The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but Ronan barely felt its warmth. His mind was still back in the snow—back at the edge of the woods where Mia had found the prints. He watched her now from across the room. She sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, cradling a mug of tea. Her eyes were distant, lost in memory.


    He couldn''t shake the look on her face when she’d seen those tracks. Fear. Familiar fear. And something else—something that looked too much like recognition.


    "Mia," he said gently, breaking the silence.


    She glanced up. "Yeah?"


    He walked over and sat on the arm of the couch, close but careful not to crowd her. "Earlier you said you used to hear howls when you were a kid. That they weren’t the same as the ones you heard the night your mom—" He hesitated. "What do you remember about them?"


    She set her mug down slowly, fingers tightening slightly around the ceramic before releasing it. "They were layered. It’s hard to explain. Like multiple voices, not just sound. There was something... orchestrated about them. Like they were playing with me. Hunting something. I knew it wasn’t just normal wolves."


    Ronan nodded slowly. "And your mom... the stories she told you about shifters—what were they like?"


    Mia’s expression softened, her eyes drifting to the flicker of firelight. "She used to say they were guardians of the land. That before people pushed too far, there were protectors—shifters—who lived between the trees and walked in two worlds. She made them sound like legends, but she believed in them completely. Said their power came from balance, not brutality."


    She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "She made them sound like something out of a dream. She’d say, ‘One day, the wild will recognize its own in you.’ I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but I loved the idea. I used to run outside and pretend I could change. I’d sit in the snow and listen for howls, imagining I was one of them."


    Ronan’s chest tightened. The idea of a little girl sitting alone in the cold, yearning to be something wild and free—and unknowingly calling out to real wolves—hit him deeper than he expected.


    He wanted to tell her.


    He wanted to confess everything. That she hadn’t been imagining those sounds. That the howls weren’t just stories or echoes of trauma. That shifters were real. That he was real.


    But he couldn’t.


    Not yet.


    She was already afraid, already flinching at shadows. If he told her the truth now—about him, about what she might be—he might lose her. And with the Lycans drawing near, she had to stay close. He had to keep her safe.


    Later that night, once Mia had gone to bed, Ronan slipped out of the cabin again and into the forest. The snow had hardened, crunching beneath his boots. The wind bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. It cleared his mind.


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    He found them waiting at the clearing—the same one from before. Sam leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his breath fogging in the air. Ezra paced nearby, the restless energy of his wolf close to the surface.


    "You’re late," Ezra said.


    "Had to wait until she was asleep," Ronan replied, voice low.


    Sam eyed him. "How’s she holding up?"


    "Shaken," Ronan admitted. "She recognized the prints. Said they reminded her of the ones she saw before her mom was killed. And the howls... she remembers them too. She said it felt like they were trying to terrify her."


    Ezra stopped pacing. "You think it was Lycans? Back then?"


    "I do," Ronan said. "She was young, but not wrong. There was a pattern to it—intimidation, fear. Classic Lycan tactics."


    Sam’s brows furrowed. "And her mom telling stories about shifters... you think that was coincidence?"


    "I’m not sure. It could’ve been protection. Or preparation."


    Ezra gave a low whistle. "So what, you think Mia’s part shifter? That her mom might’ve been one of us?"


    Ronan hesitated, then nodded. "I don’t have proof. But there’s something in Mia. I can feel it. Not just emotionally—viscerally. There’s a frequency in her soul that hums when she’s near the trees. She belongs out here, in a way that humans never do."


    Sam looked thoughtful. "If she’s got shifter blood, even just a sliver, that changes everything. Especially if the Lycans know."


    "They were after her mother," Ronan said. "Now they’re circling Mia. Maybe they think she inherited something. A legacy. Or a threat."


    Ezra’s voice dropped. "You still not going to tell her? About us?"


    Ronan exhaled through his nose, gaze fixed on the snowy treetops. "Not yet. She’s terrified. Telling her now—it’ll feel like betrayal."


    "Or salvation," Sam said.


    "It has to come from trust," Ronan said firmly. "Not panic. She’s already piecing things together. But I won’t shove her into this world unless she’s ready."


    Ezra frowned. "What if we don’t have time?"


    "Then I’ll protect her until we do. Even if I have to stand between her and the entire Lycan horde."


    The others fell silent. The forest around them creaked and whispered beneath the weight of winter.


    Sam finally spoke. "We’ll keep watch. Double the patrols again. No one gets near that cabin."


    Ronan nodded. "And start digging into her mother’s background. Anything—school records, incidents, old pack mentions. If she was one of us, there’ll be a trail. Even if it’s faint."


    Ezra stretched his shoulders. "You really think Mia could shift?"


    Ronan didn’t answer right away. He looked back toward the direction of the cabin, where firelight flickered through the trees. His voice was soft when he said, "I don’t know. But if she can... the moment it happens, the Lycans will smell it. And they’ll come running."


    The cold wind rushed through the clearing, stirring the snow in spirals.


    Ronan’s eyes hardened. "We’ll be ready."


    Above them, the moon stared down, full and solemn.


    Watching.


    Waiting.


    Ronan, despite his hesitance to do so, shifted again in the same spot, just out of sight of the cabin. He ran the entire perimeter before shifting back. The moon was getting lower and he needed a few hours of rest to keep powering through.


    He slipped his feet back into his boots, only bothering to throw his t-shirt over his head in case Mia was up. But when he made it inside, her door was shut firmly in place though her usual blanket was still tossed over the side of the chair by the fire.


    The cabin had two very small bedrooms and the beds were nearly too small for him to lie down on, but he was tired and sleep beckoned him. He closed his eyes in a silent prayer to the moon goddess that all would be okay before drifting off into a short, fitful sleep.