Chapter 35: The Calm Before
The hours after the trial bled into a tense, unnatural quiet. The Keep was a coiled spring, every wolf holding their breath, every surface polished to a grim readiness. Lyra stood in the command center, the holographic displays casting a pale blue glow on her face. Pins of light represented their forces—Valen's diversionary team moving into position to the west, and Kael's smaller, crucial strike force, a single, sharp pinprick heading east toward the relic's location.
Finn was a whirlwind of quiet intensity at his console, his fingers flying over the keys. "Valen's in position. Kael's team has entered the storm drain system. All comms are green. For now."
Lyra nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The plan was sound. It was bold, it was clever, and it relied on the enemy's arrogance. But in the silent, waiting heart of the command center, every possible failure played out behind her eyes. A collapsed tunnel. A patrolling Nightclaw guard who glanced down the wrong manhole. A malfunction in the EMP device. So many variables. So many ways for it all to shatter.
"They'll be fine," a quiet voice said beside her.
She turned to find Ronan. He was geared up for the midnight diversion, his tactical vest strapped tight, weapons checked and secured. But for now, he stood with her, his hazel eyes studying the map.
"You should be with Valen's team," Lyra said, though she was grateful for the company.
"I go when you give the signal," he replied. "We have time." He paused, his gaze still fixed on the screen. "What you did in there… with Seraphina. That was… impressive."
"It was necessary."
"It was more than that," Ronan said, finally looking at her. "You didn't just set a trap. You understood her. You knew her pride and her desperation would make her correct you. You played her perfectly." He shook his head, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. "Kael sees a queen when he looks at you. The pack sees a warrior. But I think… I see a strategist. Maybe the best we have."
The compliment, coming from him, felt weightier than any other. Ronan was not given to flattery. His loyalty was to the pack's survival, and he was acknowledging her as essential to it.
"We'll see how good a strategist I am in a few hours," she said, her voice soft.
He was silent for a moment, the hum of the computers filling the space between them. "When this is over," he began, then stopped, choosing his words carefully. "Things will be different. The pack… Kael… he's not the same man he was before you."
Lyra looked at him, sensing the unspoken conflict beneath his words. "And you, Ronan? Are you the same?"
His gaze was steady, honest. "No. I'm not." He didn't elaborate, but the admission hung in the air, a testament to the shifts their world had undergone. "Just… be ready for what comes after the battle. Victory has its own complications."
Before she could ask him to explain, he gave a curt nod. "I should go. Midnight approaches." He turned and left the command center, his departure leaving a void of silence that felt louder than his presence.
Lyra pushed his cryptic words aside. There was no room for personal complications now. There was only the mission.
The next few hours were an exercise in controlled agony. She monitored the feeds, watched the clock, and fought the urge to tap into Kael's private comm channel just to hear his voice. She was the calm center, the unmoving rock. She could not afford to be the worried mate.
Finally, the digital clock on the main display clicked over to 23:45.
"It's time," Finn said, his voice tight.
Lyra took a deep breath, her finger hovering over the comm link to Valen. This was it. The first move in their endgame. "Valen. You are clear to engage. Give them a show."
The response was immediate. "With pleasure, Luna."
On the western sector of the map, the pinpricks of light representing Valen's forces erupted into activity. Distant, through the reinforced walls of the Keep, they could hear the faint, thumping echo of explosions. The diversion had begun.
The main screen switched to a live feed from a drone. The western flank of the Nightclaw territory was a chaos of fire and movement. Valen's wolves were hitting hard and fast, exactly as planned. And just as they'd hoped, Nightclaw forces were scrambling to respond, their disciplined lines buckling under the ferocity of the "all-out" assault.
"They're taking the bait," Finn reported, a grin spreading across his face. "They're pulling reserves from the central sector. The path to the spire is clearing."
Lyra's heart hammered against her ribs. So far, so good. Now, for the real strike.
She opened the private channel. "Kael? The diversion is underway. The path is opening."
There was a burst of static, then his voice, low and steady, filled her ear. "We see it. We're moving. Thirty minutes to target."
Thirty minutes. An eternity.
She watched the battle on the screen, her stomach a knot of tension. Valen was a master, her forces striking and melting back into the ruins, a ghost army harrying a much larger foe. But Nightclaw was adapting, their discipline reasserting itself. The window of opportunity was closing.
Twenty minutes.
"Kael, they're reorganizing. You're going to have company soon."
"Understood. Picking up the pace."
The comms from Kael's team became terser, punctuated by the sounds of their movement—the splash of water, the scuff of boots on concrete, ragged breathing. They were running.
Ten minutes.
"I have a visual on the target," Ronan's voice came through, he was with Kael. "The base of the spire. Minimal guards. They really did strip this place for Valen's party."
"Plant the device and get out," Lyra ordered, her voice sharp. "Don't get greedy."
Five minutes.
The feed from the drone showed Nightclaw commanders finally realizing the western assault was a feint. Orders were shouted, units were being rerouted back toward the city center, toward the spire.
"Kael, they're coming back. You're out of time."
"Almost… there…" Kael's voice was strained. "The device is set. Arming now. Fall back! Fall back!"
On the map, the pinprick of light that was Kael's team began to move away from the spire, a frantic retreat.
"Finn, how long on the timer?" Lyra demanded.
"I'm reading it now… it's set for… dawn. Exactly as planned. They're clear. They just need to—"
A massive explosion lit up the drone feed from the western front—a larger blast than any they had set. A secondary defense, triggered by Nightclaw.
"Kael! Valen's hit a minefield! Their retreat path is cut off!"
Static. Then Ronan's voice, grim. "We see it. We're cut off from the drains. We'll have to go to ground. Find another way out."
They were trapped. Behind enemy lines, with a bomb set to go off at dawn and half the Nightclaw army between them and safety.
Lyra's blood ran cold. The plan was in shambles. The device was set, but the team was compromised.
"Lyra," Kael's voice was calm, deathly calm. "The mission is the priority. The device will activate at dawn. You hold the command. You see this through. No matter what."
No matter what. The words were a spear through her heart. He was telling her to let him die if it came to that.
She looked at the screens, at the chaos, at the trapped pinprick of light that was her mate. The calm center shattered.
"No," she whispered. Then, her voice hardening with a steel Finn had never heard, she said, "Finn, reroute drone three. I need a thermal scan of the eastern sector, now. Ronan, I'm looking at your position. There's an old maintenance tunnel, fifty yards north of your location. It's not on any of our maps. It should get you back to the drains."
There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end.
"Lyra, how do you—?"
"I spent years learning every crack in this city," she cut Kael off, her mind racing, overlaying a mental map onto the digital one. "It's how I survived. Now move! You have maybe five minutes before their main force arrives."
She heard the sounds of movement, of hope rekindled.
"We see it!" Ronan confirmed. "Heading for it now."
Lyra stood, her hands braced on the console, her entire being focused on that single point of light, guiding them, willing them to safety. The strategist was gone. The Luna was gone. All that was left was the woman fighting for the man she loved.
The calm was over. The storm was here, and she was standing right in the eye of it.