights danced against the trunks. They heard the distant, muffled sound of voices, voices Clara recognized from the grocery store, from the library.
"They're following the scent of the car," Reid realized. "I should have burned it."
"They won't find us here, Reid. This trail isn't on any of the modern maps."
"They don't need maps," Reid said, his jaw tightening. "They have Silas."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a low, guttural howl erupted from the ridge above them. It wasn't a call to the pack; it was a signal to the hunters. Silas was playing both sides, guiding the townspeople toward his brother like a shepherd driving sheep toward a cliff.
"He's giving us to them," Clara whispered, her grip on Reid's arm tightening.
"No," Reid said, his voice dropping into a register of cold, hard certainty. "He's forcing me to choose. He wants me to kill them to protect you. He wants me to shed human blood so there's no turning back. He wants me to be the monster they think I am."
The lights were getting closer. They could hear the snapping of dry branches and the heavy breathing of men who weren't used to the steep terrain.
"There! I see something!" a voice shouted it was the deputy who had spray-painted Clara's car.
A shot rang out, the bullet whining as it ricocheted off the boulder inches from Clara's head.
"Run!" Reid commanded.
They sprinted upward, the incline becoming punishing. Clara's lungs burned, the smoke from the previous day's fire still lingering in the deep hollows of the woods. Reid was effortless, moving with a strength that felt almost mechanical, but he stayed at her side, his hand a constant, grounding force on her lower back.
They reached the "Needle," a narrow land bridge where the ridge dropped away into a sheer five-hundred-foot gorge on both sides. In the center of the bridge, silhouetted against the pale moon, stood Silas.
He wasn't in his wolf form. He stood as a man, but he looked feral his clothes were rags, and his skin was covered in the dried ash of the ridge. He held a heavy iron bar in one hand, salvaged from the ruins of an old mining camp.
"The border, Reidie," Silas said, his voice carry over the wind. "Cross this, and you're just a stray dog in a world of pavement. Stay here, and you're a king."
"Move, Silas," Reid said, stepping in front of Clara. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You couldn't if you tried," Silas sneered. "You're half-starved from trying to be a man. Look at you. You're shaking. Is it the cold, or are you just afraid she'll see what happens when I break your ribs?"
The hunters appeared at the far end of the land bridge, their flashlights illuminating the scene like a macabre stage play. They stopped, frozen by the sight of the two brothers.
"There's two of 'em!" someone yelled. "God, look at their eyes!"
"End it, Reid!" Silas screamed, spreading his arms wide. "Kill them! Show her what we are! Protect your mate!"
Reid looked at the men with the guns, then at his brother, and finally at Clara. She saw the conflict in him the ancient, predatory instinct to eliminate the threat, and the quiet, stubborn humanity that refused to let go.
Reid dropped his rucksack. He walked toward Silas, but he didn't shift. He didn't growl. He walked with his hands open, palms up.
"I'm not going to kill them, Silas," Reid said, his voice calm. "And I'm not going to kill you. I'm just going to leave."
Silas roared, a sound of pure frustration, and swung the iron bar. It caught Reid across the chest, sending him sprawling toward the edge of the gorge. Clara screamed, but Reid rolled, catching himself on the jagged rocks.
The hunters raised their rifles. "Fire! Take 'em both!"
"No!" Miller's voice suddenly cut through the chaos. He stepped out from the group, knocking a rifle barrel upward just as it discharged. "Look at him! He's not fighting back!"
Silas lunged at Reid, but Reid didn't strike. He grabbed Silas's shoulders and pulled him close, leaning his forehead against his brother's.
"I love you, Silas," Reid whispered, loud enough for Clara to hear. "But you're the one in the cage. Not me."
Reid shoved Silas back not with the strength of a wolf, but with the weary finality of a man saying goodbye. Silas stumbled, looking at his brother with a confusion that quickly turned to a mask of hatred.
"Go then!" Silas howled, the sound breaking into a sob. "Go be a ghost! Go die in the light!"
Silas turned and leaped over the edge not into the gorge, but into the thick canopy of the trees below, vanishing into the darkness he called home.
The hunters stood paralyzed. Miller stepped forward, his flashlight catching Reid's tired, blood-streaked face. For a long moment, the lawman and the outlier looked at each other.
Miller lowered his head. He stepped aside, creating a narrow path on the bridge.
"Go," Miller said. "Before they find their nerve again."
Reid didn't wait. He grabbed Clara's hand and they ran. They crossed the bridge, the sound of the town fading behind them, replaced by the low, steady hum of the distance.
They didn't stop until the trees began to thin and the smell of asphalt and exhaust met them. They reached the highway just as the first sliver of dawn broke over the horizon.
They looked back at the ridge. Oakhaven was hidden in the fog, a memory of salt and shadow.
"Where to?" Clara asked, her voice trembling with exhaustion and relief.
Reid looked down at his hands. They were human. They were scarred, they were dirty, and they were shaking but they were his.
"Somewhere with a library," he said, pulling her close. "And a place where we can see the moon without being afraid."
They stepped out onto the shoulder of the road, two shadows merging into one, walking away from the woods and into the wide, uncertain morning.