Calvin left his wooden wolf on Fiona's table.

I only noticed when we reached the Omega quarters. His hand went to his pocket. His face went white.

"I'll get it," I said. "Stay inside. Lock the door."

The healing wing was dark when I got back. But a lamp still burned in Fiona's back room. The door stood open an inch. I heard two voices.

One was Fiona's. The other was low and rough, like stones rolling together.

Elder Dorothy.

I stopped in the hall. I should have knocked. I didn't.

"Cloudy," Dorothy said. "Like river water after a storm."

"Yes, Elder." Fiona sounded tired. "I didn't write it in the pack record. If I log it, the Alpha sees it. And whoever is doing this sees it too."

A long silence. Then a sharp *thunk*. Dorothy's oak staff, hitting the floor.

"I have watched that she-wolf carry bowls to the Omega kitchen for months," Dorothy said. "Months. And I said nothing."

My fingers dug into the doorframe.

"Then what do we do?" Fiona asked.

"Take his blood. Every week. Seal each vial with wax and date it. Keep none of them here." A pause. "Bring them to my cottage. Under the floor, by the hearth."

"And then?"

"And then we wait." Dorothy's voice dropped. "Pack law does not let an Elder move against a reigning Alpha's household on a smell and a feeling. We need proof he cannot shout down. Proof that would stand before the Moon Goddess herself."

"And if the boy doesn't have time for proof?"

Nobody answered.

I stepped back from the door. Very slowly. Very quietly.

The wooden wolf sat on the edge of the exam table. I could see it through the gap. I left it there. I would come back in the morning, when nobody was inside.

I walked home through the cold. Part of me wanted to burst in and scream at them both. *You knew. You suspected. And you waited.*

But a bigger part of me felt something I hadn't felt in years.

I wasn't alone.

---

After that, Dorothy started showing up.

She never said why. She just appeared at the Omega kitchen at supper. She leaned on her staff and watched Calvin eat. Once, she pressed a honey cake into his hand. He looked at it like it was gold.

Nicole noticed. Of course she noticed.

The next week, Calvin's supper bowl came from her hands as always. I bent over it before he ate. I breathed in.

The bitter smell was fainter. Almost gone.

For one stupid moment, my heart lifted. Maybe I had imagined it. Maybe she had stopped.

But Calvin's hands still shook. The circles under his eyes didn't fade. Two nights later, he fainted on the stairs with a basket of linens.

She hadn't stopped. She had just gotten careful.

---

On Thursday, I was scrubbing the floor outside the east wing. That was Nicole's wing. Harrison gave it to her the year Calvin was born.

Her door was half open. I heard her soft, sweet voice, the one she used on Harrison.

"The north corner, darling. Where the wall is lowest. You stand there."

"Why?" That was Camden. Bored.

"Because the true heir doesn't step aside for anyone. If someone is in your way on that ledge…" She laughed. It sounded like little bells. "Well. Show them who's the Alpha."

"Even *him*?"

"*Especially* him."

My brush stopped. Water dripped from my knuckles.

The door swung wider. Nicole stood there in long silk sleeves, smiling down at me.

"Oh, Briana." She touched her lace handkerchief to her lips. "You missed a spot."

She closed the door.

I stared at the wet stone. I told myself it was just drill talk. Pups pushing for position. Camden was a bully. That was nothing new.

But my wolf, the silent thing inside me that had growled for the first time at the banquet, lifted its head.

It didn't like that word. *Ledge.*

---

The next morning, Harrison called a pack assembly.

The whole pack stood on the frozen field below the pack house. Warriors in front. Elders to the side. Omegas at the very back, near the mud by the stables. That was where I stood.

Harrison stood on the stone steps. The black steel signet ring flashed on his hand. Nicole stood one step below him. Camden stood beside her, the gold-hilted blade on his hip.

"In three days," Harrison said, "the youth drill will be held at the old watchtower."

A murmur went through the pups. The watchtower was the tallest thing in Ironveil. Gray stone. A narrow walkway around the top, with a wall no higher than a child's waist.

"Gamma Silas will lead it." Harrison's eyes moved over the crowd. They skipped me like I was a fence post. Then they stopped.

On Calvin.

His jaw tightened. I saw the tendon twitch.

"The Luna has asked, many times, that her son receive training." He said *her son*. Not *my son*. "Fine. The boy will join the drill."

That was all. He turned to Silas and started talking about patrols.

But beside me, Calvin made a sound. A tiny gasp.

I looked down.

His whole face had opened up. Like a window thrown wide on the first warm day. His eyes, my eyes, were shining.

"Mama," he whispered. "He said my name. Almost."

He hadn't. Not even close.

"He *picked* me," Calvin breathed. "I get to train. With the others. With *Papa's* pack."

I wanted to smile for him. I tried.

Then I looked at his hands.

