chapter 37: fight back

The stronghold's walls had stood for centuries, a fortress against enemies outside. But tonight, the danger was within.

Elias could feel it in the thick silence pressing against his room, in the way the flames in the torches outside seemed to flicker just a bit too wildly before steadying. He kept his breathing even, his posture relaxed, but his mind raced.

The whispers had stopped. That was what unnerved him most.

When fear was loud, it was predictable. People panicked, they muttered, they let slip the things they were too afraid to say in the open. But when fear went silent—when even the soldiers who had been murmuring just moments ago now stood stiff and wordless—something had changed.

His fingers brushed the hem of his sleeve. He had nothing to defend himself with. Then again, if he had learned anything from his master before he left, it was that a weapon in untrained hands was more dangerous to its wielder than to their enemy.

Not that he was untrained.

A sound.

Soft, almost imperceptible.

Not footsteps, not armor shifting. Something else. A breath? A rustle of fabric? The scrape of leather against stone?

Elias's pulse quickened, but outwardly, he did not move. He had learned long ago that sudden reactions gave away awareness.

Then the torches outside his room flickered again, and this time, they did not steady. The shadows deepened.

Elias exhaled slowly. Someone was there.

---

The War Room – Shadows of the Past

Caidren's fingers stilled against the war table. He had never liked this time of the month.

He had seen too many unexplained disappearances, too many reports hastily rewritten to smooth over what could not be justified.

He had not always been Alpha. The previous commander had known something, of that much he was certain. But the man had taken his knowledge to the grave, and all that remained were these… occurrences.

Elders spoke of old traditions—of ancient orders meant to keep balance in ways no one truly understood anymore. Caidren had never put much faith in myths, but the pattern was undeniable.

"Who was assigned to guard him?" he asked.

Aedric's eyes flickered. "You don't trust them?"

"I don't trust anything I don't understand."

Aedric hesitated. "Two veterans. Hand-picked."

Caidren nodded. That meant nothing. Loyalty could be bought, fear could be used, and sometimes the worst betrayals came from those closest.

He pushed back from the table. "I'm going."

Aedric frowned. "Going where?"

"To see if this month's ghost is real."

---

The Unseen Hunter

Elias remained still. His breathing slow, his heartbeat steady—at least, as steady as it could be when he knew someone was in the room with him.

He had not heard the door open. That alone told him that whoever was there was experienced. They had not rushed, had not stumbled. They had waited, blending into the silence until it was too late.

A test, perhaps?

Or a hunt?

The weight in the air shifted.

Elias moved.

Not wildly, not in fear. A smooth, calculated movement—his body dropping low as something whispered through the air where his neck had been.

A knife.

The attacker had aimed for a clean kill.

Elias twisted, rolling to the side as another strike came, silent and swift. His body responded before his mind could fully register—years of training pushing him into action.

His feet found the ground, and he surged forward. Not away. Toward.

The assassin did not expect it.

Elias caught a glimpse of them in the dim light—a figure wrapped in dark fabric, faceless in the shadows. They recovered quickly, already preparing the next strike, but Elias had closed the distance.

His arm snapped forward, striking the attacker's wrist. The knife clattered to the floor.

They reacted instantly, shifting tactics, reaching for him instead—perhaps to silence him, to break his neck if they could.

Elias twisted. His master had taught him how to slip through grips that seemed unbreakable, how to use an enemy's momentum against them.

The assassin stumbled.

Elias struck again.

Not to kill.

To disable.

A sharp, calculated blow to the side of the knee. A grunt of pain. The figure faltered.

The torches outside flared, as if responding to the shift in the air.

The door burst open.

Aedric was first, sword drawn, eyes sharp. Behind him, Caidren.

The assassin hesitated for only a fraction of a second—then moved.

Not toward Elias. Toward the window.

Elias lunged, but the figure was faster. They crashed through the wooden shutters, vanishing into the night.

Aedric rushed forward, but Caidren stopped him with a single word. "No."

The Alpha's gaze was locked on Elias. Not with suspicion, not with anger.

With calculation.

Elias met his stare, breathing hard. His sleeve had torn in the fight, exposing a faint, faded scar along his forearm.

Caidren's eyes flicked to it.

Then back to Elias.

"You," Caidren said, his voice quiet but edged with certainty.

Elias straightened.

For the first time since coming here, he realized—he had not been the prey tonight.

He had been the mistake.

Because they had not expected him to fight back.