Chapter 6 The Border Echoes

The Hollow didn't wake up the next morning. It stirred.

Like a creature turning in its sleep, sensing something near its heart that didn't belong.

And Rhea could feel it in her bones.

A low hum of wrongness that hadn't been there before. Not loud. Not sharp. But constant. Like a vibration under the earth.

She sat at the window of her room, watching fog roll over the treetops, a steaming mug of bitterroot tea untouched in her hand.

She hadn't slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tree again.

Its roots.

Its cracked bark.

That moment when something had pulled her forward.

And Lucien's voice-low, steady, warning.

"Not everything under this valley sleeps."

---

By midday, word spread.

A scout from Thornshade had arrived at the southern border.

Uninvited.

Tensions immediately flared.

Thornshade wasn't known for subtlety. They were primal. Wild. Proud of their lack of restraint. Their Alpha, Varka, didn't believe in treaties-she believed in dominance. In strength. In old ways.

Rhea watched from the upper path as the Hollow's wolves lined the gate.

The scout was tall and wiry, dressed in bone-decorated armor, dark eyes sharp with distrust. His tunic bore the deep green of the forest and the black claw mark of Thornshade.

His words were sharp and loud, meant to be heard.

"We found your marker stones," he shouted, "a full mile past their agreed placement. Either you're expanding your borders... or you've forgotten what the word 'treaty' means."

Lucien stood calmly at the front.

"I suggest you lower your voice," he replied.

"You don't scare me, Hollow wolf."

"No," Lucien said softly. "But your Alpha should be scared. Because border games are how wars start. And we've bled enough."

The scout spat on the ground.

Then, almost too casually, he added, "Crimson Vale's already taken notice. They're watching your moves."

That name caught Rhea's attention.

Crimson Vale.

A reclusive pack.

Silent.

Known for ancient rituals and bloodline magic.

If they were paying attention, things were worse than anyone admitted.

The Thornshade scout turned on his heel and vanished back into the mist.

No fight.

But no peace, either.

---

Later that night, Rhea found herself in the war archives, a cold stone room buried beneath the Hollow's inner keep. Scrolls. Maps. Dust.

She shouldn't have been there.

But curiosity was louder than fear.

She needed to understand how the packs had held peace this long-and what could shake it.

A voice broke her focus.

"You won't find answers down here."

She turned sharply.

Lucien stood in the doorway, arms folded, a faint shadow of amusement in his expression.

"You followed me?"

"I watched you slip past two guards and break into the records room. Thought I'd see what was so interesting."

Rhea shrugged. "You don't know me."

"No," he said, stepping into the room. "But I'm starting to."

He moved closer. Too close.

Her heart kicked once in her chest.

She didn't step back.

Instead, she held his gaze. "Do you always stalk your enemies?"

"I don't think of you as an enemy."

"Then what do you think of me?"

Lucien didn't answer.

Instead, he reached out and brushed something from her shoulder-a cobweb, maybe. His fingers barely touched her.

But her whole body reacted.

Heat under skin. Pressure behind the ribs. Breath that didn't come easy.

"I think," he said slowly, "that you're here for more than you admit."

"And I think," she whispered, "you're dangerously close to wanting the same thing."

Their eyes locked.

The space between them burned.

Then he stepped back.

Too soon.

Too fast.

He cleared his throat. "The Alpha's calling a summit. One week from now. The packs will meet."

Rhea blinked. "Here?"

"No. On neutral ground. Hollowspire Ridge."

Her blood chilled.

That meant only one thing:

The peace was breaking.

---

Back in her room, she didn't light the fire.

She sat in the dark, listening to the wind howl through the Hollow's narrow stone corridors.

Five packs.

Five alphas.

One meeting.

And something moving under their feet, whispering of old blood, broken trust, and the kind of danger that didn't care about politics.

A soft knock came at her door.

She froze.

Another note slid under it.

This one said only:

"The Crimson Vale watches you."