Chapter 2 Shadows Beneath The Hollow

Rhea had always thought Ashen Fang was cold.

But Silver Hollow was cold in a different way.

Not brutal. Not sharp-edged or bloodstained. No, this was the cold of silence-of a place too perfectly arranged, too clean, too quiet. Like walking into a hall where secrets hung from the ceiling like chandeliers.

The Hollow's territory was hidden behind a narrow canyon mouth-clever, camouflaged, and guarded by wolves whose eyes never strayed. Their uniforms weren't armor like Ashen Fang's. They wore slate-grey tunics, soft leather, no bloodstains. No visible weapons. But the danger hummed under their skin.

They didn't need to look dangerous.

They already knew they were.

She didn't flinch as she passed them. Let them watch.

Her story was simple. She was a lone wolf, sick of pack orders. A wanderer. A survivor. The kind of wolf Silver Hollow took in sometimes-if only to keep them from falling into the wrong hands.

It was a half-lie.

And half-lies were always easier to wear.

---

The Hollow's main keep was carved into a natural cliff face, stone hallways lit by soft-burning lanterns that flickered amber against ancient walls. Everything smelled of old cedar and moss. Earthy. Timeless.

A female attendant with white-blonde hair led her wordlessly to a room.

"Someone will come for you soon," the woman said. Not unfriendly. Not warm.

The door shut.

Rhea stood still for a moment, letting the silence settle.

Then she exhaled slowly and turned to study the space.

The room was... beautiful. Not lavish. Just intentionally quiet. A single bed with dark linens, a carved wooden trunk, a polished mirror.

The kind of place that stripped you of noise.

She didn't like it.

Too soft.

Too clean.

Too watchful.

---

The knock came two hours later, after she'd paced the floor for the sixth time.

She didn't answer.

The door opened anyway.

He stepped in like he owned the air.

Tall. Sharply built. Wrapped in the same grey uniform as the others, but with a long coat thrown over it-storm-black and weather-worn. His hair was dark gold, the kind that glinted in firelight. But it was his eyes that made her straighten.

Steel grey.

Not cold.

Worse.

Calm.

He studied her without blinking. "You're the drifter," he said.

"You're the welcoming committee?" she asked.

He didn't smile. "Depends. Are you here to join, or to lie?"

That was fast.

She lifted a brow. "Should I be flattered you think I'm important enough to lie?"

"No," he said. "Just curious how deep the lie goes."

She crossed her arms. "You always interrogate new arrivals personally?"

"Only the ones who smell like ash and iron."

Rhea stilled.

He'd caught the trace of her origin. Her scent.

Damn him.

She tilted her head. "So what now?"

He stepped closer. Not aggressively. Not even confrontationally. Just... deliberately.

"I don't know what you want from Silver Hollow," he said, voice low, "but if you're smart, you'll make sure you earn it."

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

The door clicked softly behind him.

---

That night, Rhea didn't sleep.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the moonlight paint lines on the floor, her pulse slower than it should've been.

Something about that man-it wasn't just that he'd read her too fast.

It was the way he'd looked at her.

Not with suspicion.

With knowing.

Like he saw her.

Not the role she played.

Not the mask she wore.

Her.

And that was more dangerous than any silver-lined blade.

---

The next morning, she was summoned to the council hall.

There, seated beneath the carved symbol of the Hollow-a silver tree with roots that split like veins-were five elders, and one shadow standing beside them.

Him.

Again.

He didn't sit. He stood with arms folded behind his back, his expression unreadable.

The Alpha himself wasn't present.

But his second-in-command was.

Rhea's heartbeat didn't spike.

Not once.

But she felt the beginning of a shift.

A slow tilt in the air.

The kind that comes before a storm.