The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond

"Where did you find him?" Beckett asked, voice quiet, pitched low so the gathering pack wouldn’t hear the tremor.

One of the scouts , Bran’s younger brother, still barely shifting into his full wolf , looked at the ground as he spoke. "Near the Deadridge ravine. He was crawling. Said Gabriel’s men left him for dead."

Beckett’s lip curled. "And you believed him?"

The boy swallowed. "He gave us Gabriel’s patrol routes. There were bodies. He fought."

Sterling’s head lifted. A ragged grin split the dried blood on his lips. "What’s the matter, Beck? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Beckett stepped forward, eyes narrow, searching Sterling’s face for cracks , something familiar beneath the ragged edges. "What did he do to you?" he asked.

Sterling’s smile vanished as quickly as it came. "Let me walk. That’s what he did. He thinks he owns me now. He doesn’t."

The courtyard stirred behind them. Magnolia stood at the top of the steps, the hood of her cloak down despite the drizzle that misted her dark hair. She looked smaller than usual, wrapped in layers against the cold, but the look in her eyes turned the dawn to shards of ice. The wolves behind her bristled, ears half-cocked to catch any word that might demand blood.

"Bring him inside," she said.

Beckett gestured. The scouts pushed Sterling forward. He stumbled, his boots dragging across the slick stone as they herded him up the steps. He met Magnolia’s stare with something like defiance, but it was hollow , a shadow of the man who had once laughed under these same arches after skirmishes, splitting stolen bread with the orphans while his knuckles bled from the last kill.

She didn’t flinch when he stopped an arm’s length away.