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Chapter Three: Secrets in The Dark.

The night pressed against the Silverfang camp, thick, dark and unrelenting. It was just the beginning of the fall, but it sure as hell felt like winter.

The patrols were tense and on high alert after the rogue attack, and tension crackled through the air like a coming storm.

Sage should have been resting. She should have been preparing for the next night’s patrol.Instead, she was sneaking into the Archives.

Her mind wouldn’t let the symbol go. The moment she saw it carved into the ground near the dead warrior’s body, something in her gut had screamed familiar. Her father had spoken of an unknown enemy before his death. Could this symbol be connected?

She needed answers, and now.

Moving through the silent corridors of the Alpha’s den, Sage kept her steps light. The halls were dark except for the occasional glow of torches. If she got caught, Ronan would lose his mind. Too bad, she thought with a shrug. I won’t sit around and wait for another attack.

The Archives were hidden beneath the main den, past a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron. Few were allowed access. The Elders claimed it was to protect their pack’s history. Sage suspected it was because they feared what the records contained.

She ran her fingers along the lock, reaching into her belt for the thin metal pick she always carried. Ronan would have been furious if he knew she’d taught herself to pick locks at thirteen, but right now, it was coming in handy.

A soft click.

Sage exhaled in relief and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.

---

The scent of old parchment and dust immediately filled her lungs, and she fought back a cough. Dim lanterns flickered along the stone walls, casting eerie shadows across rows of bookshelves. Scrolls and tomes lay stacked haphazardly, some so ancient their spines crumbled at the slightest touch.

She needed to be quick.

Grabbing a lantern, she began scanning the shelves. Her fingers trailed over book titles, searching for anything related to rogue attacks, ancient threats, or the strange symbol.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Frustration burned in her veins. Nothing.

Then, in the farthest corner of the room, half-buried beneath a pile of faded scrolls, she saw it—a leather-bound book, its edges frayed from age.

Something about it felt… wrong, and yet also right. Like it was exactly what she was looking for.

A chill crawled down her spine as she picked it up. The cover was smooth, almost unnaturally so. When she flipped it open, a single page made her breath catch.

The symbol.

Drawn in ink so dark it looked like fresh blood.

Her heart pounded as she read the words scrawled beneath it.

"The ones who walk in shadow will return when the bloodlines converge."

Sage’s pulse roared in her ears.

What the hell did that mean?

The sound of footsteps outside made her snap the book shut.

She blew out the lantern instantly, plunging the room into near darkness. Pressing herself against a shelf, she listened.

Silence.

Then—the door creaked open.

Her muscles locked.

Someone stepped inside. The air shifted, carrying a familiar scent.

Dark cedar, pine and something spicy.

Kieran.

She barely had time to react before strong arms wrapped around her from behind. One hand clamped over her mouth, the other locking around her waist.

A whisper of heat against her ear.

“You really shouldn’t be here, Thornwood.”

Sage jerked against him, but Kieran didn’t loosen his grip. His chest was firm against her back, his body radiating heat. How? How in the hell had he got from the door to behind her in that split second?

She inhaled sharply through her nose, her mind racing.

How the hell had he even gotten in?

And more importantly—why in the absolute hell was he here?

---

Sage shoved her elbow back, aiming for his ribs. Kieran twisted at the last second, avoiding the blow, but it was enough for her to wrench free. She spun, stepping back to put space between them, her heart pounding.

He smirked. “Feisty.”

She glared. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Kieran’s golden eyes gleamed in the dim light. “I could ask you the same.”

Sage’s fingers tightened around the book. She considered lying, but something told her it wouldn’t work. Kieran was too perceptive.

Instead, she held up the worn leather. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

His gaze flickered to the book, and something shifted in his expression.

Not surprise. Not confusion.

Recognition.

Sage’s stomach tightened. “You do.”

Kieran exhaled slowly. “Where did you find that?”

“In the Archives,” she said. “It was buried.”

His jaw clenched. He stepped forward, but she held her ground. “Give it to me.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Sage—”

“No. Not until you tell me what you know. And why you lied and said you didn't know anything in front of Ronan when we brought back the body.”

The tension between them thickened, crackling like red hot embers on a fire.

Finally, Kieran sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s an old mark. Older than either of our packs. I don’t know everything, but I know this—if that symbol is appearing again, we’re in more trouble than we thought.”

Sage’s grip on the book tightened. “Then start talking.”

Kieran hesitated. “Not here.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Because,” he said grimly, “if anyone catches us with that, we’ll both be dead before sunrise.”

A chill ran through her.

For the first time since the rogues had attacked, she realized—this wasn’t just about territory or pack rivalries anymore.

Something bigger was coming.

And they might already be too late to stop it.

A sharp sound echoed outside the Archives. Footsteps.

Kieran cursed. “We have to go.”

Sage hesitated. “But—”

He grabbed her wrist. “Now, Thornwood.”