Chapter 32 A Place Without Secrets
Dareth’s POV
I found the small cabin not far from the main path. It was hidden, unremarkable, yet clearly not an ordinary structure. Its location was too strategic to be called a coincidence.
One guard stood in front of it. He didn’t move much. Didn’t say much either. But his eyes locked onto me the moment I approached.
He already knew I was coming.
I didn’t stop for long. The guard only gave a slight nod, then opened the cabin door without saying a single word.
Inside, it was simple.
A wooden table. An old bench. And a set of clothes that had already been prepared, neatly folded on a rough surface that looked like it had been used for years.
There were no symbols. No markings either. But I knew this was part of their system.
Organized. Silent. Controlled.
I stepped inside without comment. The door closed behind me.
For a few seconds, I just stood there, staring at the clothes.
Not because I was hesitating. But because this was part of the process.
Erasing the old identity, replacing it with something this territory would accept.
I started removing my black suit and tucked the Rivenhall Dominion emblem into my pocket.
My movements were calm. Measured. Each layer of clothing came off without haste. The tailored outfit I usually wore… had no place here. I changed into the clothes that had been left for me. The fabric felt rough against my skin. Slightly heavy. Uncomfortable.
But that wasn’t a problem.
The color was dull. The cut was simple. There were no lines that hinted at status. No details that spoke of power.
Just… an ordinary pack citizen.
Someone who could be passed by without a second glance.
I adjusted the sleeves, making sure everything looked natural. Not too neat. Not too messy.
Just… fitting enough.
When I was done, I glanced once at my old clothes now folded in the corner of the room. Then I turned and opened the door.
The guard was still standing there. His gaze dropped briefly, taking in the change.
No comment.
Just one faint nod.
“I’ll keep your clothes at the border post,” he said.
I nodded.
That was enough.
I left the cabin without looking back and continued on my way.
My steps were fast.
Too fast for an ordinary human. But still within a limit that wouldn’t trigger suspicion from the basic instincts of the werewolves in this territory.
The forest around me hadn’t changed. Still dense. Still alive. But now… I had become part of its rhythm. Or at least… close enough not to be seen as foreign.
This territory was alive, and it wasn’t welcoming. I could feel it in every step. In the way the ground seemed to “respond” beneath my feet, in the way the wind carried shifting scents as if it were constantly testing my presence, even in the silence that was never truly empty.
Every corner held possibility. Every shadow could become something.
But nothing stopped me.
Not anymore.
Because now… I was no longer a visible threat.
I was something that blended in.
Silverfang’s central territory slowly came into view before me. And just as I had expected, the place was far more alive, far busier than I had imagined.
A market.
Not a grand structure. Not neatly arranged like a human trade center. But that was exactly what made it effective.
Wooden stalls stood in uneven rows. Hanging cloths provided shade. The smell of food, spices, and raw meat mixed in the air.
The sounds of bargaining, laughter, and complaints.
And beneath all of that, there were the small conversations that never stopped. Information moved here. Fast. Even without filters. They did it without even realizing it.
A place like this… was always the best starting point when looking for information.
I didn’t immediately step into the crowd. I paused for a moment at the edge, observing, reading the patterns of movement among the residents. Who spoke the most, who only listened, who was too quiet for a place like this.
A few minutes were enough.
Then I walked in.
I slowed my pace, adjusted my breathing, and matched the way I moved.
Not too stiff. Not too relaxed. Just… like them. Blending into the crowd.
And within seconds… my presence disappeared among them.
I started asking questions while pretending to browse the goods.
One person. Then another.
“Do you know someone named Althea Varyn?”
No reaction.
“No.”
“Never heard of her.”
Some of them even walked away without answering, as if they thought I was strange.
But what was interesting… was that they weren’t doing it because they truly didn’t know.
They were doing it because they were choosing not to know.
After several conversations that led nowhere, I stopped at a small stall tucked into the corner of the market. The place was simple, but busy enough.
I sat down on one of the long wooden benches provided and ordered a drink.
“One forest brew,” I said.
A coffee made from forest harvests. A signature werewolf scent.
The seller nodded without saying much. His hands moved quickly, pouring the thick black liquid into a clay cup with a slight crack along the rim.
Thin steam rose slowly.
The aroma spread immediately.
Bitter. Sharp. With traces of damp earth and old wood in it—a scent that wouldn’t be unfamiliar to anyone who had grown up in a territory like this.
I took the cup, but didn’t drink it right away.
I just held it in my hand.
Warm.
I lowered my gaze for a moment, as if I were focused on the drink in front of me. But in truth, my senses had already spread around me.
To the voices. To the footsteps. To the conversations.
And I… was still waiting for someone to bring up the topic I had come here to find.
Two men came over and sat not far from me. Both of them ordered the same drink as mine, then started chatting like they were completely at ease. At first, their conversation was about how their businesses had been slow lately. Until finally, one of them said, "Have you heard the news about Althea?"