Chapter 2 SHADOWS THAT NEVER SLEEP

Chapter 2: Shadows That Never Sleep

Lucien did not sleep on full moons.

He hadn't for nearly two centuries.

Not since the night his father's body dropped to the ritual ground like a broken tree. Not since silver eyes burned into his memory like a brand. Not since the rift, that cursed celestial fracture, stole his innocence and handed him a legacy soaked in blood.

Now, Alpha Lucien of the Nightclaw Pack stood alone at the edge of his highland estate, overlooking miles of shadow-draped forest. The trees below shivered under moonlight. His sharp profile glowed pale, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. Two golden rings glinted in his right ear-one for rank, one for loss.

He didn't need to shift to feel the wolf under his skin. It was always there now. Restless. Ready.

Behind him, voices murmured in the stone hall. His betas, lieutenants, scouts. There were whispers of stirrings in the Appalachian region. Flickers of unfamiliar scent. Echoes of energy that hadn't stirred since the Moon Rift two centuries ago.

It could only mean one thing.

He was back.

The silver-eyed one. The intruder. The wolf who caused it all.

Lucien's fingers twitched at his side. He could still see his father's lifeless body, hear the stillness after the storm, feel the fury curdle in his chest. It had shaped him, sharpened him. Grief was his anvil. Vengeance, his blade.

"Alpha?" a voice interrupted softly.

Lucien turned. His second-in-command, Talia, stood behind him. Tall, with onyx braids and feral grace, she was one of the few wolves who dared speak without invitation.

"The scouts confirm a pulse. Appalachian trails. Power laced with Lunaris markers."

Lucien's voice was low, barely a growl. "He's hiding like a rat. Good. Let him try. He's only prolonging the inevitable."

Talia hesitated. "He's been quiet all this time. If he was a threat-"

Lucien turned sharply. "He didn't mean to kill my father. He just did."

Silence.

Then he stepped past her, toward the hall, where a map waited marked with claw-slashes and burn points. His eyes burned gold.

"Find him. We end it before the rift opens again."

*

SIX STATES AWAY - QUIET RIDGE, COLORADO

If you blinked, you'd miss it. A one-road town tucked into the folds of sleepy mountains. The kind of place people only passed through when they were trying not to be found.

It was here that Riven, now "Rye," had carved out a quiet corner of anonymity.

He owned a small woodworking shop that smelled of cedar, resin, and old jazz. Locals came for furniture repairs, custom chairs, or to browse the handcrafted spoons and bowls lined neatly on the walls. Tourists found it "charming." Riven found it manageable.

He'd built it all with his own hands. No magic. No pack. No blood.

Just wood, time, and silence.

The man the world saw was tall, quiet, with dark hair just long enough to tuck behind his ears and a permanent shadow in his eyes. He wore flannel like armor and boots like memory. His silver eyes were always hidden behind tinted lenses-or downcast.

But no matter how far he buried it, the wolf was always there.

He still walked the forests at night. Still felt the pulse of the earth through his soles. Still woke up drenched in sweat when the moonlight turned red in his dreams.

He hadn't shifted in 37 years. Not once.

To the people of Quiet Ridge, Rye was polite. Distant, but kind. A man who kept to himself. Most thought he was running from something. None imagined what.

Only one person in town had ever asked about the scar along his ribs. Or the strange, low growl he sometimes made in his sleep. But that person had left a long time ago.

And Rye had made peace with loneliness. It was safer than connection.

Until today.

*

It began like any other.

The shop door jingled open, letting in sunlight and cool air. Riven was sanding down the edge of a cedar table, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

A deep, gravelly voice called out.

"Still pretending to be human, Riven?"

Riven didn't look up. But he paused.

Slowly, he turned toward the doorway. Standing there, lean and smirking, was Korran-an old Lunaris wolf with jet-black hair and a crescent-shaped scar across his jaw. A rogue from the Ashmane Pack, exiled long before the Moon Rift incident. Riven had thought him dead.

"You're not welcome here," Riven said flatly.

Korran's grin widened. "Funny. You thought hiding on a dead-end planet would make you safe."

"What do you want?"

"I came to see the ghost. The one who broke the rift and ran."

Riven stepped closer. "Careful."

But Korran only laughed and walked deeper into the shop, running a finger along the edge of a carved bench. "The Earth wolves are stirring. You're not the only one with unfinished business."

"Lucien." Riven's tone dropped.

Korran nodded. "He's been hunting shadows for decades. He doesn't know your name. But he knows your face."

Riven exhaled slowly. He'd always known peace wouldn't last. But something about the name-Lucien-still pierced. That boy had been young. He remembered his face, twisted in agony. Riven had never meant to kill. But he had, and the boy had grown into a weapon.

He turned back to his workbench, voice quiet. "I'm not going back."

"You may not have a choice."

Korran left without another word, the bell chiming behind him.

And for the first time in years, Riven didn't sleep that night.

*

LATER THAT WEEK

The day was golden and still. Riven was out behind the shop, splitting logs when he felt it-a shift.

Not magical. Not wolf-scented.

Just something... different.

He paused, turning toward the main road.

A car door shut.

Then he saw her.

She was standing just outside the front of his shop, staring up at the sign as if unsure whether to go in. Her hair was coiled in a soft bun, sunglasses perched on her head, a small leather notebook clutched in her hands.

Amara.

She looked like sunlight trapped in human form-subtle, graceful, curious. She wasn't from town. That was clear in the way she paused to soak in her surroundings, like everything here was strange and beautiful.

She reached for the door.

The bell chimed.

Riven watched from the shadows, something in him stilling without reason.

And for the first time in over 200 years...

...he wanted to be seen.

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