Dawn crawled over Blackridge like a wounded beast.
Mist hugged the ground, whispering secrets through the trees. The air hung heavy with a silence that didn't feel like peace — only the pause before a second storm. The forest was too still. Even the birds refused to sing.
And in the heart of it all, Caleb Thorn stood at Lucien's grave.
Fresh earth. Stone unmarked.
His brother-in-arms. His protector. His friend.
Gone.
How many more before this ends?
Behind him, Lena sat quietly on a tree stump, hugging her knees. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed red. She hadn't cried, not really. But her silence screamed louder than any tears.
"Did he hate me?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Caleb knelt beside her. "Lucien didn't hate you, cub. He died for you."
She looked at her hands, flexing her fingers. "But it's still inside me. I can feel it. Whispering. Like it's waiting."
Caleb didn't answer.
Because he could feel it, too.
⸻
In the war room, the mood was grim.
Ronan paced like a caged beast. Bex sharpened her daggers with slow, deliberate strokes. Marla pored over the Hollow lore, fingers trembling every few pages.
Elias stood at the window, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the mountains.
"The sigil sealed the Hollow," he said at last. "But it didn't kill it."
"It won't stay buried forever," Bex added. "You all saw the power it had over Lena. It knew her. Chose her."
"She's still a child," Ronan growled.
"She's also the key to ending this," Elias snapped. "Which makes her a target."
Caleb entered just in time to hear that.
"Then we protect her. At all costs."
Elias turned. "There may be another way."
He laid out a crumbling parchment — older than anything they'd seen. The script was archaic, the language a blend of Latin and something far more ancient.
"The Order of the First Howl," Elias explained. "An old alliance. Older than any existing pack. They formed to combat things like the Hollow — and one of them survived."
Caleb narrowed his eyes. "How do you know?"
"Because he just sent a message."
He lifted a silver pendant — crescent-shaped, etched with runes.
And from the doorway behind him, a voice said, "I believe you called for me."
⸻
The man who entered looked nothing like a warrior.
He wore a long black coat, his boots mud-stained from travel. His hair was silver at the temples, though he couldn't have been more than thirty-five. His eyes… something was wrong with them.
They shimmered faintly.
Like stars reflected in a frozen lake.
"My name is Malric," he said. "And I know how to destroy the Hollow."
Ronan moved first, stepping in front of Lena instinctively.
Bex didn't lower her blade.
But Caleb stepped forward.
"You're of the First Howl?"
Malric nodded. "The last of them."
Elias frowned. "Impossible. The Order was wiped out a century ago."
"Not wiped out," Malric corrected. "Scattered. Betrayed. We were guardians. Archivists. Hunters of forgotten monsters. But the Hollow… the Hollow changed everything. It's not just a spirit. It's a wound in the world."
Caleb folded his arms. "And how do we heal it?"
"You don't," Malric said softly. "You cut it out."
He opened his coat — revealing a long obsidian dagger. Its blade was black as night, but shimmered with shifting light when it caught the sun. Runes pulsed faintly along the edge.
"This is Voidglass," he said. "Forged in the ruins of the place where the Hollow first touched the world. It can sever the link between host and entity."
He looked at Lena. "But it comes at a price."
Lena stood slowly, eyes wide.
"What price?"
Malric met her gaze.
"If you use this to cut the Hollow from yourself, it will take everything you love with it. Your memories. Your powers. Even your link to your bloodline. You'll live—but you'll be empty."
Caleb stepped forward. "Then we find another way."
"There is no other way," Malric said.
But even as he spoke, Lena reached for the blade.
⸻
That night, Caleb stood alone at the cliff's edge above the river, the wind raking through his hair. He could still hear the Hollow whispering from the ruins — a distant hum under the ground. Not words. Just presence.
And somewhere beneath it all, the thrum of his own bloodline.
He had never wanted children. The thought had always terrified him — not because of what it meant to raise one, but because of what he might pass on.
The curse. The Alpha burden. The Hollow's pull.
You gave her this, his mind whispered.
"She deserves better," he murmured.
"She does," came a voice behind him. "But she got you."
Caleb turned.
Ronan stood there, holding a bottle of old whiskey. He tossed it to Caleb, who caught it without flinching.
"You trust Malric?" Ronan asked.
"No," Caleb said. "But I trust desperation. And we're running out of time."
Ronan stared out at the dark. "She's stronger than she looks. But even strength cracks when you're ten and the world wants to eat you alive."
Caleb didn't answer.
But in the distance, something shifted in the wind.
A howl. Low. Not one of theirs.
Something watching.
Waiting.
⸻
Inside the Pack House, Lena sat alone in her room, the Voidglass blade lying on her lap. Its runes whispered her name. She could feel the Hollow stirring within her again, whispering soft promises.
"Use it," it hissed. "Carve me out. And you'll never be alone again."
Her breath shook.
"I don't want to be alone," she whispered.
And the blade pulsed brighter.
But just before she could touch it again—her window shattered.
A dark figure leapt through, silent as a shadow.
She screamed.
But it was not a Hollow servant.
It was a wolf.
⸻
Caleb burst into her room seconds later, followed by Ronan and Bex.
But what they found made all of them freeze.
The wolf was black — pitch-black — with gold flecks in its fur. It stood in front of Lena like a guardian. Its eyes glowed silver.
Then, it shifted.
And revealed a boy.
Barefoot. Wild-eyed. No older than Lena. His hair a mess of curls, his body marked with runes that glowed faintly across his arms and chest.
He didn't look afraid.
In fact, he looked straight at Caleb.
And said, "She's not the Hollow's only heir."