Chapter 82

Chapter 82

Lucien POV

I sat on a broken step and tried not to move.

Every time I shifted, my shoulder reminded me exactly how close I’d come to losing it — or worse. Someone had wrapped it tight, clean and careful, and told me not to be stupid about it. I’d nodded. I hadn’t promised anything.

Hollow Creek stretched out in front of me, half-standing, half-wounded. Wolves moved slowly through the wreckage, not frantic anymore, not celebrating either. Just… working. Checking walls. Propping beams. Carrying water. Carrying the injured.

Alive things doing alive things.

“Easy,” someone muttered nearby as a beam scraped against stone. “Don’t rush it.”

“I’m not rushing.”

“Yes, you are.”

I huffed softly and leaned back against the cracked wall behind me, closing my eyes for a second.

Rhett leaned on his staff a few feet away, arguing quietly with two younger wolves over a scorched patch of ground.

“No,” he said firmly. “Don’t dig. Not yet.”

“But the sigils—” one of them started.

“Are quiet,” Rhett cut in. “For now. That blast wiped the active layers clean. Think of it like a reset, not a cure.”

The younger wolf frowned. “So… they’ll come back?”

Rhett didn’t soften it. “Magic like this always does.”

I opened my eyes. “How long?”

Rhett turned toward me. “Days, maybe weeks. Depends on how angry Joe is feeling.”

That earned a low murmur from nearby wolves.

“Then we use the time,” I said. “Rebuild. Rest. Prepare.”

Someone nodded. Someone else exhaled like they’d been holding their breath since dawn.

Rhett studied me for a moment. “You sound calmer than I expected.”

I snorted quietly. “I’m tired. Panic takes energy.”

That actually got a few weak chuckles.

Rhett’s mouth twitched before he turned back to his work. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Movement at the edge of the clearing pulled my attention away.

A line of carts rolled in slowly, pulled by wolves I didn’t recognize at first. Supplies piled high — blankets, food crates, medicine bundles. Healers jumped down before the carts fully stopped, already scanning faces, already asking questions.

And at the front, walking instead of riding like she used to—

Camille.

She looked thinner. Harder. Like someone who hadn’t slept properly in months. Her hair was braided tight, her coat dusty from travel, her boots worn down at the heels.

When she saw me, she stopped.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then she crossed the distance in long strides and slapped me on the uninjured shoulder.

“You look like hell,” she said flatly.

I winced. “Nice to see you too.”

She pulled me into a quick, fierce hug anyway, careful of my injuries but not gentle enough to be polite. “You scared us.”

“Us?” I asked.

She pulled back just enough to look at my face. “Don’t play dumb. You know you’re not the only Alpha people worry about.”

She gestured behind her. “We heard rumors. Smoke on the horizon. Refugees trickling through. I didn’t wait for confirmation.”

I exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

Camille nodded once. “You’re welcome. Now sit still before you reopen something.”

“I am sitting.”

“Breathing counts as movement.”

Another familiar presence shifted beside me.

Luke.

He stood there like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to approach. Taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, older in ways that had nothing to do with years. His clothes were torn, patched more than once, sleeves rolled up to reveal old scars I didn’t remember him having.

“You stayed,” I said.

He snorted quietly. “Someone had to.”

I pushed myself carefully to my feet. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

Camille rolled her eyes and walked off to yell at a healer about inventory, giving us space without making a show of it.

Luke and I stood there, the space between us tight and awkward.

“Refugees made it south,” he said finally. “Most of them. We lost a few on the road. Ambushes.”

My jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “They were already running when the Watchers came. You can’t save everyone.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“You always say that,” Luke muttered. “And then you act like it’s your fault anyway.”

I didn’t argue.

Luke glanced at my bandaged shoulder. “That bad?”

“Bad enough.”

He nodded once. “Figures.”

Silence stretched — not hostile, just heavy with things we didn’t say often.

“You almost died,” Luke said.

“So I’ve been told.”

“That wasn’t a joke.”

I met his eyes then. Really met them. “I know.”

He swallowed. “You always do this. Carry it all alone.”

I exhaled slowly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I thought I was supposed to die.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“The prophecy,” I said quietly. “The Oracle. All of it. I thought… I thought that was the point. That if I stayed, something worse would happen.”

Camille had stopped pretending not to listen.

Luke frowned. “So what changed?”

I looked past him.

Across the clearing, Noland sat on the ground with Tiara asleep against his chest, her legs tangled in his, his hand resting flat against her back like that alone could keep the world from touching her again.

He looked wrecked.

And steady.

“I chose not to leave,” I said. “I chose them.”

Luke studied me for a long moment. “About damn time.”

Camille stepped closer. “You didn’t survive because the prophecy spared you.”

I turned toward her.

“You survived,” she said, voice softer now, “because you chose love over fear. And that matters more than any vision.”

Something in my chest loosened at that.

Not healed.

But breathing.

I nodded once. “Then we keep choosing it.”

Luke clapped my shoulder lightly. “Good. Because next time, we fight smarter.”

I huffed. “You volunteering?”

He smirked. “Try stopping me.”

Camille sighed. “Great. Another idiot.”

But she was smiling.

Hollow Creek wasn’t whole.

But it wasn’t alone.

And for the first time since the war began, that felt like enough to stand on.