They hung at his sides, small and pale. And they were shaking. Hard. Not from cold. Not from fear. From whatever was in his blood that Fiona couldn't test and Dorothy couldn't prove.

He pushed them into his pockets so nobody would see.

Across the field, Nicole turned her head. Her amber eyes found Calvin. Then they found me.

She smiled.

And beside her, Camden curled his fingers slowly around the hilt of his blade.

The night before the drill, Calvin couldn't sleep.

I heard his bare feet on the cold floor. Then a soft knock. He never just walked in. Not even into my room.

"Mama? Are you awake?"

"Come here, baby."

He climbed onto my narrow cot and tucked his knees under his chin. The Omega quarters had no heat. I pulled my thin blanket around both of us. He was shivering. He was always shivering now.

"I can't stop thinking about tomorrow," he whispered. "What if I'm slow? What if Papa hears I was slow?"

"Then you'll be slow," I said. "Slow is fine. Slow means careful."

He didn't look convinced. Instead, he opened his fist.

It was the wooden wolf. I had gone back for it the morning after I left it on Fiona's table. I'd slipped it under his pillow before he woke up. He'd hugged me so hard that day, I almost cried.

Now it looked different. He held it up to the moonlight from the window.

"Look," he said. "I fixed it."

On the wolf's flank, he had carved a tiny crescent moon. It was crooked. One tip was thicker than the other. He must have worked on it for hours with that dull kitchen knife.

"It's beautiful," I said. And I meant it.

"I named him." He turned the wolf in his small fingers. "His name is Silver."

"Silver?"

"Because silver is the strongest color." He said it like it was a fact everyone knew. "Gold is pretty. But silver is strong. Silver doesn't break."

Something in my chest went very quiet. That old, deep thing that had growled at the banquet stirred, just once. Like it had heard its name.

"Who told you that?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Nobody. I just know."

He yawned. His head dropped onto my shoulder. "When I get my wolf, I want him to look like Silver. Then Papa will see."

I couldn't answer. I just held him.

He fell asleep in a few minutes, still holding the wooden wolf. I didn't move. I watched his chest. It rose and fell, rose and fell. So thin. So shallow. Like a bird's.

I bent my face to his hair. Sweet rain. Cedar bark.

And under it, that bitter metal smell. Like an old coin. Like a warning I couldn't read.

I stayed awake until the window turned gray.

---

The drill started at dawn.

Omegas weren't allowed near the tower. I stood at the edge of the training ground with the other servants, my hands wrapped in my apron. The wind was strong today. It came off the hills and moaned around the old stone.

The watchtower looked taller than I remembered. Gray. Cracked. That narrow walkway at the top, and that low wall. Waist-high on a child.

*Ledge.*

Gamma Silas clapped his hands. "Up! Go! Show me what you've got!"

Camden went first. Of course he did. His combat leathers were black with gold thread, made just for him. He climbed the outer handholds like he was born on them. Fast. Smooth. The pups below cheered.

Calvin went last.

He was wearing Camden's old training shirt. It hung off his shoulders. He reached for the first handhold and pulled. His arms shook right away.

Other pups passed him. One kicked loose a pebble that bounced off his head. He didn't stop. He kept climbing.

I knew what other pups felt when they climbed. Their wolves woke up inside them. Gave them strength in their arms, sureness in their feet. Calvin had nothing. His wolf never answered. Every inch he gained, he gained alone.

"Come on, baby," I whispered. "Slow is fine."

He reached the top. He pulled himself over the wall onto the walkway. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Then Silas turned away.

A little girl at the base had slipped. She was crying. Silas walked over to fix her grip. He had his back to the tower. He was talking. Laughing a little.

Nobody was watching the top.

Nobody but me.

---

Up on the parapet, Camden walked toward Calvin.

He didn't hurry. He just walked. Calvin backed up a step. Then another. His back hit the outer wall. The north corner. Where the wall was lowest.

My feet started moving before my mind did.

The wind screamed across the territory. It pulled at Calvin's too-big shirt. It whipped his hair across his face.

Camden leaned in close. His mouth was near Calvin's ear. He said something.

I couldn't hear it. Nobody could. Later, people would argue about the words.

But I saw my son's face.

It crumpled. Not like a pup who got scared. Like a pup who just lost something. Like someone reached inside him and took the last thing he had.

His hand went to his pocket. To Silver.

"*Calvin!*" I screamed.

Camden put both hands on his chest.

And pushed.

It wasn't a stumble. It wasn't an accident. I saw Camden's elbows lock. I saw him lean his whole weight into it.

Calvin went over the wall.

He didn't scream. That's what I'll remember forever. He didn't make a sound. He just fell. His arms reached for nothing. His shirt filled with wind.

I was running. I was running and I was too far and I knew I was too far.

He hit the stone courtyard.

The sound was small. Flat. Wet.

And every wolf on the training ground went silent.