Prologue (Ellery)
My heart is hammering, my ears ringing, my body buzzing with the kind of adrenaline that never really goes away, not even after six years in uniform, not after the things I’ve seen, and definitely not after what I’ve agreed to do.
“Captain,” Commander Wilder says quietly, coming up behind me. He doesn’t raise his voice. He never does. “They’re moving into the valley. This is your window.”
I don’t look at him. If I do, I might remember that I once believed in things like honor and lines you don’t cross.
“I know,” I say.
My rank sits heavily on my shoulders. Captain. Intelligence Division. Recon and observation, mostly. I wasn’t supposed to be on the frontline. I wasn’t supposed to be bait, but I’m immune to certain paranormal traits that make me valuable.
They discovered it two years ago, after a skirmish near the eastern border. I was the only one who didn’t react when the wolves shifted close to me. There was no dizziness, no panic response, no scent-triggered fear. The tests confirmed it later. Whatever chemical marker in their blood scrambles human instincts, whatever makes them feel bigger, deadlier. It doesn’t work on me.
Wilder steps in before I can push. “You’re going to be placed during the battle. At the height of the chaos and confusion, you’ll be injured but non-lethally to make it believable.”
Injured.
My fingers curl into fists. “You didn’t mention that part.”
“We need it to look real,” he says gently. “If he finds you afterward, it has to make sense, but it won't be painful or anything long-lasting.”
“And after?” I ask quietly.
“After,” Wilder says, “you stay.”
“Once you’re inside,” Wilder continues, “you observe Alpha Tybolt. You learn his routines. His temper. His weaknesses. We believe the Alpha is reckless when emotionally compromised.”
I swallow.
“How long will I be there?” I ask.
“A few weeks,” he says. “Long enough to map him. Long enough to end this.”
End this like it’s that simple.
I turn back toward the battlefield. Toward the dark shapes moving below. I watch the wolves regroup, their silhouettes too fluid, too wrong. Somewhere down there is the Alpha. Tybolt, they call him—the one who’s held this territory through three failed human offensives. I've been told he's a monster and a warlord. Someone ruthless when it comes to humans who threaten their livelihood. He’s the one they can’t get close to unless they use me.
“Take the compound,” Wilder says. “It’ll mask you. Make you smell like one of them. Bleed like one. For days and even weeks at a time.”
I nod, even though my stomach twists.
I don’t ask what happens if it fails. I don’t ask what happens after because I already know the answer.
He handed me the vial of the clear, viscous liquid like it was nothing. No warning label. No promise of safety. I take it anyway.
The burn is immediate and sharp. It spreads, like something threading itself through my veins. My skin prickles. My senses blur, then sharpen in a way that makes my breath hitch.
I smell wrong. Not human. Not wolf. Something in between.
“Once the battle resumes,” Wilder says, “you’ll be ‘lost’ in the chaos. The wolves will take you. You play the victim. You let them think you were collateral.”
“And if they kill me?” I ask.
He meets my eyes then. Really looks at me.
“They won’t,” he says. “Not if the reports about the Alpha are accurate. He takes in stray wolves without question, and that's exactly who you'll be as far as he knows.”
Something cold settles in my chest.
“It’s not my job to kill him. Correct?” I ask.
“Correct. You're there to observe, and that's it,” Wilder replies.
The distant howl cuts through the night, low and commanding. It does something to the air that makes it vibrate, makes my bones hum as they recognize it.
I shouldn’t feel that. I tighten my grip on my rifle. I didn’t enlist because I loved war. I enlisted because it was the fastest way out of a town that expected me to become small and quiet and grateful. I was good at this. Too good. Strategy. Observation. Keeping my emotions locked down so tight they didn’t get in the way.
That’s why they picked me.
That’s why I’m here.
The ground shakes as the fighting resumes. I take one last breath, then run.
The battle is chaos-filled with screams, gunfire, and the thunder of bodies colliding. I do exactly what I was trained to do. I move when told. I fall when told. I let myself be seen.
Suddenly, I’m spun around and face-to-face with Wilder again. His movements are so fast that I don't feel him hit me in the face with something heavy and sharp until a flash of white-hot pain momentarily debilitates me. I knew this was coming, and yet I feel betrayed all the same.
I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs, the world tilting sideways. Somewhere above me, the fight rages on, but I’m already fading, my body slower than it should be, the pill I took earlier burning hot in my veins.
Boots crunch through the dirt beside me. Wilder kneels, blocking out the sky. For a second, something flickers in his brown eyes. Regret, maybe.
“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not said softly, but efficiently. It's as if he’s checking off a box.
The knife slides in before I can react.
Not deep enough to kill me, but deep enough to hurt.
I gasp, shock exploding through my system as he twists the blade and yanks it free. The pain is blinding and enough to steal my voice. He strikes my head again, and this time it's hard enough that my vision blurs and becomes black around the edges.
I hear his boots retreating, fast and sure.
I lie there, staring at the mud, at the blur of movement beyond my vision. The scent of wolves grows stronger as they approach. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, uneven and slow.
Wilder promised I’d survive.
My fingers twitch, useless. My vision dims to a small pinpoint.
The last thing I see before darkness takes me is Wilder disappearing into the smoke.
