The morning stretched thin over the stronghold, its pale light filtering through the cracks in the stone walls and pooling on the floor where Ethan stood. He’d barely slept, just a couple of hours slumped against a bench after the kids drifted off, but the ache in his bones wasn’t enough to slow him down. The hall hummed with quiet activity—Kael’s hammer clanged against a slab of stone at the entrance, sealing up gaps from last night’s fight, while Vara hauled a stack of warped planks over to help. Their grunts and muttered curses bounced off the walls, a rough kind of music that felt more like home than Ethan expected.

  He rubbed his eyes, the sting of smoke still lingering from the fire they’d kept going all night. The air carried a mix of burnt wood, damp fur, and the faint coppery whiff of blood from the hunters they’d dragged out at dawn. Sarah was over by the hearth now, handing out the last scraps of bread to the kids, her small hands steady despite the shadows under her eyes. She caught him watching and flashed a tired grin, like she knew he needed it. He nodded back, feeling that familiar tug in his chest—she was tougher than she looked, and it made him want to be tougher too.

  Rhea stepped up beside him, her boots scuffing the gritty floor. She’d tied her auburn hair back, but a few strands hung loose, framing her sharp face. “You’re staring again,” she said, her voice low but teasing, a flicker of warmth breaking through her usual steel.

  “Just checking they’re okay,” Ethan said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. The scroll crinkled against his ribs, a reminder he couldn’t shake. “You get anything new from that tracker?”

  She shook her head, pulling the device from her belt. Its screen glowed faintly as she flicked it on, the bluish light catching the edge of her jaw. “Nada. Whatever signal it was sending cut out after the fight. Either they’ve backed off, or they’re smart enough to go quiet.”

  “Smart’s more likely,” he muttered, glancing toward the entrance where Kael was swearing at a stubborn chunk of rock. “They’ll hit us again—Richards, the blood clan, maybe both. We’ve got to be ready.”

  Rhea’s silver eyes met his, steady and unflinching. “We will be. But you need to eat something—starving yourself won’t make you a better shield.”

  He smirked, a little crooked. “You sound like my old sergeant.”

  “Good,” she said, nudging a tin cup of water his way. “Drink, at least. You’re no use to us half-dead.”

  He took it, the metal cool against his palm, and drained it in one go, the water cutting through the grit in his throat. She was right—he felt the hunger gnawing at him, but there wasn’t much left to go around. He handed the cup back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Let’s check out what Mara mentioned—that storage room. If there’s anything useful down there, we need it now.”

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  She nodded, falling into step as they crossed the hall. Mara was over by the kids, showing Lira how to sharpen a dagger on a whetstone, her gray eyes flicking up as they approached. “You two headed somewhere?” she asked, her voice rough but curious.

  “Downstairs,” Ethan said. “You said there’s gear stashed away—might be something we can use.”

  Mara stood, dusting off her hands. “Worth a look. I’ll come with. Lira, keep an eye on things up here.”

  The girl nodded, her small fingers gripping the dagger like it was part of her now, and Ethan led the way to a shadowed corner where a heavy stone slab marked the entrance to the lower levels. It took all three of them to shift it, the scrape of rock against rock grinding in their ears until it slid aside, revealing a steep staircase plunging into the dark. The air wafting up was cold and stale, thick with dust and the faint metallic scent of old iron.

  Ethan went first, his boots thumping on the worn steps, the medallion warming against his chest like it knew something he didn’t. The storage room was bigger than he’d expected—a low-ceilinged chamber lined with shelves, cluttered with rusted spears, cracked shields, and stacks of yellowed parchment. Cobwebs draped the corners, swaying as they moved, and the faint skitter of something small—a mouse, maybe—echoed in the gloom.

  “Looks like a graveyard,” Rhea said, her voice bouncing off the stone as she ran a finger along a spear shaft, frowning at the rust flaking onto her skin.

  “More like a time capsule,” Mara said, stepping past her to a shelf near the back. She pulled down a leather pouch, its stitching frayed but holding, and dumped its contents onto a wooden crate—arrowheads, dull but solid, glinting faintly in the light from Rhea’s device. “We used to craft these ourselves. Haven’t had the hands for it in years.”

  Ethan picked one up, rolling it between his fingers. It was heavier than it looked, the edges still sharp enough to bite. “Could work with a bow,” he said. “If we’ve got any.”

  “Over there,” Mara nodded toward a corner where a couple of warped longbows leaned against the wall, their strings long gone. “Need new cords, but the wood’s good.”

  Rhea was already digging through a pile of scrolls, her brow creasing as she unrolled one. “Ethan, look at this,” she said, spreading it out on the crate. It was a map—hand-drawn, the ink faded but legible, marking the stronghold and a scattering of dots across the mountains. “Wolf clan outposts,” she said. “Some of these might still have people.”

  Mara leaned in, her breath catching. “That’s my father’s hand,” she said, her voice softening. “He mapped every refuge he could find—said we’d need them when the blood clan came calling again.”

  Ethan traced a dot maybe ten miles north, the medallion pulsing as his finger lingered. “If there’s anyone left out there, we could use them,” he said. “More wolves, more strength.”

  “Risky,” Mara said, her tone sharpening. “Could be abandoned—or worse, blood clan traps.”

  “Worth checking,” Rhea countered, rolling the map back up. “We’re sitting ducks here if we don’t grow.”

  Ethan nodded, tucking the map into his jacket beside the scroll. “We’ll scout it tomorrow—small team, quiet. But first, we shore up what we’ve got.”

  They hauled up what they could—arrowheads, a few usable blades, the bows—leaving the rest for later. Back in the hall, Kael and Vara had patched the entrance, a rough barricade of stone and timber that wouldn’t hold forever but bought them time. Torin and Jace slipped in from their patrol, the lean scout brushing dirt off his hands. “Forest’s clear,” Torin said, his voice clipped. “For now.”

  “Good,” Ethan said, setting the gear on the table. “We’ve got weapons—start fixing what we can. Rhea, any chance that device can rig us a warning system?”

  She smirked, already pulling tools from her pack. “Give me an hour.”

  Mara watched, arms crossed, a flicker of something like pride in her gray eyes. “You’re not half bad at this, Mason.”

  “Learning as I go,” he said, meeting her gaze. “We’ve all got reasons to fight—let’s make it count.”

  Sarah wandered over, a blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. “You’re not leaving again, are you?” she asked, her voice small but steady.

  “Not yet,” he said, crouching to her level. “We’re staying right here—making this place ours.”

  She nodded, leaning into him for a quick hug before scampering back to the kids. Ethan stood, catching Rhea’s eye—she gave him a faint smile, her hands busy with wires. Outside, the forest stretched quiet under the rising sun, but he felt it—the cold tug at the edge of his mind, the hunters lurking just out of reach. The medallion pulsed, a quiet warning, and he knew: this was only the beginning.

  [To be continued…]