Chapter 113
The moon was high and thin, a sliver of bone hanging over the Blackwood territory. Brittany moved through the trees like a shadow that didn't quite belong—cloak pulled tight, hood low, boots silent on the damp pine needles. She hadn't taken the main paths. No one could see her leave the Alpha quarters, not tonight. Not with Sebastian's questions still ringing in her ears, not with Rhianna's name on every tongue in the clearing.
She'd waited until the patrols shifted, until the night guards turned their backs to check the eastern border. Then she'd slipped out the back of the den, past the empty cradle where the baby slept under the wet-nurse's watch, past the cradle she'd once thought would secure everything.
The elder's hut sat on the far western edge, where the forest thickened and the pack rarely wandered unless they had business they didn't want witnessed. It was small, half-buried in moss-covered roots, smoke curling from a crooked chimney. No lantern light showed in the windows. She didn't knock. She pushed the door open with a trembling hand.
Inside, the air was stale—old books, dried herbs, the faint sourness of unwashed furs. Elder Thorne sat alone at a rough-hewn table, back to the door, hunched over a bowl of something steaming. He didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew it was her.
"Close it," he said, voice like dry leaves scraping stone.
Brittany shut the door softly. The latch clicked like a judgment.
She stood there a moment, hood still up, breathing too fast. The room felt smaller than she remembered. Or maybe she was the one shrinking.
"Thorne," she started, voice cracking on the first syllable. She cleared her throat. "I need your help."
He stirred the bowl once, twice. Didn't look up. "You always need help when the noose tightens, Brittany. Sit. Or stand. I don't care. But speak plain. I'm too old for games."
She pulled back her hood. Her hair was tangled, face pale, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and too many tears she wouldn't let fall in front of anyone else. She crossed the room on unsteady legs and dropped into the chair opposite him.
"Rhianna knows," she said. The words came out in a rush. "She knows I was involved. The river. The men. She figured it out—somehow the scents, the silver, the tobacco. She's gathering proof. Two days, they gave her two days. Sebastian's already suspicious. He found the cigarette on my cloak. He asked questions. If she brings anything solid to the council, he'll believe her. The pack will believe her. They'll tear me apart."
Thorne finally lifted his head. His eyes were cloudy with age, but sharp underneath. "And?"
"And I'm almost doomed," she whispered. "They'll banish me. Or worse. The child—Sebastian might not take him if he discovered he’s not his . They'll call him tainted. I can't—I can't lose everything. Not after all this."
He set the spoon down. The clink was loud in the quiet.
"You want me to save you," he said flatly. "Intervene. Speak for you. Lie for you. Is that it?"
"Yes." She leaned forward, hands flat on the table. "Please. You have influence. The other elders listen when you speak. Tell them the evidence is weak. Tell them Rhianna's memories are unreliable. Tell them I'm loyal. Anything. Just... make it go away."
Thorne studied her for a long moment. Then he leaned back, chair creaking under his weight.
"I have no business in it," he said.
Brittany's breath hitched. "What?"
"You heard me." His voice stayed calm, almost gentle. "This mess is yours. You made the choices. You sent the men. You whispered in Sebastian's ear. You framed Hardin. You played the long game for power, and now the board is tipping. Sort yourself out."
Her hands curled into fists. "You can't mean that."
"I do."
She stared at him, disbelief turning slowly to something colder. "I did everything you wanted."
Thorne's expression didn't change.
"I agreed to all of it," she pressed, voice rising despite herself. "The bond-breaking. The lies about Rhianna being weak. The rogues. The palace contacts to make sure she stayed gone. I did it because you promised. You said if I helped clear the path—if I made sure Sebastian stayed in line, if I secured the succession—then you'd release her. My sister. You said she'd be free. That was the deal. That was why I—"
"Was," Thorne interrupted. The word landed like a stone in still water.
Brittany went still.
"Was?" she echoed.
"Your sister is no longer useful to me," he said. "She served her purpose. Information extracted. Loose ends tied. She's been... dealt with."
The room tilted. Brittany gripped the table edge so hard her knuckles whitened.
"Dealt with?" Her voice was small now. "What does that mean?"
Thorne shrugged one shoulder. "What it sounds like. She's gone. Quietly. Cleanly. No trace back to the pack. No trace back to me. You don't need to worry about her anymore."
Brittany's mouth opened, closed. No sound came out at first. Then a choked sound—half sob, half rage.
"You promised," she whispered. "You swore on the old oaths. On the Blackwood bloodline. You said she'd live. You said if I—"
"I said many things." Thorne's tone was patient, like he was explaining the weather to a child. "Promises change when usefulness ends. You were useful when Rhianna was a threat and Sebastian was wavering. Now? You're a liability. A cornered wolf bites the hand that feeds it. Better to cut the hand off before it does."
Tears spilled over now. She didn't wipe them away. "You used me."
"I used a tool," he corrected. "Tools break. Or get replaced."
Brittany shook her head slowly. "I gave you everything. My loyalty. My silence. My sister—"
"Your sister was collateral," he said. "You knew the risks. Don't pretend otherwise."
She stood abruptly, chair scraping back. "I'll tell them. I'll tell the council. I'll tell Sebastian. I'll tell everyone what you did. What you made me do."
Thorne didn't flinch. He simply looked up at her, calm as stone.
"You could," he said. "But dare not say a word. Not one. Because if you do—if even a whisper of this reaches the elders, or Sebastian, or Rhianna—I will make sure you're wiped from the surface of the earth. Not banished. Not exiled. Erased. Your name forgotten. Your child raised by strangers who never knew you existed. Your body never found. Not even bones."
Brittany's knees buckled. She caught herself on the table.
"You wouldn't," she breathed.
"I already have," he said softly. "Once. I can do it again."
She stared at him—really stared. Saw the cold calculation behind the cloudy eyes. Saw the elder she'd once thought was an ally, a mentor. Saw a predator who'd waited years for the right pieces to fall.
"Why?" she asked, voice breaking. "Why her? Why me?"
Thorne picked up his spoon again. Stirred the cooling broth.
"Because the pack must endure," he said. "Sebastian is weak. Hardin is reckless. Rhianna is a spark that could burn it all down or light it anew. I needed control. I needed pawns. You were willing. Now you're not. So the game changes."
He took a slow sip. Set the bowl down.
"Go home, Brittany. Tend your child. Prepare your story. Or don't. But if you speak my name in this, you sign your own end. And his."
He nodded toward the door.
Brittany stood frozen. The fire in the hearth had burned low; shadows stretched long across the floor. Outside, an owl called once—sharp, lonely.
She turned. Pulled the hood back up with shaking hands.
At the door she paused.
"One day," she said, voice barely audible, "you'll need someone. And there'll be no one left."
Thorne didn't answer.
She stepped into the night.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud.
The forest swallowed her steps.
She walked back toward the clearing, cloak trailing in the underbrush, mind racing through every lie she'd ever told, every secret she'd buried. Two days. Rhianna had two days.
Brittany had less.