Just like Rhett said, the camp wasn't anything special. Though simple, it matched his words perfectly.
Between two tall pines, a slanted shelter made of canvas fought the wind's push. Glowing faintly under gray ash, embers held on inside a circle of smooth river rocks. Spread out near the trees, a rolled sleeping mat seemed stitched from real hides. Propped in silence by bark and roots, an old pack rested against wood.
A single pot swings above flames. Fire crackles under a bare sky. A tripod made of sticks holds it steady. Nothing else is around.
A harsh life shaped this wolf. It learned fast when hunger bit deep.
Rhett lowered Sage onto the sleeping mat, his touch oddly soft like before. Into the pelts she settled - bear maybe, given how it felt and smelled under her nose. Warmth crept through at once, thawing her stiff limbs.
Frozen in place," Rhett murmured. Over by the fire, he fed it with a heavy stick, then dropped on two halved pieces of wood from a stack she'd overlooked earlier. Up surged the flames, pushing out heat wider than before - so close now that Sage felt them pulling moisture from the soaked fabric clinging to her skin.
A clang came from the hallway as Rhett reappeared, holding a battered tin container. Inside lay rolls of cloth, sticky strips, cleanser, plus something thick in a jar - its scent earthy, laced with sweetness like damp moss after rain.
"Wolfsbane purge," he said, holding up the bottle. "Homemade. Tastes like death, but it'll flush the silver poisoning faster."
The bottle caught Sage's attention. This wolf meant nothing to her. Inside the glass, anything might wait. Maybe it held poison - no way to tell. Maybe he belonged to the feral packs of the Deadlands, nursing someone close only to -
There he was, watching my thoughts unfold," Rhett said. Down on the floor he went, legs crossed like it meant something. Space - three full feet - left wide open on purpose.
Calm signals. Peaceful posture. Not a threat in sight. "Distrust? Yeah, I see that too. Sharp move. Trusting folks right now would be reckless. Here's what adds up though: four hours, give or take, until wolfsbane locks your body down for good. Almost no trace of your wolf remains - I hardly feel her at all now. Should the silver stay in your blood, dawn will find you fully human. There will be no turning back
Faster than breath, the word landed on her. A blow without hands. Permanently.
Her hand moved toward the glass container.
That drink tasted just as awful as they said - gloopy, harsh, stuck in her throat like old motor oil. A wave of sickness rose up hard. Gritting her teeth, she held it back by force, knuckles pressed tight to her lips till the urge faded out.
"Good," Rhett said. "Give it thirty minutes. You'll feel worse before you feel better."
Looking down, he studied the shape of her wrists. Those hands of his - big, rough, marked by old wounds - spoke of long hours spent building, lifting, fixing. Yet how he touched her felt careful. Not heavy. Nearly light.
Wincing, Sage held still while he dabbed the scorched skin with medicine. The sting made her breath sharp, yet she stayed put. A cream went on next - faintly green, faintly earthy - as quiet moments passed. Gauze followed, soft layers wound tight without a word.
Down by her feet now. Just like before - wipe, treat, cover it up. Then he stayed there a moment. Not rushing. Each step done without noise.
His fingers moved down her side, testing each rib one by one - slow pressure, steady hands. A quiet check, deliberate touch.
"Two broken," he said. "One cracked. Not displaced, so they'll heal on their own once your wolf comes back. Going to hurt like hell for a few days though."
"Pain isn't new to me," Sage spoke. Back came her voice - cracked, hoarse, yet working.
Her eyes met his. A change came over his face, subtle but clear. Pity it wasn't - she'd have bristled at that. Instead, a kind of knowing settled there. As if some part of her felt familiar to him. Recognition, quiet and unforced.
"Yeah," he said. "I bet you are."
