The morning air was damp and heavy as they made their way up toward the Dome. None of them spoke. Moose’s claws scraped deep lines in the cobblestones with every step, his body tense and straining against the leash of Lyra’s will. Pixie darted ahead, doubled back, circled, her energy sharp and restless enough to make Amelia whimper at her heels. Buster kept his head low, muttering under his breath, the sound more like a growl than words.

  Two Guild guards flanked them, spears in hand, eyes wary. They hadn’t wanted to come at all, but Gwenna had insisted. She walked at Lyra’s side, jaw tight, one hand resting on her bow as if she expected trouble.

  “They’re not going to let you inside,” she warned for the third time. “This is as close as we get.”

  Lyra’s ears twitched, but she didn’t argue. They all knew it already. They weren’t going to see Ethan, not really. The guards would never allow them near the cells. But close was enough. Close meant they could try the bond.

  When they reached the side of the Dome, Moose pressed forward until his chest was against the stone, breathing hard. He’s in there. I can feel him. He needs us. His thoughts weren’t words so much as a pulse of desperate certainty that bled into all of them.

  Pixie trembled where she stood, tail thrashing. We can chew the doors! Dig under the walls! Something! The flare of her emotion hit like sparks, scattering into everyone else. Amelia whined and pressed against Lyra’s legs, the cub’s small body vibrating with the Pack’s storm.

  Lyra knelt, putting one hand on Amelia’s back and the other against the cold stone wall of the Dome. She closed her eyes and reached. The bond stretched thin, twisted, but then it caught. A thread. Ethan was there.

  Relief flooded through them so strongly it almost dropped Moose where he stood. Pixie barked once, high and sharp, before the sound collapsed into a hiccup of sobs. Even Buster froze, the low growl cut off mid-rumble, as the bond carried back Ethan’s steadiness. He was alive. He was holding together. He was telling them he was safe.

  But the steadiness was only the beginning. The instant it touched them, the Pack broke.

  Moose’s panic crashed into the bond like thunder, every thought slamming forward in frantic bursts: He’s alive! He’s here! He’s safe! His relief was so big it nearly bowled the others over.

  Pixie exploded. She barked, sobbed, shouted through the bond all at once, every emotion firing in jagged flashes. We knew it! We knew it! Don’t you dare leave again! We’ll chew the walls down! We’ll dig you out! Her chaos bounced from one mind to the next until even Amelia whimpered under the weight of it.

  Buster rumbled like a low drum, but even he was swept up in the tide. He’s fine. He said he’s fine. I told you he’d be fine. Doubt still sat under his words, but the relief overpowered it, leaking into every other voice.

  Amelia’s tiny presence quivered, raw and desperate. Alpha! Alpha! Don’t go away! Her thoughts cut sharper than her cries, stabbing straight through the chaos until everyone felt the cub’s aching need.

  And then it all collided—Moose’s frantic pacing, Pixie’s bursts of feeling, Buster’s weary rumble, Amelia’s desperate pleas—tangled together in a cacophony of overlapping voices and feelings that hit louder than sound. It was too much, too messy, everyone talking and feeling at once, but at the center of the storm was Ethan’s voice, steady and calm. I’m here. I’m safe. Hold on.

  Lyra’s ears flicked back as the storm swelled, voices and feelings bouncing through the bond until it rattled her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed back, not against Ethan but against the Pack, forcing her own steadiness into the noise. Breathe. Quiet. Enough.

  The others didn’t hear the words so much as feel the intent. Moose’s pacing slowed, though his chest still heaved like a forge bellows. Pixie hiccupped and choked on her own flood of emotion, tail thumping once before stilling. Even Amelia pressed close to her legs, shivering but quieter now that Lyra’s calm pressed over her like a blanket.

  Through the haze, the threads glimmered in her vision. They twisted and tangled, pulling taut around the Dome, drawing too much attention. If they stayed here, if they let this go on, those threads snapped in ugly ways—guards swarming, suspicion sharpening, Ethan buried deeper in chains. The futures lined up like dominoes, and she could see them all falling wrong.

