Chapter 90

Chapter 90
Trevor

The meeting ended, but the silence it left behind stayed with me long after the doors closed.  The council chamber smelled of candle wax and old wood; the echoes of our voices clung to the rafters like smoke that refused to fade.  I stood by the window, staring out at the courtyard where rain pooled in the flagstones. Wolves moved below, shadows pacing, restless as their Alpha.

Command was supposed to steady me.  Tonight it only made the world heavier.

My mother lingered, her hands folded around a cup of tea gone cold.  “You’re driving them hard,” she said.  Her voice carried no judgment, only the fatigue of someone who had once borne the same weight.

“They need direction,” I replied.  “If I let them stop to think, they’ll remember they’re afraid.”

She studied me over the rim of the cup.  “And what about you, Trevor?  When do you stop to think?”

“I can’t afford to.”

She walked closer, the lines of age around her eyes catching the lamplight.  “You sound just like your father the night before the siege of Hollow Creek.  He thought duty was armour.”

I turned toward her, jaw tight.  “And it saved the pack.”

“It nearly broke him.”  Her hand touched my shoulder.  “Don’t mistake endurance for strength.  The moment you start to see Evelyn as something to guard instead of someone to trust, you’ll lose the balance that makes you Alpha.”

I swallowed against the knot in my throat.  “I almost lost her already.”

“Then lead from love, not fear,” she said softly.  “Fear builds walls; love builds bridges.”

When she left, the room felt colder.

Outside, the training yard buzzed with the clatter of blades and breath.  Jason waited for me there, two wooden swords in hand.  He tossed one toward me without a word.  The moment I caught it, he attacked.

The rhythm of combat steadied me, the snap of air, the jolt through my arms, the instinct to anticipate and respond.  Jason pressed hard, relentless.  Sweat burned down my spine.  He wasn’t sparring for sport; he was angry.

“You should be resting,” he growled between strikes.  “You haven’t slept since the collapse.”

“Neither have you,” I shot back.

“I’m not the one with a Luna carrying half the pack’s hopes in her belly.”

His words landed harder than any blow.  I swung, disarmed him, then dropped the sword.  “That’s exactly why I can’t rest.”

Jason’s breathing slowed.  “You’re terrified.”

“I’m Alpha,” I said.

“You’re still terrified,” he answered, and for a moment his honesty stripped everything else away.  “That’s good.  It means you still have something worth losing.”

He clapped my shoulder and left me alone with the echo of rain on the training stones.

By the time I returned to our chambers, the torches in the hall had burned low.  Evelyn sat by the fire, hair loose around her shoulders, a blanket draped over her knees.  She looked up as I entered, eyes silvered by reflection.

“Did it go badly?” she asked.

“Not badly,” I said, kneeling beside her.  “Just not enough. Every plan feels like sand slipping through my fingers.”

She reached for my hand, tracing the old scars across my knuckles.  “You can’t out-plan prophecy.”

“Maybe not.  But I can outfight whoever thinks they can take you.”

Her smile was small, tired.  “That’s not leadership talking.”

“No,” I admitted.  “That’s me.”

Her expression softened.  “Then keep being you.  That’s the only thing the rest of us trust.”

The fire popped.  The twins moved beneath her palm, a gentle ripple that made her inhale sharply.

“They reacted when you said the Valley’s name earlier,” she murmured.  “They know something we don’t.”

I covered her hand with mine.  “Then we’ll find out what it is, together.”

Outside, thunder rolled again over the hills, like a drumbeat from the distant valley calling our names.

The thunder faded, but the weight of it stayed in my chest long after the sound disappeared over the ridge. Evelyn leaned back against the cushions, her eyes drifting closed for a breath too long. She was tired, bone-deep tired but fighting it because she knew I was unraveling faster than I wanted to admit.

“Sleep,” I told her gently.

“I will,” she whispered. “When you do.”

She wouldn’t. I knew her too well. She would sit awake all night if it meant watching me breathe.

I brushed a hand along her cheek and tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to check the ward feeds before Owen rewrites them.”

She nodded, but there was something in her gaze, something unsettled. I didn’t ask. Not yet. If I did, she might break, and tonight I didn’t have the strength to piece either of us back together.

I slipped out quietly and let the door close behind me.



