Chapter 58
Elara's POV
The school bus pulled up to St. George's front gates just after eight in the morning. Students filed out in clusters, most still looking shell-shocked from last night's "drill." Some were laughing too loud, that manic edge people get after surviving something terrifying. Others moved in silence, hollow-eyed.
I stayed in my seat until most of them had cleared out. My body ached everywhere—shoulders, legs, ribs. The drug Sophia had slipped me was mostly out of my system, but the aftermath left me feeling wrung out.
Chloe grabbed my arm as I stood. "Come on. My parents are waiting in the parking lot. They want to take me out for brunch and you should come. You need real food after last night."
I shook my head. "I'm exhausted. I just want to go home and sleep."
Her face fell. "Are you sure? I don't like the idea of you being alone after everything that happened."
"I'll be fine." I squeezed her hand. "I promise."
She studied my face for a long moment. Then nodded reluctantly. "Okay. But text me when you get home, alright? And if you need anything—"
"I'll call you. I know."
We got off the bus together. Chloe's parents were waiting by a silver sedan, her mom already waving frantically. I watched Chloe jog over to them, saw her mother pull her into a tight hug.
Something twisted in my chest. Not jealousy exactly. More like... recognition of something I'd never had in my first life.
I turned away before they could see me watching.
---
The forest path home was quiet. Most students lived in town or got picked up by their families. I preferred this route—faster, and fewer people.
Ten minutes in, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Someone was following me.
I kept walking at the same steady pace. Didn't turn around. Didn't speed up. Just let my senses extend outward the way Lynette had trained them to.
The scent was faint. Male. Unfamiliar. Staying about fifty meters back, moving through the trees parallel to the path.
Professional distance. Controlled movement.
Not Wild Hunt. They were brutal and efficient, but this felt different. More... measured.
I reached a fork in the path. Left led to the main road. Right curved deeper into the oak grove where the trees grew thick and tangled.
I went right.
Behind me, the footsteps paused. Then followed.
Good. Let's see what you want.
The oak grove was old growth, roots like gnarled fingers breaking through the earth. Visibility dropped to maybe twenty feet in any direction. I walked until I found a massive fallen tree, its trunk wider than I was tall.
My body fought me as I hauled myself up onto the trunk—shoulders burning, ribs aching from where I'd slammed into the cliff edge. The drug hangover made everything feel sluggish, like moving through water.
But then I heard the footsteps getting closer.
Adrenaline hit like ice water. The pain faded to background noise. I pushed off hard and vaulted over the trunk, landing in a crouch on the far side. The impact jarred through my knees but I held position, breathing carefully through the protest of strained muscles.
Thirty seconds later, Warren stepped into view.
He scanned the area, eyes sharp. "You can come out, Elara Grey. I know you're here."
I stood up from behind the tree trunk. "Following students off campus, Coach. That's not a good look."
He turned to face me. If he was surprised I'd noticed him, he didn't show it. "You made me. Set up a counter-ambush. And you're not even breathing hard."
"What do you want?"
Warren pulled a small leather folder from his jacket. Flipped it open to show an official-looking badge. "I represent the Werewolf Council's Special Operations Division. I'm here to offer you a position."
My stomach dropped. "The Werewolf Council?"
"You know what it is, I assume. Joint organization of the major American packs plus a dedicated government liaison. We manage supernatural incidents across the country."
I did know. Lynette had dealt with Council representatives before. Usually when someone important died and they needed to verify it wasn't an international incident.
"Most of our field teams are seconded from individual packs," Warren continued. "But there's been a push to create an independent unit. One that answers only to the Council itself, not any single alpha."
"And you think I'd be interested in that because...?"
"Because last night you demonstrated tactical awareness, crisis decision-making, and combat skills that exceed anything I've seen in a decade of recruiting." He closed the folder. "Eight non-lethal shots under pressure. Tracked and breached an enemy position. And when twenty hostiles had you surrounded, instead of panicking, you analyzed their behavior—capture, not kill—and correctly identified it as a drill."
Warren's voice dropped. "That kind of battlefield analysis under stress? Most trained operatives can't do it. So I'll ask again. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing you need to know about."
"Fair enough." He tucked the folder away. "The offer stands regardless. Special Ops doesn't care about your past. We care about results. And you get results."
"I'm not interested."
"We can help with your medical issues. The asthma. The inability to shift. Council has access to experimental treatments that—"
"I said no."
Warren studied me for a long moment. Then he played his trump card.
"Members of Special Operations have their families placed under Council protection. Full security. Twenty-four-seven monitoring. Any threat gets neutralized before it reaches them."
I froze.
He saw it. Pressed forward. "Your father works late shifts at that garage on the edge of town. Your mother walks to the grocery store every Thursday afternoon. Your brother drives the same route to campus every day." Warren's voice was calm, factual. "They're vulnerable, Elara. And if someone wanted to hurt you, they'd be the obvious targets."
My hands clenched into fists. "Are you threatening my family?"
"No. I'm offering to protect them." He said simply.