The morning air was cold enough to bite, but the sky over Libby was streaked in gold when the convoy rolled out. Two pickup trucks and an old flatbed, loaded with crates of salt, cloth, and sealed jars, made their way south on Highway 2. The pine forest swallowed the road, needles whispering in the wind like old secrets.
Thane sat in the front passenger seat of the lead truck beside Hank Ward. The Sheriff’s worn leather hat sat low over his brow, eyes on the cracked pavement ahead. Marta Korrin rode in back, arms crossed, reviewing a small folder of trade notes she’d handwritten in tidy blue ink. Behind her, Mark’s laptop was lashed to a small solar battery, humming quietly as he tracked their position on an old offline map. Gabriel sat on the tailgate, his paws dangling, guitar slung over his shoulder like it belonged there.
No one spoke much. Every mission south was a gamble — the further from Libby, the less people you could trust.
They arrived at Thompson Falls just after noon. The town was smaller than Libby, built along the riverbank where the dam still rose like a fossil of the old world. Water still flowed through two of the turbines, enough to give the place a steady hum of power — and a sense of self-importance. They had lights in their windows. A rare thing, these days.
A wooden sign at the edge of town read “Thompson Falls Welcomes You.” Someone had painted over the word welcomes three times — first in red, then black, then blue — as if they couldn’t decide what they really meant.
As the convoy pulled into the center square, the townsfolk stopped what they were doing. Every eye followed the trucks. It wasn’t the sight of strangers that froze them — it was you.
The first werewolf most of them had ever seen stepped down from the truck like it was the most normal thing in the world. Brown-gray fur catching the light, broad-shouldered, ice-blue eyes cutting through dust. Thane adjusted his pack straps and waited. Gabriel hopped down next, black fur and easy grin masking the sharpness beneath, tail flicking once in amusement at the stunned faces. Mark followed more quietly, his gray-white fur and mild expression making him look like the most approachable of the three.
Still, no one approached.
Finally, a man emerged from the doorway of what used to be a café — tall, thin, maybe late forties, with a nervous half-smile. He wore a leather coat that was too new and boots too clean. “Afternoon,” he said, voice tight. “I’m Mayor Lorne. I heard Libby was sending a trade envoy.”
Marta stepped forward, hand extended. “We’re here to discuss fair exchange,” she said warmly. “Nails, salt, canned goods, water filters — what we can spare, and what you can offer in return.”
Lorne shook her hand, but his gaze kept darting back to Thane. “And… you brought protection?”
Thane’s voice was gravel wrapped in calm. “Protection’s what keeps trade honest.”
That drew a twitch of the mayor’s lip — not quite a smile, not quite fear. He gestured toward a shaded awning beside the square. “Please. Sit. We’ll talk.”
The group followed, taking places at a rough wooden table. Gabriel leaned his guitar against a chair and cracked open a canteen. Mark set down his tablet, still scanning quietly for radio signals — habit, not suspicion. Or so he told himself.
Lorne and his aides brought out their offer sheets. “We’ve got fish,” he said. “Jerky, rope, and some spare generator parts from the mill. Nothing fancy, but—”
Thane interrupted softly. “You’ve got fuel drums by your gate.”
Lorne blinked. “A few. For emergencies.”
“More like for convoys,” Thane said. “Saw the tire tracks. Wide treads, heavy loadouts. Military, maybe.”
The aides exchanged glances. One of them swallowed. Marta kept her voice polite. “You’ve had visitors, then?”
“Just passing through,” Lorne said too quickly.
Mark’s tablet pinged once — a faint residual signal. A handheld radio nearby, set to a frequency that didn’t match Thompson Falls’s public band. He caught Thane’s eye and gave the smallest nod.
Thane turned back to the mayor. “I’m going to ask this plain. You got people coming through here taking what they want, or making promises you shouldn’t have accepted?”
The silence said everything. Even the wind seemed to stop between the rusted streetlights.
Lorne’s shoulders sagged. “We were told to watch Libby,” he admitted at last. “They came two weeks ago — said if we told them when your supply trucks ran, we’d be left alone. They called themselves the ‘River Division.’”
Hank muttered a curse under his breath. “Raiders.”
“Not just raiders,” Mark said, scrolling through faint telemetry. “They’re organized. Frequency encryption, coded pulses every thirty minutes. That’s a network.”
Thane leaned forward, claws tapping once against the tabletop — not a threat, just punctuation. “You were going to sell us out.”
Lorne flinched. “We didn’t know who you had down there! They said you were… dangerous. That you’d take over.”
Gabriel chuckled, low and dry. “And you thought they wouldn’t?”
Marta’s tone was soft but cutting. “You realize if they’d come north, they’d have taken more than food.”
Lorne’s eyes darted between the wolves again — the quiet power in Thane’s posture, the faint glow of Gabriel’s gaze, Mark’s calm, unblinking patience. They weren’t men pretending to be wolves. They were wolves pretending to be men — and that was somehow worse. And better.
Thane stood, slow and deliberate. The mayor followed suit without meaning to.
“You want to make this right,” Thane said, “then here’s how it goes. You’ll share what you know about these raiders — where they move, how they signal. We’ll make sure they never reach Libby. In return, you’ll get the trade you asked for — honest and open.”
Lorne hesitated. “And if they come back?”
Thane’s eyes locked on his. “Then tell them you met us.”
The mayor nodded quickly. “Understood.”
Marta extended her hand again. “Then it’s settled. Libby and Thompson Falls — trade allies, not enemies.”
Lorne shook her hand, more firmly this time, though his gaze still flickered to Thane like he wasn’t sure whether to bow or breathe. The rest of the meeting went quickly. Lists were exchanged, delivery routes marked, and one of the aides promised to deliver their spare generator belts by next month.
When the convoy finally rolled out again, the townspeople stood quietly watching, lined along the street like witnesses to something ancient.
Gabriel leaned back in the truck bed, tail flicking lazily. “Well,” he said, “that went better than expected.”
“Depends how you define ‘better,’” Mark replied. “Half that town looked ready to faint.”
Thane stared out the window, the reflection of the fading sun caught in his pale eyes. “Good. Let them be afraid. Fear’s honest — it keeps them from lying again.”
Hank chuckled from behind the wheel. “Remind me not to play poker with you.”
“Wouldn’t be fair,” Gabriel said with a grin. “He can smell the bluff.”
The road north wound through pines and evening mist, the sound of tires on gravel like steady breathing. Behind them, Thompson Falls was smaller now, but wiser — a town that had seen the monsters guarding Libby and realized that friendship was easier than war.
As the stars began to prick the horizon, Marta looked back one last time at the faint lights by the river. “Think they’ll keep their word?” she asked quietly.
Thane didn’t answer right away. The forest whispered around them, alive with crickets and memory.
“They will,” he said finally. “Because they’ve seen what waits if they don’t.”