  “We have to go,” she said, her voice low but cutting. She met Gwenna’s sharp gaze and gave a single nod. “He’s safe. That’s what matters. We can’t stay.”

  The Guild guards looked grateful for the command, stepping in to nudge them back from the Dome wall. Moose resisted, claws scraping stone, but Lyra pressed harder through the bond—gentle, firm, undeniable. The threads shifted, steadied, showing her a line where they walked away without incident. She clung to it and pulled the Pack with her.

  Moose’s claws scraped the cobblestones as they were herded down the street, every step reluctant. His chest was still tight, his ears flat, but he didn’t lunge back toward the Dome. The bond carried his ache like a bruise that wouldn’t fade, yet beneath it ran a thudding rhythm of relief. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. He repeated it over and over, less to convince the others and more to chain his own panic down.

  Pixie skittered ahead, then back again, circling the Pack with restless energy. Every few strides, her mouth opened with another outburst that never made it past her teeth. The bond caught the edges of her thoughts anyway—we could bite, we could break, we could—but each time she caught Lyra’s steady gaze, the wildness wavered. She growled at the pavement instead and darted back to Amelia’s side.

  Buster lumbered in silence, though his thoughts were anything but quiet. The bond painted him in shades of stubborn determination, a gravelly reassurance leaking through whether he meant to share it or not. He’s alive. He told us. Don’t waste it now. Even his doubt had dulled, though it hummed like a low chord beneath the words.

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  Amelia pressed so close to Lyra’s legs that every step brushed fur against her boots. The cub’s thoughts pulsed small and raw, a whisper that still reached them all: Alpha safe. Alpha safe. It came with flashes of memory—Ethan’s hand, his scent, the safety of his presence. Her relief was so total it made her eyes shine, though her body still trembled.

  By the time they reached the Guild Hall, the Pack was quieter. Not calm, not content—but quieter. The bond had steadied, though the ache of distance throbbed through every thread.

  Inside, Aldric was waiting. He stood behind his desk, cloak draped over one chair, hands clasped behind his back. Gwenna peeled away from the Pack and strode toward him, her boots leaving faint marks of damp grit on the polished floor. Two more Guild officials waited nearby, their faces pinched tight with the weight of politics.

  “Any new info? Report.” Aldric barked with authority, his voice low. His eyes never left Lyra.

  Lyra nodded once, sharp and certain. “He’s alive. He’s holding together. That’s all we know for now.”

  The words should have been comfort. Instead, they dropped into the silence like stones into a well, and everyone waited for the echo.

  Moose’s ears flicked back, the weight of the room pressing on him harder than the Dome’s walls had. Pixie paced near the door, claws clicking in a restless staccato that made one of the officials twitch. Buster settled heavy onto the rug, his tail thumping once before stilling, his grumble echoing faintly in the bond. Amelia curled against Lyra’s boots, her small body trembling but steadying as she clung to the threads Ethan had left them.

  Aldric’s gaze swept over each of them before landing back on Lyra. “Then we make that enough. If he’s alive, we have time. Time to prepare. Time to make sure this council doesn’t get the chance to bury him deeper.” He leaned forward, both palms flat on the desk. “You’ll train here, every day. Strength, bond work, control. The Guild will provide what we can, and the Academy has already agreed to observe.”

  Gwenna’s mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “They’re not thrilled, but they know better than to ignore what’s happening.”

  Lyra drew in a slow breath, her hand resting on Amelia’s back. Threads shimmered faintly at the edges of her vision—different futures, different paths. Most led to struggle. Some to loss. But a few gleamed brighter, and each one of those began here: training, learning, preparing for what was coming.

  She nodded once. “Then we don’t waste a single day.”

  The next days blurred together. Without Ethan, the Pack threw themselves into work.

  Moose trained in the Guild yard, massive shoulders rising and falling as he braced against a line of padded spears. Professor Tahl circled him with the calm tone of a tutor, coaxing his panic into focus. Breathe. Hold. Release. Every time Moose faltered, the professor’s hand was there on his scruff, steadying. The ache of absence still gnawed at him, but he was learning not to let it own him.

