Chapter 30: Whispers at the Edge of the Light

The first sign that something was wrong did not come as a threat. It came as a feeling.

Rain stood alone in the kitchen of the farmhouse just before dawn, a mug of coffee cooling in her hands as she stared out across the fields. The land was quiet. Too quiet for someone who had learned to trust instinct over noise. The wolves slept. The barns were still. The world felt ... calm. And yet. Something in her refused to settle. Not fear. Awareness.

Jer found her there a few minutes later. “You’re up early,” he said softly. Rain didn’t turn right away. “I don’t think that woman we met yesterday was just being friendly.” Jer leaned against the counter. “The one from high school?” Rain nodded. “Lynn.” Jer stiffened—not visibly, but enough for Rain to feel it. “You didn’t mention her name last night,” he said carefully. “I didn’t want to make it something until I knew it was something,” Rain replied. “But she lied to me. I don’t know about what. Just that she did.” Jer was quiet for a long moment. “That’s how she always was,” he said finally. “Never loud. Never obvious. Just ... positioned.” Rain turned then. “Then we need to pay attention.” Jer nodded. “We will.”

But as Rain moved toward the stove, already shifting into the thousand quiet responsibilities of building something that mattered, Jer’s thoughts stayed behind. With one name. Lynn. The timing felt wrong. The coincidence felt worse. She hadn’t just reappeared. She had chosen her moment. Jer leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely as he stared at nothing in particular. I can handle this, he told himself. Not out of pride. Out of instinct. The same instinct that had kept squads alive overseas. The same instinct that had always whispered: protect first, explain later. He began running possibilities through his mind. What Lynn might want. How far she might go. What could be done quietly—socially, strategically—to keep her away from Rain. From the pack. From anything that mattered. He didn’t say any of it aloud. Not yet. Because some part of him still believed this was his problem to manage. A man’s problem. A past he could contain. And in that quiet decision—to plan alone instead of stand together—Jer made the first mistake that never looks like a mistake at the time. Only later. When it costs more than it ever should have.