"Lily?" Casey's voice echoed through the small cottage as she pushed the door open wider, her eyes scanning the modest space.
Silence.
She quickly checked the bedroom, the tiny kitchen, even the bathroom. Her heart began to pound against her ribs. Panic clawed at her chest.
"Lily!" she called again, louder this time, and ran outside.
The sun was already beginning its slow descent into the horizon, painting the village in gold and rust. Casey's feet hit the cobblestone path as she asked every face she saw—maids, pack warriors, elders sitting on their porches—if they had seen a little girl with curly hair and a sunflower dress.
It wasn't long before she caught a glimpse of bouncing curls and a wide grin.
"Mommy!" Lily skipped toward her, holding a small pouch of coins in her hands.
Casey dropped to her knees, pulling her daughter into a desperate hug. "Where were you? I've been worried sick!"
Lily giggled. "I was selling flowers, Mommy! I made money. Look!" She opened the pouch and showed the few silver coins with pride. "Now we can buy more food or save up. I want to work hard like you!"
The innocence and sincerity in her daughter's voice undid her. Casey's throat tightened, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, holding Lily close. "You're just a child… You're not supposed to worry about that."
"But I want to help," Lily said with a sleepy smile.
They walked home hand-in-hand. Casey baked them a small pie with what they had, and they ate together, laughing between bites. Lily barely made it through dinner before falling asleep at the table, her little arms wrapped around her plate.
Casey gently carried her to bed and tucked her in. But even as she kissed her forehead and whispered goodnight, her thoughts were elsewhere.
The rogues.
Something wasn't right. Why couldn't they be tracked? They were wolves. They had scents. Every werewolf had a scent—distinct, animalistic, alive.
She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind spinning, sleep finally claimed her.
The next morning, she arrived at the pack house, slipping into her role quickly. Work always gave her structure—a place to focus, to breathe. As she arranged vases and redecorated the common hall with fresh blooms, she moved like a whisper—present, but unobtrusive.
She had just finished placing a cluster of wild violets when she heard voices echoing from the adjoining corridor.
"…they had no scent. Nothing to follow," Luca's voice said, laced with frustration.
"That's what worries me," Leywin responded. "They can shift—we saw them shift—but no scent. Not even a trace after battle."
"It makes no sense," Luca muttered.
Casey froze in place.
No scent? It was exactly what she had wondered. Her hands stilled around a porcelain vase, her heart now thudding with suspicion. Something unnatural was happening.
Before she could lean in to hear more, a deep voice cut through the space behind her.
"Why are you eavesdropping?"
Casey jumped, startled.
The vase slipped from her grasp and shattered against the floor, shards scattering like glass snow.
She spun around, eyes wide.
Alpha Vlad stood there, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on her.
"I—I wasn't—" she stammered, cheeks flushing red. "I just… I was placing flowers."
"You heard more than flowers," he said coolly, stepping closer.
Casey instinctively stepped back. "I didn't mean to overhear—"
He raised a hand to silence her.
"I'll ask only once," he said, voice low, deliberate. "What did you hear?"
Casey swallowed hard. "Just… something about rogues. That they had no scent."
He studied her face for a long moment, eyes narrowing as if trying to read her soul.
"And what do you make of that?" he asked.
Casey hesitated, then said carefully, "I think it's strange. Wolves should have a scent. Even dead ones do."
Vlad didn't respond at first. Then, after a beat, he said, "Clean this up."
He turned and walked away without another word.
Casey bent down to gather the shards, but her mind wasn't on the broken porcelain.
Wolves with no scent… but can shift.
There was more to this than the pack realized.