From above, a pair stood watch by the edge of the hole.
Of course she knew both. Brennan along with Cole. Training had been hers to give. Strong build, sharp reactions - that was Brennan, someone who listened and did what needed doing. As for Cole, still green, fidgeting a bit. His eyes dropped to Sage now and then, as if expecting her to vanish into air.
Flight never crossed her mind. She stayed grounded by choice.
Yet waiting around for disaster didn't fit her plans one bit.
Only two torches now flickered, one left, one right by the pit, painting shadows in warm dimness. Gone were the watchers. Empty sat the high edges around. From up above came noise - feet moving, words through walls, plates tapping together. People kept busy like nothing was wrong, though down below their strongest fighter lay bound on cold rock, hours slipping away.
What stuck with you about packs, maybe, is how loyalty works like cash - and once used, never comes back. Six years gone, handed to Crimson Howl by Sage without counting the cost. Fighting off rogues marked her ribs. Guarding boundaries wore down her paws. Teaching pups tired out her voice. Blood soaked into their soil more than once. Yet when silence fell, not even a growl rose to name her worth.
Not one.
A faint rumble rose in Sage's throat, her wolf nudging at the edges of awareness. The sound barely carried, more felt than heard, deep within her bones.
Funny thing, knowing it already, thought Sage. Funny how that works.
Again she checked the chains. Not fast. Deliberate movements kept her safe from eyes down the hall. Her hand closed on the left cuff's root - there, metal fused with rusted pin and rock older than names. Thumb flat now, pressing into the cold face of the wall.
There.
A thin split stretches downward from the bolt hole into the flooring. Decades old, most likely shaped by slow leaks and changing temperatures over time. Not noticeable unless you happen to be searching for exactly that. To anyone else, just a mark among many.
Sage was looking.
What she required was leverage. Force came next on the list. A distraction followed close behind.
It was 9:47 PM when she received it. Not earlier, not later - just then.
Footsteps echoed through the hall. Each tap a beat on cold rock below. Down she came, twisting round the old stairs linking cellar to storage. Men at post grew stiff in their stance. Then air shifted - sweet cream, warm leaves, something fierce beneath it all. That was when Sage caught her breath. Not from fear. From knowing.
Vivienne.
Out of shadows, the Luna moved into the glow as if entering a performance. Her white gown untouched by dust or time. Hair like sunlight pulled back without fuss. Over her shoulders hung a cloak trimmed in fur - wolf, it looked like - and that detail stuck in Sage's mind, sharp and sour. The animal meant something, but not kindness.
Vivienne turned toward the guards. "Go now," she told them.
Brennan hesitated. "Luna, the Alpha said - "
Vivienne spoke without raising her voice. Silence carried weight when you held the Luna's claim. Her link to the Alpha shaped how words landed. Lower-ranked wolves sensed orders deep in their frame, not just in ears. That kind of presence needed no shout.
Cole followed close behind Brennan, both moving up the steps in silence.
Footsteps grew quiet. Only then did Vivienne move, lowering herself near the pit's rim. In the half-gloom, her gaze locked onto Sage's. Blue eyes held steady across the dark.
"You look terrible," Vivienne said.
"You look like you're enjoying this."
Vivienne smiled. "I wanted to see you before... well. Before."
"Before you have me executed for crimes you committed."
The smile didn't waver. "Crimes are a matter of perspective, Sage. I prefer to think of it as housekeeping."
A clenched feeling locked Sage's jaw. Chains shook, making noise.
"You could have just transferred me out," Sage said. "Sent me to another pack. I would have gone quietly."
"No, you wouldn't have." Vivienne tilted her head. "That's your problem, Sage. You don't know how to be quiet. You don't know how to look the other way. You found those financial records and instead of forgetting them - instead of understanding that some things exist above your rank - you marched into the Alpha's office and demanded answers."
"Four wolves are dead because of whatever you and Declan are doing."
"Four wolves are dead because they were stationed on a border that was always going to be tested. That's war. That's pack life. You of all people should understand acceptable losses."
A sudden rush carried Sage ahead. Then - jerk - the links locked tight, stopping her hard. Burning metal carved new trails across her skin. Pain flared, but she held her jaw shut, refusing to react.
Vivienne didn't flinch.
Over there, the Luna whispered. That legendary Sage Blackwood rage. Funny thing? It's why setting you up worked so smoothly. People assume you're unstable. They believe you rush into things without pausing to reflect. Once proof appeared linking you, nobody hesitated. Trust vanished like smoke. It had to be you, right? Not someone calm - no, the furious fighter breaking every rule instead
Breath came hard to Sage. The animal inside her kicked, tired but wild.
"What are you really doing?" Sage asked. "The money. The weapons. The outside contacts. What's the play, Vivienne?"
Vivienne rose to her feet. Her fingers, neatly groomed, glided over the fabric of her dress.
"You'll be dead in two hours," she said. "It doesn't matter what the play is. You won't be around to see it."
Her back faced the room as she walked away.
"Vivienne."
The Luna paused.
"When I get out of here," Sage said quietly, "and I will get out of here - I'm going to find out what you're doing. I'm going to find proof. And I'm going to bring it to every pack that will listen."
A glance came over Vivienne's shoulder. In her blue eyes, a spark - something true appeared. Not quite fear. Yet awareness crept in. A hunter's pause, wondering if the hunted could bite.
Vivienne spoke softly, her words drifting like leaves. "Farewell, Sage." Then silence filled the space between them.
Click. Click. Click.
Up the stairs went the sound of heels, then silence took over.
Stillness settled. Half a minute passed. Then another sixty counts of breath. Overhead, the clank of armor told her the sentries were back in place. Down the hall, Vivienne's steps grew thin, swallowed by the warehouse shadows. Only when silence held firm did she move.
Work began after that. She started right away.
Her boots pressed hard into the cold stone. Over the split opening she leaned, muscles tensing. With a slow drag, the work started.
Her arms weren't what she used. It was deeper than that. Each muscle strained forward, driven by raw force - the kind only a wolf keeps after poison burns through. The bolt scraped onward, inching across stone split wide open.
Flickering light stung her eyes. Metal bit deep at her wrists. Down her arms, blood crawled slow before falling drop by drop on cold rock. A voice rose within - not a scream, yet fierce support. The animal roared behind ribs, urging forward.
Bang it open. Smash it apart. Crack it down.
The crack widened.
Sage pulled harder.
A piece of granite broke off, then raced uneven across the ground.
Suddenly, her pulse raced. Upward she looked. Noiseless still were the sentries.
A tug came from her hands. Not much moved - only a tiny bit of the bolt gave way.
Far past the pit's stone edges, past where crates stack near the packhouse, beyond even the wire fences - night lifted a silver face. Moonlight crept above the land, slow and quiet, like breath on glass.
Sage was left with under a hundred twenty minutes.
She pulled harder.