Chapter 98

Her voice wasn’t sharp it was soft, certain. I turned toward her, and for a moment, I saw something I hadn’t before. Not pity. Not sympathy. Just understanding. Maybe that was enough.

POV: Isla

By afternoon, the packhouse smelled like cinnamon and burned sugar again.

Lyra had taken it upon herself to teach the pups how to bake bread, which turned out to be an adorable disaster. I leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching flour explode like white smoke while Kieran tried unsuccessfully to keep order.

“Don’t you dare throw that!” he warned as one of the smallest pups lifted a spoon of dough like a weapon.

The pup grinned. “Catch!”

It hit him square in the chest.

I choked on my laughter. “Told you they’d win.”

Kieran sighed, wiping dough off his tunic. “Remind me why I agreed to this?”

“Because you’re secretly soft.”

His gaze flicked toward me, a quiet glimmer in his eyes. “Only with you.”

The words shouldn’t have made my heart trip the way they did. But they did.

When the pups finally scattered outside, exhausted and giggling, Kieran leaned against the counter beside me. For a moment, it was just us, the smell of burnt bread, and the golden light pouring through the window.

“You ever think,” he murmured, “that maybe the forest wanted this all along? Not the fighting. The healing.”

I glanced toward the window, watching a pair of birds dart past. “Maybe it knew we’d need a reason to stay.”

He nodded slowly. “And you found yours?” “I think so.” I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “You.”

Something softened in his expression then, something old and infinite. He leaned down just enough for his forehead to brush mine, his breath warm against my lips but not quite closing the distance.

“Then I won’t ever give you a reason to forget it.”

POV: Tristan

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The moon hung low, swollen and gold, painting everything in pale fire. I stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the trees sway like they were dreaming.

The bridge still pulsed faintly in the distance alive, awake, eternal. Its light reached across the valley like a heartbeat that refused to fade.

I’d thought the bridge was meant for power. For connection. For destiny. But now, standing there, I realized it had always been something simpler. It was a memory.

A reminder that even the things born from fire could remember warmth.

When Lyra found me there, she didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped beside me, her presence steady, calm. “Can’t sleep?” she asked quietly. “Didn’t want to.”

She chuckled softly, echoing words I’d heard before Kieran’s words, from another morning.

Maybe that’s what healing was. The same phrases, different hearts.

“I think,” Lyra whispered, “the forest isn’t done with us yet.” “Then we’ll wait,” I said.

And for the first time in a long while, waiting didn’t feel like punishment. It felt like promise.

The night stretched long and quiet. The stars breathed.

And somewhere between the heartbeat of the bridge and the rustle of the trees, the world kept learning how to live again.

Not with fire. Not with fear. But with memory

and the soft, stubborn kind of love that never forgets how to burn gently.

POV: Isla

The forest had always breathed with us, but lately, I’d begun to notice something strange in the rhythm.

It wasn’t loud not yet. Just small things. The birds went quiet too early some mornings. The mist lingered longer than it should, heavy and cold against my skin. The bridge pulsed faintly at night, not golden and warm like before, but silver blue, flickering like a candle caught in a draft.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t come from peace. It came from listening.

The others didn’t seem to feel it. The pups were happy, the elders laughed again, and Kieran he’d started building. Real building. A wall by the east den. A lookout near the river. He said it was for protection, “just in case,” but the tone in his voice told me it was something deeper.

I watched him from the edge of the clearing that afternoon, his shirt damp with sweat, sunlight tangled in his hair. His muscles flexed with each swing of the hammer, and gods, even now, my heart found new ways to remember him.

“Need help?” I asked, leaning against one of the posts.

He didn’t turn around, but I caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only if you can lift this beam without breaking something.”

I grinned. “You’re talking to a woman who once carried you out of a fire.”

He set down the hammer and turned, eyes warm, amused. “You never let me forget that.”

“Why would I? It’s my favorite story.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth rolling off him. His hand found the back of my neck, gentle, grounding. “You’re my favorite story,” he murmured.

The words hit deeper than they should have. I leaned into him for a moment, breathing in the scent of him pine, smoke, safety.

But then it happened.

A sound. Faint. Wrong.

The ground trembled, just once. A pulse, deep beneath the soil. So soft that, at first, I thought I imagined it. But the bridge responded its light flared bright for a heartbeat, then dimmed again.

Kieran went still. “You felt that?”

“Yeah.” My voice was barely a whisper.

He lifted his head, scenting the air. His eyes darkened, wolf rising just beneath the surface. “Something’s moving underground.”