You had been part of the pack long enough to know how the night breathed.

Long enough to know the rhythm of Santa Carla — when it was restless, when it was watching, when something beneath the surface shifted in a way that meant danger.

Years with them. Eight months officially theirs.

Not claimed out of impulse. Not temporary. You were rooted. Folded into the pack like you had always been there. You knew the weight of Paul’s arm around your shoulders without looking. The way Dwayne subtly positioned himself between you and strangers. The way Marko’s laugh sharpened when he was agitated. The way David observed everything before speaking.

You belonged.

Helena had once belonged too. She’d come back a month ago, stepping onto the boardwalk like she’d never left — chin high, posture smooth, eyes cool and assessing. The boys had gone quiet when they saw her. History hung heavy in the air — old loyalty, old anger, old nights that no one talked about.

You’d welcomed her. You’d meant it. You’d heard stories about her — how she used to hunt like a storm, how she’d outrun hunters instead of avoiding them, how she’d pushed too far too often. Reckless. Brilliant. Dangerous.

She’d left when David drew a line. Pride over pack. Now she was back and she watched you. Not openly. Not obviously. But you felt it.

The way her eyes tracked how Paul stood a little closer to you without thinking. The way Marko’s energy shifted when you laughed. The way Dwayne’s protective instincts activated automatically when crowds pressed in.

She never said anything. She didn’t have to.

That night felt ordinary. Too ordinary. The boardwalk throbbed with music and neon. The pack fanned out naturally, drifting through the crowd. Helena had mentioned earlier that an old stretch of coastline was quiet again.

“No movement there lately,” she’d said smoothly. “Hunters stopped checking it years ago.”

You believed her. Why wouldn’t you? She knew the territory before anyway. So you broke off alone.

The sand was colder past the lights. The wind sharper. You sensed it a second too late. The trap snapped up from beneath the sand — wood. Sharpened.

A spring-loaded stake meant to pin.

It grazed your side instead of piercing clean through, splintering against your ribs as holy water soaked the fabric at your waist. The burn hit instantly — not lethal, but brutal. Smoke hissed faintly against your skin.

Gunfire cracked from the dunes. They weren’t guessing they were waiting.

You moved fast despite the pain. Fast enough. The hunter didn’t get a second chance.

By the time the pack reached you, the beach was quiet again — except for your breathing.

Paul got there first, hands on you, eyes already wild.

“Who?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

Marko kicked the broken trap aside, furious. Dwayne crouched near the mechanism, expression flattening into something lethal.

David didn’t touch you he studied the setup. Precision. Placement. Timing. This wasn’t luck.

Helena approached last, unhurried. She took in the broken stake, the soaked fabric, the way Paul’s arm anchored you possessively.

“That’s strange,” she said softly.

Her tone was composed. Too composed.

“That stretch has been dead for years.”

You met her gaze steadily. “It wasn’t dead tonight.”

Helena’s head tilted slightly.

“Hunters don’t just reappear without signs,” she replied gently. “Maybe someone followed you. Maybe you weren’t as careful as usual.”

Paul’s hand tightened. Marko straightened sharply. Dwayne’s eyes lifted — slow and assessing. You hadn’t mentioned how you found the spot.

No one had asked Helena what she knew and yet she had answered.

“If I thought there was something to say,” Helena added lightly, “I would have told you.”

The silence that followed pressed heavy because something didn’t align. David’s gaze shifted from the broken trap in the sand… to Helena. Not accusing, not yet. Just calculating and for the first time since she’d returned, the air didn’t feel nostalgic it felt divided.