The warding chamber was in the oldest part of the mansion, a narrow stone hall carved generations ago when magic was more common than steel. The torches flickered as I approached, each flame bending toward me like a silent greeting. My father used to say the wards recognized the Alpha’s blood before the Alpha recognized his own power.

Owen knelt in the center of the circle, runes glowing faintly around him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, lips murmuring old, thorn-sharp words.

“How bad?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “Bad enough. Whatever marked the nursery door wasn’t just a message, it was a breach attempt. A small one, but deliberate.”

My jaw flexed. “From outside?”

“No,” Owen murmured. “From inside.”

Inside.

The word turned my blood cold.

He finally raised his eyes to mine. “Someone or something pressed against the wards from within the mansion. I’ve only seen that once. When your father was Alpha.”

“When the darkling cluster broke through the grain cellars,” I finished.

Owen nodded. “Exactly. And this feels worse.”

I stepped into the circle beside him, the runes flaring brighter beneath my feet. “Can it be tracked?”

He hesitated. “The signature was brief but ancient. Older than the Gate. I think the entity Evelyn sensed isn’t using a single entry point. It’s passing through anything weak enough to bend.”

“So we strengthen everything,” I said. “Every corner of this house. Every stone.”

Owen’s eyes flashed with exhaustion. “We’re running out of people who can maintain this level of magic.”

“I’ll find more.” My voice dropped. “And I don’t care what it costs.”

He gave a tired smile. “You sound like your father.”

I shook my head. “My father didn’t have a mate with two children in her belly being hunted by something we can’t name.”

Owen sobered. “Then we work faster.”



By the time I left the ward chamber, the hallways felt heavier. The night air crawled with static, as if something unseen brushed along the walls, testing them. My senses sharpened, instincts coiling tight.

The wind moaned against the windows.
A whisper slid along the stones. Too soft for human ears, too intentional to be the wind.

I stopped walking.

Something breathed behind me.

I turned sharply, chest tightening—but the corridor was empty. Only torchlight. Only silence.

Then—

Trevor…

My name.
Not spoken aloud.
Not imagined.

Trevor… come see…

A female voice. Smooth. Warm. Deceptively gentle.

Evelyn’s voice.

No... wrong. Too thin. Too sharp at the edges.
A mimic wearing her tone like borrowed skin.

My vision tunneled. Rage surged so hard I tasted blood.

“Not in my house,” I growled under my breath.

I followed the whisper down the hall, senses locked on the sound. It slithered along the stones, leading me toward the lower east wing—the old prayer room no one used anymore.

The door stood open.

Cold air poured out in a slow wave.

I stepped inside.

Moonlight spilled through the cracked ceiling. Dust floated in the air like falling ash. In the center of the room lay a small wooden toy—carved in the shape of a wolf.

The same toy the boy in the corridor had been holding.

He must have dropped it when he ran earlier.

I crouched to pick it up.

The moment my fingers brushed the wood, the room darkened. The torches outside guttered. The air pressed against my ears like a rising tide.

Then—

A hiss.
A voice not meant for this world.

Bring the mother alone.

I stood. Slowly. Carefully.
My hands curled into fists.

“You’ll never get near her,” I whispered.

The shadows trembled, almost as if laughing.



When I returned to our room, Evelyn was awake. Of course she was. She sat upright, hand pressed to her stomach, face pale.

“They’re reacting again,” she whispered before I could speak. “Something scared them.”

I crossed the room in three strides and cupped her face. “Nothing’s getting in. I promise you.”

She stared at me, searching my expression, her breathing shallow. “Trevor… what happened?”

I didn’t lie.

“A voice,” I said. “A mimic using yours.”

Her fingers dug into my wrist. “No…”

“I shut it down.”
I sat beside her.
“Evelyn, this thing isn’t just watching us from the outside anymore. It’s probing. Testing the cracks.”

She swallowed, eyes shining with fear she didn’t try to hide.

“Then we have to move first,” she whispered.

“We will.” I took her hand, pressing it to my chest. “Starting with the Valley of Echoes. Whatever is calling you… whatever marked our door… it started there.”

She nodded once, jaw tightening.

A soft pulse fluttered beneath her palm—the twins responding.

“They’re ready,” she whispered.

“So am I,” I answered.



Outside the window, the clouds tore open, revealing the full moon.
Inside our room, the wards hummed softly, holding the dark at bay, for now.

Tomorrow, we would go to the Valley.
And I would burn the world before I let anything