The forest was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed on Wyatt’s ears and made his instincts hum with alertness. His boots made no sound against the soft earth as he moved through the trees, scanning for any signs of disturbance. The others were spread out, keeping watch on the perimeter, but Wyatt liked to scout alone. He trusted his own senses better than anyone else's.

That’s why, when he caught the faintest rustle of movement—a sound too deliberate to be the wind—he stopped dead in his tracks. His sharp eyes darted to the source, narrowing as he spotted a figure kneeling by a mossy tree stump. They didn’t belong. The shape of their body, the way they moved—it screamed human, and the smell that drifted toward him confirmed it.

Wyatt crouched low, staying hidden behind a thicket of ferns. His sharp jaw tightened as he studied the stranger, trying to figure out how they’d gotten here. These woods weren’t exactly on the beaten path, and no one was dumb enough to ignore the posted warnings. His pack had made sure of that.

The figure, completely oblivious to his presence, leaned forward, inspecting something on the ground with an easy sort of curiosity. Wyatt’s sharp hearing caught faint mumbling. Something about…a pattern? Moss?

He tilted his head, baffled. They weren’t scared. They weren’t even cautious. Just…exploring, like this was a normal hike and not the most dangerous place in Seabrook.

His first instinct was to call the pack. No, he thought. That’d just scare them off—or worse. This wasn’t worth the drama. He could handle it himself. Straightening, Wyatt stepped out from behind the trees, his expression sharp but not immediately hostile.

“What are you doing here?” His voice came low and even, carrying through the air like the warning growl of a predator.