The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 119: Beckett’s Discovery

Chapter 119: Beckett’s Discovery

"She didn’t run," he muttered. "Not like this."

The room bore no sign of panic. No struggle. No broken chair tossed in haste. The protection ward Celeste had erected lay in perfect ruin, its shards of magic bleeding faint light into the floor. Someone, or something, had dismantled it from the inside.

He crouched near the stone altar built into the southern wall, fingers brushing soot aside to reveal a faint smear of red. Not paint. Not wax. Blood.

"Camille," he whispered, voice rough. "What did you do?"

Beckett pushed against the altar. It groaned, then shifted, revealing a hollow carved beneath the stone, no bigger than a book. Inside, carefully tucked into the space, was a sealed envelope. His breath caught.

It was parchment, old and thick, sealed with a blotch of dried blood, not wax, and inscribed in Camille’s handwriting. Her scent clung faintly to it: smoke, cedar, and something darker now, like burnt sage.

He stood, his chest tight. Slowly, he broke the seal and unfolded the note.

Just four words.

Don’t follow me.

His jaw clenched. He closed his eyes, let the weight of the message settle. Four words, but they were heavy with intent. They weren’t written in fear. This wasn’t a cry for help. It was a command. Camille had planned this.

The room spun, not physically, but with the implications. Beckett leaned against the stone altar, the paper crumpling slightly in his fist.

Behind him, footsteps. Light. Deliberate.

"You found it."

Beckett turned to see Celeste standing in the broken doorway, her long silver braid damp and clinging to her robe. Her eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and pain, settled on the letter.

"You knew she left this?" he asked, voice sharp.

Celeste stepped forward. She moved with grace despite the deep gash stitched along her shoulder, blood seeping through the fresh bandage. Her fingers trembled slightly as she brushed the edge of a broken mirror.

"No," she replied. "But I’d hoped... if she left anything behind, it would come to you."

"Why not Rhett?" Beckett challenged.

Celeste met his gaze. "Because she trusted you to find the truth, not to chase her."

He looked back at the note. "She thinks we’ll make things worse."

"She knows you will."

Beckett hissed under his breath. "She’s wrong."

Celeste didn’t answer. Her silence echoed louder than a scream.

He paced the room, holding the message like a brand. "This isn’t just about her leaving. Something happened here. She tore the wards down herself. She let the Ash Child speak to her. It’s calling louder now, isn’t it?"

Celeste’s expression darkened. "I can still feel its echo. The veil was thinned when she left. It fed off her hesitation."

Beckett turned sharply. "She didn’t hesitate. That’s what scares me."

Celeste tilted her head. "What are you thinking?"

He gritted his teeth. "She didn’t run from the prophecy. She embraced it."

A long silence fell.

Outside, the remnants of the storm were dying, but the estate groaned under the weight of unseen pressure. The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet, as if Camille’s absence was already beginning to shift the balance.

Beckett folded the note and tucked it inside his coat.

"I’ll go after her," he said.

Celeste reached out, her hand firm on his chest. "No. That’s exactly what she doesn’t want."

"And what she wants doesn’t matter right now."

"It matters more than you know," Celeste snapped. "The deeper she falls into this power, the more the prophecy bends around her. She’s changing, Beckett. And if she sees you as a threat..."

"She won’t hurt me."

"You can’t be sure of that anymore."

The door behind them creaked open again. Magnolia entered, dirt smudged across her brow, eyes dark with sleepless fire. She looked between them, tense.

"We need to gather the council. Now."

Beckett didn’t move.

"We found Sterling’s blade outside the southern watchtower," Magnolia said.

Celeste inhaled sharply. "That’s too far from his usual patrol."

"And there’s no sign of him," Magnolia added. "He’s missing."

Beckett pushed off the altar, spine straight. "So while Camille disappears, we lose one of our strongest fighters."

"We don’t know they’re connected," Magnolia said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Celeste’s fingers curled. "But we do know Gabriel is moving faster than we expected."

"He’s planning something," Beckett said. "And now we’re down two of our most powerful."

Magnolia walked toward the broken window, looking out at the horizon, where distant torches flickered. "We don’t have the numbers to retaliate right now. The estate is vulnerable."

"And Camille?" Celeste asked.

Magnolia didn’t turn. "She made her choice."

Beckett’s voice was cold. "And what if it costs all of us?"

No one answered.

He moved toward the doorway, pausing just as his boot met the threshold.

"I don’t care what she wrote. I’m not going to sit back while she burns from the inside."

Celeste blocked him again, this time with magic, a shimmering ward that sparked between them.

"You go now, and everything we built falls apart. The council needs you. Rhett needs you."

"And Camille?"

Celeste’s voice broke. "She needs you to wait."

Beckett stepped back, jaw tight.

Magnolia turned to face them both. "We meet in the Great Hall in one hour. Every minute we stall is another inch Gabriel takes."

She left without another word.

Beckett glanced at the sealed envelope once more before walking out. Camille’s scent lingered like a ghost. The message wasn’t just a warning. It was a sacrifice.

He didn’t know what scared him more, the idea of never seeing her again, or seeing what she’d become.

Far beyond the walls of the estate, a shadow moved between trees.

And Camille’s voice whispered through the dark.

Don’t follow me.

"We have to go after her!" snarled Orin Hargrove, the oldest of the Elders, thick arms crossed over his chest like a stubborn wall. "Camille is dangerous in her state. If the Ash Child has influence again, "

"You mean if she chose to leave," interrupted Talia Vance, her silver braids trembling as she leaned forward. "The message was clear: Don’t follow me. We must respect that."

"She was vulnerable," Orin barked. "That chamber was warded for a reason. She broke through it. Do you think that’s rational?"

