The camp was on fire.

Smoke curled into the sky like claws. Screeches echoed off the stones as enemy warriors tore through ForceClan’s stronghold, shadows clawing at every entrance.

Ghostshadow moved like lightning through the chaos, blood on his pelt and fury in his amber eyes. He was a silent terror—striking down rogues with precise swipes of his claws, never wasting a breath. But even as he fought, his gaze kept darting toward the warrior dens.

Where you had last been seen.

The moment the ambush began, he’d tried to find you. But the fire had spread too fast. The enemy too thick. Every heartbeat that passed without your scent made his chest twist tighter.

“Where are they?” he hissed to himself, claws flexing as another yowling rogue lunged his way.

He met the enemy head-on, dragging the tom down with a brutal growl, then turned toward the far den—just in time to hear a crack like lightning as the side wall of the structure gave in.

“No,” he breathed.

A flash of your pelt.

You were inside.

And worse—you weren’t leaving.

“What are you doing?” he growled as he sprinted across the clearing, dodging debris and leaping over a burning branch. “Get out of there!”

But you didn’t hear him. You were crouched deep inside the crumbling den, paws digging at the back wall where stones and branches had fallen. Behind you, three tiny kits cried, buried under the weight of collapsed brambles and dust.

You ignored the smoke. Ignored the pain. Ignored the fear.

All that mattered was them.

“Come on, little ones,” you rasped, lifting a limb with your shoulder and pushing a stone aside with your whole body. “You’re almost out.”

Ghostshadow reached the outside just as the den gave another groan.

“No, no—MOVE!” he roared, leaping toward the entrance.

You turned your head at the sound—your eyes locking with his. The look in your eyes stopped his heart cold.

Don’t come closer, your expression said.

And then the ceiling gave way.

The den collapsed in a rush of dust and branches, cutting off his view of you completely.

For a heartbeat, all he heard was the roar of flame and the shriek of breaking wood.

“NO!” Ghostshadow’s snarl ripped from his throat like thunder. He threw himself at the rubble, claws scraping, paws tearing, eyes wild with panic. “Get out—GET OUT!”

Smoke made it hard to breathe, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Until—

A soft cough.

Then another.

And the tiniest mewl.

He froze.

And then from the dust, your head appeared—ears pinned, fur caked with soot, but alive. Behind you, three tiny kits clung to your back and tail, eyes wide with terror.

Ghostshadow rushed forward, helping pull you out as the last beam snapped behind you.

You tumbled into him, gasping for air, legs barely holding you up.

“You—” his voice broke. He tried again. “You mouse-brained fool.”

You coughed, eyes stinging, but still found the strength to whisper, “I had to. They would’ve died.”

He stared at you for a long moment—long enough for the kits to be taken by the medicine cat and for the flames to finally begin to die.

Then he pressed his head to your shoulder, trembling with the effort not to shake.

“You could’ve died,” he rasped. “Don’t you ever—ever—do something that reckless again.”

You leaned into him. “You’d have done the same.”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “But I’m used to ghosts. I don’t want to become one because of you.”