Back against the log, he watched flames twist and crack. Not far off, Sage stayed flat on the bedding, tucked beneath thick pelts from a grizzly kill, sensing the herb fight what ran dark in her veins. Rhett spoke truth - sickness dug deeper now. Heat clung to her flesh like wet cloth. Inside, gut muscles knotted without warning. A slow burn threaded through marrow, as if something unseen reshaped her piece by fragile piece.
"You going to tell me your name?" Rhett asked.
"Sage."
"Sage what?"
"Just Sage."
"Fair enough. You going to tell me who you're running from?"
Flickering light painted Rhett's shape large on the bark, warping with each gust. Sage watched without moving, eyes locked where flame met dark.
"My pack," she said. "Former pack."
That happened because of them? His gaze moved to her wrists.
"They were going to do worse."
"What pack?"
For a moment, Sage stood still. The Crimson Howl ruled every shadow in the Northern Territory. Uttering that name could spark fear - or worse, if the wrong ears caught it.
"Red Wolf," she whispered.
A hardness settled across Rhett's face. Jaw tight, tendons standing out beneath the skin. His hands lifted slightly before closing inward, forming fists not in haste but with weight behind each motion, as if holding back something louder than anger.
Crimson Howl," came his voice again.
"You know them?"
"I know of them." The words were flat. Controlled. "Declan Voss."
"Yeah."
"And he did this."
"His Luna arranged it. He signed off."
For a while, Rhett just watched the fire. His dark eyes caught the light, glowing now like burnt honey. Then silence settled again.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I found something I wasn't supposed to find. And I was too stupid to keep my mouth shut about it."
"That's not stupid. That's honest."
"In Crimson Howl, those are the same thing."
A ghost of a grin touched Rhett's face - nearly there, yet never reaching his lips. Still, Sage caught it, hidden in the way his eyes eased just a fraction.
"So you're a fugitive," he said.
"I'm a dead woman walking. They'll send trackers."
"Into the Deadlands?"
"Declan doesn't leave loose ends."
For a long moment, Rhett just sat there. His expression stayed flat. Not worried, not even curious - just still, like he'd decided nothing could move him, a quiet that made Sage feel safe, yet somehow off balance too.
"You can stay here tonight," he said. "Rest. Let the purge work. Tomorrow we'll figure out your next move."
"We?"
"You're in no shape to figure out anything on your own. That's not an insult. It's a fact."
Fight back rose in Sage's throat - then faded. Silence won instead. Too drained to speak, let alone move. All she could manage was lying there, caught in a nameless man's shelter, buried beneath thick pelts, heat from his flames licking at her skin. Maybe luck still walked beside her. Maybe it wouldn't abandon her now.
"Thanks," she told him.
Strange, how the syllables stumbled on her tongue. Last time someone got thanks from her? Memory drew a blank. Back in Crimson Howl, saying thank you meant showing softness. People weren't thanked - they were owed, instead. And owing? That kept power shifting.
Rhett stared at her, as if gratitude sounded foreign on his tongue. Maybe he rarely heard those two words strung together.
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "The purge hits its peak around hour two. You're going to wish I'd left you in the woods."
"Noted."
Fires crackled under Rhett's care. Her eyelids dropped shut, slow, without a sound.
Fifty-three minutes on, the worst struck without warning. Sage's body twisted against itself, bucking like something foreign lived beneath her ribs. Out poured the toxin - through weeping skin, through gasps, through eyes flooded with salt - as if her very cells wanted out.
A greasy film, half-green, clung to her; it reeked of scorched wires and wilted petals left too long in dark rooms. Shaking cracked through her bones until her jaw snapped shut by accident. Each inch of flesh burned as though invisible hands were slowly dragging it away from where it belonged. Facing every moment, Rhett stayed at her side.
That man kept his distance. He stayed seated, still as stone, massive and quiet. His broad shape filled the space facing the trees, unmoving. A barrier without reaching out.
There came a moment, during the worst of the tremors, when Sage feared her bones might actually snap. His hand appeared then - simply laid out, palm facing skyward, beside her on the bedding.
A gift, not something claimed. Instead of asking, it gives freely.
