Chapter 30: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kenton

The council room feels smaller than it used to, and I hate that.

Power should not feel cramped, and order should not feel fragile. Ravencrest has stood through winters that broke bones and through fights that left blood in the snow. We do not bend easily.

Yet the moment Amaris stepped onto our land, the air changed, and now the threats feel like they’re coming from directions I cannot see.

Boone sits at the table with a stack of reports, his expression carved from patience and irritation. Asher stands near the wall with maps spread across a board, marking locations with charcoal. Ember leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes bright, pretending she isn’t tense.

Maxon stands off to the side, watching everything like he expects betrayal from the walls. Amaris isn’t in this room, and that fact is deliberate. I don’t want her in the middle of every strategy meeting, not because she can’t handle it, but because the pack already stares at her like she’s the answer and the threat at the same time.

If we treat her like a war banner, we make her a target.

Boone clears his throat. “We’ve got marks on bark,” he says. “We’ve got tracks that disappear. We’ve got a missing patrol. We’ve got goblin stink and fae residue near the ridge.”

The words sit heavily.

Asher points to the map. “These points cluster near older boundary markers,” he says calmly. “Not our newest lines. The old lines.”

Ember makes a low sound. “So whatever it is, it likes old bones,” she says.

Boone’s gaze flicks to her. “Or it knows old seams,” he corrects.

My jaw tightens. “And it’s hunting on my land,” I say, because the responsibility is mine whether I like it or not.

Asher nods once. “Yes.”

Maxon’s voice comes low. “It’s not hunting wolves,” he says. “It’s testing how easily it can take them.”

Boone’s eyes narrow. “You’re sure?”

Maxon’s gaze stays flat. “If it wanted bodies, we’d have bodies.”

His logic is hard to argue with.

Ember shifts her weight. “So what does it want?” she asks.

Nobody answers immediately, because the answer feels like a trap.

Boone breaks the silence. “It wants something,” he says. “And it’s moving closer to where Amaris lives.”

That makes my chest tighten in a way I'm not quite ready to name.

Asher’s eyes flick to me. “We need more security around her,” he says.

Maxon’s posture tightens like a blade being drawn. “She’s already watched,” he says.

Boone gives him a look. “Watched by you,” he says, unimpressed. “That’s not a perimeter. That’s one male and a lot of emotion.”

Maxon doesn’t flinch. “I’m enough,” he says.

Ember lets out a short laugh. “You’re a joy,” she mutters.

Boone ignores them and keeps his gaze on me. “We don't want to panic the pack,” he says. “We reinforce patrols, set traps, and rotate warriors who can keep their mouths shut.”

My jaw tightens. “And what about the whispers?” I ask. “They keep saying it.”

Ember’s grin goes sharp. “What? About the white wolf? How even though they don't want to believe it, a part of them still does?” she asks, her tone mocking. “They whisper it like they’re summoning a demon.”

Boone’s gaze hardens. “And if they keep whispering it, it stops being disbelief and turns into belief,” he says. “Belief spreads. And before long, it will reach beyond just our pack.”

Asher’s voice stays calm. “We can’t stop them noticing what she is,” he says. “But we can stop them from broadcasting it.”

Maxon’s eyes turn colder. I feel his tension like heat in the room, and I understand it more than I want to. Fear isn’t always weakness. Fear is often born out of memory, whether it be your own or someone else's.

Before I can respond, footsteps sound in the hallway, and the air shifts in a way that hits deep.

My parents.

My dad, Karrington Clearwater, enters first, tall, broad, silver threading his hair, his gaze sharp as he takes in the room. Korrine, my mother, follows, her posture regal, her expression controlled, eyes that look like they’ve seen too much and refused to flinch.

The former Alpha and Luna of Ravencrest do not arrive for casual visits.

Boone stands. “Karrington,” he says with respect.

Asher nods. Ember straightens like someone finally told her to stop being a menace.

I rise too, jaw tight. “Father,” I say.

Dad’s gaze holds mine for a long beat, then he looks around the room, taking in the tension, the reports, the map, and the way Maxon stands like a guarding blade.

“Tell me,” he says.

Boone doesn’t waste time. He summarizes, blunt and clean. Missing patrol. Wrong tracks. Burned marks. Residue that doesn’t belong. Tightening pressure in the woods.

Mom’s eyes narrow slightly at the mention of goblin stink, and I catch the flicker of recognition there.

Dad’s expression hardens as Boone speaks, then tightens into something more complicated as Boone mentions the whispers about Amaris.

Dad’s gaze shifts to me. “You brought her onto our land,” he says.

“I didn’t bring her,” I answer sharply. “She crossed. I found her.”

His eyes stay steady. “And you chased,” he says, like he already knows the story.

My jaw clenches. “Yes.”

Mom speaks quietly, cutting through my pride. “Where is she now?” she asks.

“Asleep,” Boone answers. “Or training. She doesn’t rest much.”

She nods once, thoughtful. “She should not be alone,” she says, voice firm.

Maxon’s posture shifts, tense. “She isn’t,” he says.

Dad finally looks at Maxon directly. “And you are,” he says, not a question.

Maxon’s eyes do not flinch. “I am.”

Dad studies him like he’s measuring both his threat and usefulness levels at the same time. “You found her first,” he says.

Maxon’s jaw tightens. “Yes.”

Dad’s gaze flicks back to me, then to Boone and Asher. “This feels like old trouble,” he says.

The sentence lands like a weight because of who it comes from. Dad doesn’t dramatize. He doesn’t throw around fear to make people obey. If he says old trouble, he means blood.

Boone’s voice stays steady. “That’s what we think,” he says.

Mom’s gaze turns sharp. “The pack will not handle this well if they start believing the stories,” she says.

Ember’s mouth tightens. “They’re already halfway there,” she admits.

Dad’s expression stays hard. “Then we contain,” he says. “We tighten our inner circle. We keep our mouths shut. We stop any warrior who thinks gossip is harmless.”

Boone nods once. “Agreed.”

Dad looks at me again, and the disappointment in his eyes hits harder than anger would. “You cannot lead with impulsivity,” he says quietly. “If you do, you will get her killed, and you will get your pack killed.”

My throat tightens. “I know,” I say.

He holds my gaze. “Then act like it,” he says.

The room goes quiet for a beat.

Then Asher taps the map again. “We should set a rotating watch on those old markers,” he says. “If the corridor is forming near seams, we need eyes there.”

Mom’s voice turns softer, but no less firm. “And we need to speak to the girl,” she says. “Not about lore as if it's a certainty, but about safety, both hers and ours. She will not tolerate being handled, but she will tolerate being respected.”

Boone’s mouth twitches like he agrees more than he wants to admit. “She will,” he says.

My chest tightens because the truth underneath all of this is simple and brutal.

Whatever is moving in our woods, it isn’t here for random wolves.

It’s here because Amaris exists.

And now my parents are here, the pack is on edge, and the old stories are no longer just whispers.

They’re pressure. They’re a threat.

They’re a fire that's just waiting for oxygen.