Will of Iron

Chapter 1: The Descent

The sky was painted in bright oranges and deep reds as the sun sank behind the familiar mountains that shrouded the territories of Ironmoon and Blackstone. This sight relieved the anxiety I had carried since we left Silverfang. Suddenly, breathing was easier, and the tightness in my chest faded with each mile that brought us closer to Ironmoon.

A week of travel, secreting our way through the human cities while constantly looking over our shoulders, was enough to make even the sanest of our group twitchy.

Mariel patted my leg to grab my attention; I glanced at her from the passenger seat. She was wearing a smirk as she pointed toward her side window, and I followed with my gaze, locking on the group of shadows weaving through the trees near the dirt road we were on.

I narrowed my eyes, catching a glimpse of pitch-colored fur and amber eyes. My wolf yipped with excitement, twirling around and pushing against the confines of my skin.

Freedom.

Pack.

Home.

Those thoughts and emotions pressed into my mind as I pulled back on her. I couldn't be sure when it happened, but some time between the moment I left Ironmoon and returned, my wolf had grown. Or maybe it was me that had grown and was no longer suppressing her with my grief and trauma. I was unsure and didn't want to waste time thinking about it. All that mattered was that we were more in unison than we ever were.

I unbuckled and twisted around in my seat, poking my head into the back of the van we had turned into a makeshift ambulance. Ravi met my gaze, the corners of his mouth turning up.

Something about the shape of his smile reminded me of Casimir, and that set me at ease.

"We'll be there soon," I signed.

My gaze shifted to the others near the back doors, squished in the small space, before fixing on our prisoner. She was staring up at the roof; it was only the blink of her eyes and the subtle rise and fall of her chest that made it clear she was alive.

A few times over the last week, I felt the inkling of sympathy, then the memories of the blackened rubble of Silverfang, Jazzy's ruined eyes, and Beau's blood staining my hands would kill it. I didn't know her past, but I didn't need to know—there was no excuse, no justification for hurting others as she and her people had.

"Is everything ready for the handoff?" I shifted my attention back to Ravi, signing.

His brow furrowed a bit. Everyone learned at their own pace, and I had to remind myself that Casimir got deeper, more involved lessons.

I repeated, speaking this time, "Is everything set to hand off to Milo?"

He nodded, patting the small duffle bag on his lap. "But I'll be sure to go over everything thoroughly with him. No need to worry."

My eyes dropped to the girl on the gurney.

Was I worried?

You shouldn't be, Rowan.

But even If I was, it was only because I didn't want to fail at the task Casimir had given to me. I reassured myself that once she was no longer my responsibility, those concerns would fade.

As I turned away, our eyes met for half a second, and that inkling of sympathy tried to spark to life. I pressed my lips together and focused on the world passing by out the window.

Rowan, it's better not to think about any of it too deeply.

The girl was a prisoner, and once everything was said and done, there was no way to know what her fate would be. There was no reason for me to feel guilt or concern. Casimir would do what he thought was right, and I trusted him.