Sage took it.
Warmth spread through his fingers. Not just warm - too hot, like sunbaked stone. That heat crawled along her skin, climbing past elbow to shoulder, then deeper. Suddenly, deep in her ribs, something shifted. Her wolf twitched awake, restless.
This time, nothing tentative. Power moved fast. It was not hesitation but force taking hold.
Warmth pulled at what lay still, as if waking slow after years of silence - not for breath, not for life, yet drawn anyway. Not need, but pull. A hum beneath bone. Him. It knew him before thought.
A gasp escaped as Sage snapped awake. The room came into view, sharp and sudden.
Her eyes turned toward Rhett.
Behind him, his eyes traced the path he had taken.
Frozen in place, his face showed nothing - no shift, no flicker, just the same stillness. Yet look closer. Something lived behind his gaze now. Light burned there. Not sharp, but soft, a golden hue breathing slow, matching each beat within his chest.
A growl rose where his skin met fur. The animal pressed close beneath bone.
Something about the way it stared at Sage sent a chill through her, then a sudden rush of heat.
"Rhett," she whispered.
He nodded. Voice raw. Tight. As if gripping a weight too heavy to name. "Right. I get it."
"What is this?"
Not at once did he speak. A small squeeze came from his hand on hers - barely noticeable, yet louder than any words could be.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said.
"Rhett - "
"Tomorrow, Sage. You need to sleep. Your wolf needs to sleep. Whatever this is..." He looked down at their joined hands. His jaw worked. "It'll still be here in the morning."
Something urged Sage forward. Not questions, but a pull beneath her ribs made her want to speak. The wolf inside her, nearly gone before, now stirred - not slowly, but like wind snapping a flag. A man she did not know touched her palm, and that small thing cracked open what should have stayed buried.
True, Rhett had seen it clearly. Everything in her had collapsed. Yet the purge kept going, flames eating through each cell, tearing wolfsbane free, shaping her again from within.
Into darkness went her gaze. The world behind her lids grew still.
She slept.
During her sleep, after many years, Sage Blackwood saw wolves in a dream. Not like the ones from Crimson Howl - ruthless, calculating, always ready to bite. These animals moved across an unknown land: wide flat stretches under a thick scatter of stars. Moving as a group. As if sharing a single breath.
Five figures stood in a loose group, spaced apart like stones dropped carelessly on sand.
A flame-colored wolf stands fixed in the middle. Light spills wildly from its form.
Four others moved at her sides - huge, strong, each a distinct shade and shape. They swept around her. Close on her heels. Moving as one.
Beside her? No. In front? Never. Behind? Not once.
Together.
Running beside them, Sage discovered a sense of belonging she had never known before.
She opened her eyes to a pale morning, silence heavy around her. The warmth had faded long before. Ash clung to the edges of the hearth where flames once moved.
Rhett was gone.
Fur tucked under her jaw, flames still bright from fresh wood, then - on a limb near the sleeping mat - a shape snagged Sage's breath mid-chest.
A pair of boots.
She wore it anyway, even though it hung loose. The fabric sagged where it didn't belong. Way too large - three sizes maybe.
But boots.
Beside them, marks dug into soil by a stick
Out chasing game. Return before long. If you try to flee - your legs won't carry you far. The dried meat in the pack's outer pouch will keep you going. That's venison inside. Tastes awful. Swallow it regardless.
- R
Sage stared at the message.
Into the rucksack her hand went - jerky tucked inside, so she chewed it slow. The corner of the bag crinkled when she pulled it out. A piece broke off, fell near her knee. She picked that up too. Salt stuck to her fingers after. Nothing else was eaten.
It was terrible.
Still, she finished the meal.
Beneath the surface of her skin, tucked into a shadowed hollow beneath bone, something stirred. A single eyelid lifted in that hidden place where breath meets silence.
Again, the wolf spoke up. More was needed.
Sage almost smiled.
Right, he said inside her head. Same here.