"None of this is rational," Rowan muttered from the corner, his arms folded, eyes shadowed. "We’re in chaos, and we’re treating this like a war room debate over crops."

"We are at war," Magnolia said, her voice slicing through the noise like a blade. It wasn’t loud, but it silenced the room. Her green eyes swept across each face. "We were attacked less than twenty-four hours ago. We barely buried our dead. Celeste is unconscious. Rhett is fevered. Sterling is missing. And Camille, Camille left us."

Talia shifted, guilt crossing her face.

"Do we even know if she wrote that message?" muttered Dorian, one of the younger advisors with dark rings beneath his eyes. "A blood-sealed envelope in a ruined room. It could be a trap."

"It is a trap," Orin snapped. "The Elder’s doing. Gabriel’s games. If we let Camille wander into the forest, we’re sending her straight into his hands."

A tremor of fear passed around the room like a breeze before a storm.

Magnolia closed her eyes for a moment. The room smelled of wet fur, sweat, and fear. And beneath it, betrayal. She had never wanted power. But power was looking straight at her now, waiting to see if she’d fold.

"Rowan," she said, her tone changing. "You’re the last who saw Sterling?"

Rowan nodded slowly. "He was headed east with two scouts. He never returned. Neither did they. No blood trail. No sign."

Talia’s voice shook. "What if they were taken?"

"They were taken," Orin snapped. "Which is exactly why we can’t sit here with our tails tucked in. We pursue Camille. We interrogate whoever we must."

"And you’d risk another ambush?" Talia said. "You’d divide the pack again and lose more blood?"

"I’d rather lose a few now than risk Camille turning full dark and marching back with the Elder’s army behind her!"

"Enough," Magnolia said again. The table rattled as her palm hit it, not with brute force, but with presence. Her wolf flared through her voice, threading each syllable with dominance. "You want to argue over strategy while the bodies of our people still smoke outside?"

No one responded.

She moved around the table, slowly, deliberately. Her clothes were plain, stained from battle, a torn sleeve pinned at the shoulder with a broken piece of Rhett’s insignia. Yet she carried herself like a queen forged in fire.

"I’ve been silent. I’ve let each of you speak because we built this council on the ashes of the old one. But don’t mistake my silence for weakness."

She paused at the edge of the table, near Orin.

"You think going after Camille will fix this?" she said. "You think dragging her back in chains, if she’s even still Camille, will prevent the Elder’s war?"

"She’s the key," Orin said. "She always has been."

"She’s also a girl raised on fear," Magnolia said, her voice softer now. "A girl who watched her blood kill and her dreams rot. And now we’ve driven her off again. Not because she’s weak, but because we never gave her the space to be strong."

Talia’s lip trembled, her eyes dropping.

"Camille’s message said not to follow. I believe her. Not the Ash Child. Her." Magnolia looked to each of them. "And if she’s wrong... if this is a trap... then we prepare. We fortify. But we do not chase ghosts into the dark."

Silence followed.

Rowan was the first to nod.

"She’s right. We’re bleeding. We regroup. Fortify. We plan for both return and betrayal."

Talia nodded slowly after him.

But Orin’s growl rose again. "This is weakness. This is why Rhett led. Because he wouldn’t hesitate, "

Magnolia stepped toward him, her eyes sharp. "He can’t lead. He’s unconscious. And I am hesitating, not because I fear leadership, Orin. But because leadership demands restraint."

Their gazes locked, ancient power flickering in Orin’s eyes. But he stepped back, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched.

She turned to the others.

"We appoint search guards, yes. But no deep forest pursuit. If Camille wants to return, she’ll find her way back."

"And if she returns with an army?" Dorian asked.

"Then we’ll be ready to face it," she said.

Outside the war room, the storm had begun again, light but constant, rain tracing the cracked glass of the high arched windows. Magnolia felt its rhythm settle into her bones like a warning.

"Dismissed," she said at last.

The council filtered out, some grumbling, others casting wary glances her way. Orin lingered, his mouth twisted in something too bitter to be called a smirk.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, girl," he said quietly. "Mercy makes beautiful graves."

Magnolia didn’t answer. She waited until his footsteps echoed down the hall, then closed the doors.

Alone now.

She leaned against the table, her hand brushing the carved outline of the Callahan crest burned into the wood. Everything was falling apart, yet she had never felt more awake.

She didn’t hear the steps at first. Not until the knock came behind her, soft but urgent.

She turned. Rowan.

"There’s more," he said. "You need to see this."

She followed him down the hall, past wounded guards and bloodied walls. They entered the ruined east wing, where Camille’s chamber once stood.

Smoke still lingered. The walls were blackened. The protective runes had been scorched out of the stone.

Rowan knelt near the wreckage of her bed, reaching beneath the splintered floorboards. His hand emerged holding a second envelope, sealed, marked in blood.

Magnolia took it carefully, her fingers trembling.

This one didn’t say Don’t follow me.

It said: If I don’t return, burn the woods.

She stared at the words until they blurred.

Camille hadn’t run. Not entirely. She had left pieces behind, breadcrumbs or goodbye letters. It didn’t matter.

She looked to Rowan, her voice hushed.

"Send Beckett. Quietly. Tell him to trace the edges of the eastern wood. Only the edges. No one goes in deeper."

Rowan nodded once.

"And Rowan," she added, as he turned.

"Yes?"

"If anyone else tries to defy my orders, especially Orin, bring them to me. Alive."

She watched him leave, then stood alone amid the ruin.

Above her, the rain tapped against the broken beams. Somewhere deep in the forest, she felt the tug of something old and aching, like a thread pulled taut between bloodlines.

Camille wasn’t gone.

Not yet.

And war wasn’t waiting.

It’s here already