Chapter 80 – The Whisper Net
Hazel
The whispers start like wind through dry grass. Soft and almost harmless at first. By the time I catch them, they’ve already spread like wildfire.
I stand in the mess hall, tray balanced in my hands, watching a pair of younger wolves lean too close over their bowls of stew. Their voices are pitched just low enough to sound conspiratorial.
“...he lost control again and attacked Loran without provocation.”
“Ronan had to drag him out, didn’t he?”
“I’ve heard he’s dangerous and he was kicked out of Ashgrave, he didn’t run away. He ought not to be kept near the Alpha. He makes him weak.”
They glance up, see me watching, and instantly look down, spoons clattering against wood in nervous rhythm. I don’t need their confession. I’ve heard enough.
It’s Eli they’re talking about.
Always Eli.
I don’t storm over. That would only confirm the thrill they get from sharing secrets. Instead, I slide into a seat two tables away and sip at my ale, listening. The next pair pick it up, carrying the thread like it’s gospel.
By the time I leave, half the room is pulsing with quiet rumors.
Eli is unstable.
Eli is Ronan’s weakness.
Eli is tearing us apart from the inside.
It’s too clean. Too coordinated. Gossip doesn’t move this fast unless someone’s feeding it.
I step outside into the cold night air, letting the din of the hall fade behind me. The moon hangs low, pale and swollen, casting long shadows over the yard. That’s when I see him.
Loran.
He’s leaning against the outer wall, a little too casual, eyes sharp and amused as if he’s already tasted the poison he’s spread and found it sweet.
A pair of low-ranked wolves drift past him, muttering something under their breath before slipping back into the hall. Loran doesn’t speak to them, not directly, but his smirk says enough.
He meets my gaze across the distance, and for a heartbeat I feel pinned. His mouth curves, slow, deliberate, like he knows exactly what I’ve been listening to.
I narrow my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. If it comes to a fair fight, I’d obliterate him, but Loran doesn’t do fair.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t threaten. He only watches me until the silence between us turns heavy, and then he melts back into the shadows with a predator’s ease.
It’s enough to set my teeth on edge. Enough to confirm what I already suspect.
I find Jace outside the hall later, leaning against the wall like a stone carved into the shape of a man. Arms crossed, eyes on the tree line. His whole posture screams don’t bother me, which of course I ignore.
“Have you heard it?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me. “Heard what?”
“The way Eli’s name is moving through the ranks like smoke through a chimney. Neat little stories about his instability and weakness, wrapped in a bow.”
Jace’s jaw tightens. A muscle flickers, but he shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. “Wolves talk. Always have.”
“Not like this,” I press. “This is someone’s hand on the string. Someone’s making sure every mouth gets fed a complimentary bite.”
Jace finally turns his head, and for a heartbeat I think he’s going to tell me I’m imagining things. But his eyes, dark and heavy with suspicion, say he already knows. He’s just not ready to voice it.
“Keep your head down, Hazel,” he mutters. “If someone’s playing games, you don’t want to be in the line of fire.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “If someone’s playing games, Eli’s already in the fire. And I don’t stand by and watch my friends burn.”
Later that night, I find Eli by the training grounds. He’s stretched out on the fence rail like a stray cat, watching the sparring rings with narrowed eyes. The moon paints him silver, but his shoulders are hunched, tension wound tight.
He sees me and tries to straighten, but I wave him down and climb up beside him. The wood creaks under our combined weight.
“You’ve got admirers,” I say dryly.
He snorts. “Is that what we’re calling them now?”
“They’re saying you’re unstable. That Ronan’s blinded by you. That you’re tearing the pack apart.” I don’t sugarcoat it. Eli would smell it on me if I tried and I’d want the truth if our roles were reversed.
His whole body goes still. The only movement is the flick of his tongue across his teeth, sharp and restless.
“Of course they are,” he says, voice flat. “That’s what wolves do. They circle the weak one until the Alpha puts them down.”
“You’re not weak.”
He shoots me a look, half warning, half plea. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” I say. “I’m telling you what I see. You think I’d bother climbing a fence rail in the cold to stroke your ego?”
That earns me a low laugh. Rough and bitter, but still a laugh. “Fair point.”
Silence stretches before Eli speaks again, his voice quieter now. “It feels like I’m being watched all the time. Like every mistake I make, someone’s waiting to carve it into stone.”
“They are,” I tell him. “But not because of who you are. Because someone wants them to.”
His head jerks toward me, sharp. “What do you mean?”
“The gossip. It’s too fast. Too neat. I caught Loran tonight, Eli. Standing outside like he’d already written the script. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. He wants this to stick.”
Eli’s breath leaves him in a sharp exhale. For a moment, his composure cracks into raw anger. “Of course it’s him.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “But until Ronan sees it for himself, we’ve got nothing but logical assumptions.”
He stares at me, eyes dark and searching, as if he wants to believe me but doesn’t dare. “And what if Ronan believes them? What if Jace does? Where does that leave me?”
I reach out to grip his wrist. His pulse stutters under my fingers. “Then it leaves you with me. And I’ll fight the bastards myself if I have to. But Ronan chose you and Jace is your friend. They won’t turn their backs on you, Eli.”
For a moment, his expression cracks. Just a sliver. Vulnerability bleeding through all the sharp edges. He pulls his wrist free, but not harshly. Just enough to hide.
“You’re wasted here, Hazel,” he mutters.
I grin, though my chest aches. “Maybe. But someone’s got to keep you alive until you figure out how to do it yourself.”
The next morning, I see how deep the rot goes. Wolves huddled in corners, whispering behind hands. Patrol reports being second-guessed. Even Ronan’s orders questioned in low tones.
And always, Eli’s name at the center of it.
I move through the hall, eyes sharp, ears sharper. Somewhere in this tangled web, Loran is pulling strings. And if I can catch him in the act, maybe I can cut it off before it strangles us all.
Until then, I stay close to Eli. Close enough to hear the poison before it reaches his ears. Close enough to remind him, quietly and frequently, that he’s not alone, no matter how much the pack tries to convince him otherwise.
The Whisper Net is spreading, and I intend to burn it out.
Even if it means setting myself on fire to do it.