Chapter 88

Chapter 88
Ripley's Point of View

By the time lunch rolls around, my nerves are frayed in a way training never manages to do. Classes feel pointless today, facts and theories stacked on top of something raw and real none of us can stop thinking about.

I spot the others before I even reach the cafeteria doors.

Olivia is sitting at the long table near the windows, sunlight catching in her dark hair. Liana is beside her, half turned as she talks with her hands. Kael sits across from them, his shoulders tight, his posture rigid like he is bracing for impact even while eating. Ezra is close by, leaning in towards him in that quiet, protective way future betas seem to master early.

Pacey and Ian are already there too, arguing about something that looks far too animated for the day we are having.

I grab a tray and load it with food I know I will not finish, then I make my way over to them.

Kael looks up first when he senses someone approaching. He gives a short tired nod of his head, but it seems appreciative. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I reply, setting my tray down. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs like the motion costs him something. “Still standing.”

Olivia’s eyes flick to him instantly, checking for cracks. I catch it, and something twists in my chest, not jealousy, just respect. She shows up for the people she loves. No hesitation. No conditions.

“That is all we can ask for today,” Ian says, a little quieter than usual.

For a few minutes, we keep things light on purpose. Pacey talks about nearly failing his morning quiz. Liana complains about strategy class being “too on the nose.” Ezra actually smiles once, which feels like a win.

But no matter how much we circle around it, the weight of Stonehowl sits right there between us, unspoken and heavy.

Kael finally breaks. “My dad says the attackers knew exactly where to hit. No hesitation. No wasted movement.”

I stiffen. “That is… not random.”

“No,” Kael agrees. His jaw tightens. “That is what scares me.”

The silence stretches.

I glance at Olivia. She has gone very still, her fingers curling around her drink. She does not interrupt. She lets Kael talk at his own pace. I file that away again, another reason I admire her more every day.

“They did not leave a crest this time,” Ezra adds. “But everyone knows who it was.”

Nightvein.

The word is not spoken, but it hums in the air.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “If this is escalation, then they are watching how the packs respond. Testing defenses. Response time. Unity.”

Pacey frowns. “So what, Stonehowl was a message?”

“Or a rehearsal,” Ian mutters.

That lands hard.

Olivia finally speaks, her voice is calm but firm. “Then they are going to realize something else too.”

We all look at her.

“That we are not scattered,” she continues. “We are communicating. Helping each other. Showing up.”

Her gaze flicks to Kael. Then to me. Then around the table.

“We are not as isolated as they think.”

For a second, no one says anything.

Then Kael exhales slowly, like he has been holding that breath since yesterday. “I hope you are right.”

I meet his eyes. “You are not alone in this. None of us are.”

He nods his head once. Not trusting his voice.

The bell rings overhead, sharp and jarring, breaking the moment. Students around us begin standing, their trays scraping, their conversations resuming.

I stand too, grabbing my bag. “We will meet again after classes. To check in, here at this table.”

No one argues.

As we split off towards our next classes, Olivia lingers just long enough to catch my sleeve.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

It is such a small thing. Two seconds. A few words.

But it carries me all the way out of the cafeteria.

And as I head towards my next class, one thought settles deep and steady in my chest.

Whatever Nightvein thinks they are doing...

They are underestimating us.

The hallway thins out as Daxon and I peel off towards tactics class, the noise of the cafeteria fading behind us. My bag hangs heavy on my shoulder, but it is nothing compared to the weight sitting in my chest.

Daxon walks beside me in easy strides, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He does not speak right away. He never does when something is really bothering him.

We slide into the lecture hall and take our usual seats near the back, close enough to hear, far enough to talk quietly if we need to. Students file in around us, their voices low, tension humming under everything.

Daxon finally glances my way. “Stonehowl shook them more than Stormfang did.”

I nod my head once. “Because it feels closer. Like the line is moving.”

“And because it was not us,” he adds. “Yet.”

That word lands hard.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the front of the room where the instructor is setting up, pretending this is just another day. “Kael is barely holding it together.”

“He will,” Daxon says. “But it is different when it is your pack. Your people.”

I think of my father. Of the way he looked during training at Stormfang, critical, distant, already preparing for something worse. “Yeah. I know.”

Daxon studies me for a second longer than necessary. “You are thinking like an alpha.”

I snort softly. “Feels more like waiting for a punch.”

“That is still part of it,” he replies.

The instructor starts talking, something about layered defenses and response timing, but it feels uncomfortably relevant today. I try to listen, but my thoughts keep drifting.

“They are testing us,” I murmur. “Not just the packs. Us.”

Daxon’s jaw tightens. “The heirs.”

“Coordinated strikes. Watching how fast help comes. Who shows up. Who doesn’t.”

“And who stands together,” he finishes.

I glance at him. “Exactly.”

Daxon shifts in his seat, lowering his voice. “You notice how tight we all were at lunch?”

“It was hard to miss.”

“That is what scares me,” he says quietly. “And what might save us.”

I think of Olivia, steady, calm, anchoring everyone without trying to lead. Of Kael accepting help even though it costs him pride. Of Ian, Pacey, Ezra, all falling into place without being asked.

“We are forming something,” I say. “Whether we meant to or not.”

Daxon gives a slow nod of his head. “Nightvein is going to notice.”

A pause stretches between us as the instructor drones on about perimeter failures.

“I do not want to lose her,” I admit suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Daxon does not tease me. He doesn’t smirk. He just turns slightly in his seat. “You won’t. Not if you keep doing what you are doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Trusting her. Letting her choose her place beside you instead of trying to protect her from everything.”

I exhale, tension easing just a fraction. “She is stronger than most of us.”

“She is,” he agrees. “And she chose you anyway.”

That settles something deep inside me.

The instructor calls for attention, snapping me back to the room. I straighten in my chair, my pen moving across my notebook.

But as I take notes, one thought keeps repeating, clear and unshakable.

If Nightvein thinks fear will fracture us.

They are about to learn just how wrong they are.