  Pixie tried—really tried—to keep herself in line. At first she was a whirlwind, bolting through agility runs and scattering sand everywhere. But each time she slipped, Gwenna barked her name and sent her back to start. Over and over until she finished a full course without breaking formation. When she did, her tail wagged so hard she nearly fell over, but her eyes gleamed with pride.

  Buster spent most of his time with the Guild brawlers, running drills until his paws ached. The others joked about his grumbling, but he worked harder than any of them. Between rounds, he muttered encouragement through the bond—not much, just enough to remind the others he was still there. Less hiding. Less bottling up. For once, he let them feel how much he cared.

  Amelia grew faster than any of them. The cub carried weights, chased dummies, even practiced her pounce on a padded target that wobbled when struck. Each day she lasted longer before collapsing, her legs stronger, her eyes sharper. She didn’t cling as much anymore. She walked on her own paws, her small determination shining through the bond: For Alpha.

  And Lyra… Lyra carried the rest. She drilled with the instructors, yes, but her true work was keeping the Pack steady. Each night she gathered them close, pressed her palm to Amelia’s fur, and let the threads of fate shimmer around her. She had always followed the flow, letting luck and instinct guide her. Now, staring into the fractured futures, she found herself wanting something more. She wanted to choose. She wanted to fight for a path that kept them whole, Ethan beside her not as a chance meeting of destiny, but as her partner in shaping what came next.

  When the next morning came, Lyra called the Pack together. They’d been restless since training, emotions simmering under the surface, but she saw the difference already—less panic, more control. Moose stood tall instead of pacing. Pixie’s tail wagged in short bursts, not wild arcs. Buster gave his usual grumble but didn’t try to slip into silence. Amelia pressed close but walked on her own paws.

  “We’re going to see him again,” Lyra said, ears pricked. “But this time, no chaos. He needs to feel how strong we’re getting. He needs to know we’re still here, steady, waiting.”

  Moose dipped his head, a deep rumble of agreement. I can do that.

  Pixie’s ears twitched, mischief sparking, but she forced herself to sit. Fine. But I’m still biting someone if they try to stop us.

  Buster rolled his eyes, the bond carrying his usual gravel. At least you’re aiming your teeth at the right people this time.

  Even Amelia lifted her muzzle, determination flashing in her eyes. For Alpha.

  Lyra’s chest swelled as she looked over them. Threads shimmered faintly at the edge of her sight—possible futures curling out from this choice. This time the lines weren’t all disaster. Some gleamed brighter. Some carried the scent of hope. She stepped forward, and the Pack followed her toward the Dome.

  They settled against the wall, calmer than before, their breathing closer to rhythm than panic. Lyra reached first, steadiness pulling the bond taut. The others followed, not in a storm this time but in pulses—relief, warmth, longing—shaped by the work they had done to hold themselves together.

  Ethan answered. The calm came through stronger now, like solid stone under their paws. It wasn’t words, but it carried weight: he was safe, he was holding together, he believed in them.

  Then his joy burst across the bond, bright and sharp, impossible to miss.

  Buster’s ears twitched, and his grumble rumbled through all of them. I saw it in the stats. Intellect went up. That was him.

  Pixie blinked. Wait—you’re checking again? You’re always checking!

  Damn right I am, Buster shot back, the weight of his voice edged with something close to pride. And it proves he was right. He’s still working, even in there.

  Relief rolled through the Pack in a new wave, steadier than before. Moose’s chest loosened, his breath less ragged. Pixie’s tail wagged in short, sharp bursts. Amelia pressed her muzzle to Lyra’s knee, her small thought pulsing clear: Alpha strong.

  Lyra let the bond’s glow wash through her, threads shimmering brighter at the edges of her sight. The Pack wasn’t screaming this time, nor fraying at the seams. They had steadied, held themselves together, and grown stronger for it. And through it all, Ethan was still there, his presence anchoring them.

  This time, they left the side of the Dome not with emptiness and anxiety, but with a shared purpose—the determination to become stronger together, as a team.