The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond
Chapter 124: The Wolf’s Return

Chapter 124: The Wolf’s Return

"Where did you find him?" Beckett asked, voice quiet, pitched low so the gathering pack wouldn’t hear the tremor.

One of the scouts , Bran’s younger brother, still barely shifting into his full wolf , looked at the ground as he spoke. "Near the Deadridge ravine. He was crawling. Said Gabriel’s men left him for dead."

Beckett’s lip curled. "And you believed him?"

The boy swallowed. "He gave us Gabriel’s patrol routes. There were bodies. He fought."

Sterling’s head lifted. A ragged grin split the dried blood on his lips. "What’s the matter, Beck? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Beckett stepped forward, eyes narrow, searching Sterling’s face for cracks , something familiar beneath the ragged edges. "What did he do to you?" he asked.

Sterling’s smile vanished as quickly as it came. "Let me walk. That’s what he did. He thinks he owns me now. He doesn’t."

The courtyard stirred behind them. Magnolia stood at the top of the steps, the hood of her cloak down despite the drizzle that misted her dark hair. She looked smaller than usual, wrapped in layers against the cold, but the look in her eyes turned the dawn to shards of ice. The wolves behind her bristled, ears half-cocked to catch any word that might demand blood.

"Bring him inside," she said.

Beckett gestured. The scouts pushed Sterling forward. He stumbled, his boots dragging across the slick stone as they herded him up the steps. He met Magnolia’s stare with something like defiance, but it was hollow , a shadow of the man who had once laughed under these same arches after skirmishes, splitting stolen bread with the orphans while his knuckles bled from the last kill.

She didn’t flinch when he stopped an arm’s length away.

"Magnolia," he rasped. His voice cracked around her name. She ignored it.

"Take him to the lower council chamber. No eyes, no ears but ours."

One of the younger guards hesitated. Beckett’s growl sent him scurrying ahead.

Inside the old war room, the fire was nothing but coals. Magnolia stepped in after Sterling, the door shutting behind her like a coffin lid. He stood hunched over the battered table, its surface still etched with lines and pins from their last battle plan. Old bloodstains darkened the grain. The air smelled of wet fur and secrets.

She circled him slowly, boots whispering across the rug. Sterling didn’t move. His shoulders rose and fell with rough, uneven breaths. Each inhale dragged a tremor through his bruised ribs. She noted every injury , the stitches at his collarbone, the split lip, the dark shadow that might be a broken eye socket. But it was his eyes she couldn’t stop staring at. They were sharp. Alert. And far too calm for a man who’d supposedly crawled away from the Elder’s hounds.

"Do you want water?" she asked, her voice smooth as ice. She kept her hands clasped behind her back to hide the tremble.

Sterling huffed a laugh, then coughed. "You offering it yourself, or do you think I’ll poison the well?"

She didn’t answer. She reached for the flask at her belt and placed it on the table, close enough for him to grab but far enough that he’d have to choose to reach for it.

He didn’t.

"You want to know how I survived," he said, licking blood from the corner of his mouth. "How I got out."

"I want the truth," she said.

His laugh turned bitter. "That’s in short supply here, isn’t it?"

She stepped closer, fingers grazing the edge of the map. "Try me."

Sterling tilted his head, eyes glinting in the low firelight. "Gabriel keeps a separate camp near the Bone Orchard. Old ruins. He moved me there , said he wanted me to watch how loyalty dies. He chained me to the stones and let the wind gnaw at my bones until the frost cracked them from the inside out."

She waited. He paused. Testing her, measuring every flicker of her face.

"He told me he’d trade Camille for me. Said if I brought him your wolf spirit , the heart of this pack , he’d let her go. I laughed in his face. So they beat me. Broke my fingers. But they didn’t break me."

Magnolia’s jaw tightened. "And then?"

Sterling’s smile was a jagged thing. "Then I broke them."

He reached for the flask, but instead of drinking, he poured it over his head. The water turned pink as it sluiced down his tangled hair. "You know me, Mags. A wolf doesn’t lie down when there’s blood in the wind."

She felt Beckett’s shadow shift behind her , he’d slipped into the chamber without a sound, arms folded across his chest like a warning.

"You smell like him," Beckett said. "His wards. His dogs. That scent doesn’t wash off so easy."

Sterling’s gaze flicked to Beckett, then back to Magnolia. "Believe what you want. I’m here, aren’t I? I bled to get back to you."

Magnolia forced herself to meet his stare. So much of him was familiar , the way his right shoulder dropped when he was tired, the old scar across his collarbone that no amount of magic could erase. But his eyes , they were glass. Reflecting her, but never letting her see inside.

"If you betrayed us, "

"I didn’t," he cut in. "And you know it."

Silence bloomed. The fire hissed behind him. Beckett’s growl was a soft echo in the stone.

Sterling leaned forward, palms flat on the table. "Let me hunt Gabriel. Let me find Camille."

Magnolia’s breath caught, just a flicker. "You know where she is?"

A half-smile teased his split lip. "I know where they’ll move her next. But I need your trust, Magnolia. Not your leash."

Her throat burned with the taste of old fear. Beckett moved behind Sterling, his steps slow, deliberate , a predator circling another predator.

"You’ll get what you’ve earned," Beckett said. His hand hovered near his blade, just enough for Sterling to notice.

Sterling’s eyes gleamed, cold steel wrapped in bruised flesh. "Then let’s get started."

He pushed away from the table. When he stumbled, Magnolia caught his arm before she could think. His skin was hot, fevered , but the muscles beneath were coiled, ready to spring.

He smiled down at her, teeth red where the split lip hadn’t closed. "Missed you, Mags."

She flinched before she could stop it. And that was when she knew: something in Sterling Hale was lost to the dark.

She let him go.

Outside the war room, Beckett pulled her aside, his voice a low snarl meant only for her ears. "He’s not the man we lost."

"I know," she said. The words tasted like poison on her tongue.

"Then don’t let him close."

She didn’t answer. Her gaze drifted down the hallway where Sterling had vanished into the flickering torchlight , his shadow trailing behind him like a promise she could not keep.

Deep in the east wing, Rhett stirred. Fevered and half-conscious, he sat upright in his bed for the first time in days, staring at the cold window as if he’d heard a wolf’s cry echo through stone.

He whispered Sterling’s name into the darkness. And the darkness answered back.