Chapter 79
Hardin stood in the war room at dawn, the first gray light creeping through the narrow windows. Maps covered every wall, red pins marking search routes that had gone cold months ago. The air smelled of coffee, old parchment, and the faint metallic tang of his own barely contained rage.
Garrick entered without knocking, face tight.
“Alpha. A scout just returned from the eastern rogue territories. He brought news—not from our borders. From beyond the great river.”
Hardin’s head snapped up. “Speak.”
Garrick closed the door behind him. “One of our deeper contacts—a rogue trader who moves between packs and neutral lands—overheard something in a back-alley tavern two nights ago. A stranger was asking questions. Quietly. Paying good coin for answers.”
Hardin’s claws flexed against the table edge. “What kind of questions?”
Garrick met his gaze steadily. “About a girl. Washed up on a riverbank six months ago, half-dead, no memory. Dark hair. Pale skin. Healed too fast. Taken in by a royal family. The stranger wanted to know if anyone had seen her since. If she’d spoken of a pack. If she’d remembered anything at all.”
The room went still.
Hardin’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Six months.
River.
Memory loss.
Healing too fast.
It matched.
Every detail matched Rhianna.
“Who was asking?” Hardin’s voice was low, dangerous.
“That’s the problem,” Garrick said. “The stranger was unknown. Hooded. No scent markers. Paid in unmarked gold. Spoke with a neutral accent—could be from any pack, or none. The trader said the stranger didn’t look like a warrior. More like… someone collecting information. Carefully. Like they were reporting back to someone else.”
Hardin turned away from the table, staring at the map where the great river snaked across the eastern edge of their territory. Beyond it lay unknown lands—territories few wolves ventured into without invitation.
Someone was looking for her.
Someone who knew she had survived the river.
Someone who might not want her found.
Or who wanted to confirm she was still lost.
Hardin’s wolf snarled inside him, claws scraping at the cage of his skin.
“Is the stranger still there?” he asked.
Garrick shook his head. “Gone by morning. Vanished. The trader tried to follow but lost the trail in the rain.”
Hardin exhaled slowly, forcing the fury down.
This was the first real lead in months. Not a body. Not a rumor of death. A living thread—someone actively searching for the exact girl who had disappeared after falling into that cursed river.
Someone else knew she was alive.
And that someone was keeping it secret.
Hardin turned back to Garrick. “Double the scouts on the eastern river crossings. Quietly. No banners. No pack markings. I want eyes on every tavern, every trader route, every shadow that moves toward that river.”
Garrick nodded. “And if we find the stranger?”
Hardin’s eyes flashed gold.
“Bring them to me. Alive.”
Garrick hesitated. “Alpha… if this is connected to Brittany—”
Hardin cut him off with a sharp gesture. “We don’t assume. We confirm.”
But inside, the pieces were shifting.
Brittany had sent the men who chased Rhianna into the river.
If she knew Rhianna had survived, she would never let it stand.
She would want confirmation.
She would want to finish it.
Or worse—she would want to use the information.
Hardin walked to the window, staring out at the forest that stretched toward the east.
Whoever was asking these questions, they weren’t doing it out of kindness.
They were gathering intelligence.
And Hardin would find out why.
Before they could act.
A Private Warning
Later that morning, Hardin found Sebastian in the old sparring yard—alone, shirtless, pounding a heavy bag until his knuckles bled.
Sebastian didn’t stop when Hardin approached. Just kept hitting, each strike harder than the last.
Hardin waited until the rhythm broke.
“You look like shit,” Hardin said flatly.
Sebastian finally paused, breathing hard. “What do you want?”
“Someone is asking questions,” Hardin said. “About a girl who fell in the river six months ago. No memory. Taken in by royals. Someone unknown. Hooded. Paying for information.”
Sebastian froze.
The bag swayed gently.
He turned slowly, eyes wide with something close to dread.
“You think it’s Brittany?” he whispered.
Hardin didn’t answer right away.
“I think if she knows Rhianna is alive, she won’t let her stay that way.”
Sebastian’s face crumpled. “I didn’t know… I swear, Hardin. I thought she was gone. I thought the river took her.”
Hardin stepped closer. “If your mate is still out there, broken and lost, and someone is hunting her again… whose side are you on?”
Sebastian looked down at his bloody hands.
Then he met Hardin’s eyes.
“I’m on hers,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”
Hardin studied him for a long moment.
“Then prove it,” he said. “Watch Brittany. Listen. If she makes a move—if she gets a message, if she sends anyone east—tell me.”
Sebastian nodded once.
Hardin turned to leave.
“Hardin,” Sebastian called after him.
Hardin paused.
“If we find her…” Sebastian’s voice cracked. “If she remembers what I did… what I let happen…”
Hardin didn’t look back.
“Then you live with it,” he said. “Like the rest of us.”
He walked out of the yard, the weight of the crown heavier than ever.
But for the first time in months, hope flickered in his chest—sharp and dangerous.
Someone was looking for Rhianna.
Which meant she was still out there.
And Hardin would reach her first.
No matter who stood in the way.