For one second, nobody understood the sound.
It was too large to belong to the morning.
Too flat.
Too hard.
Too final.
Gabriel had one paw on the front door handle.
Mark had turned his head halfway toward Thane, tablet tucked under one arm, mouth open around whatever precise correction he had been about to make.
Then Thane was gone.
Not down.
Gone.
The left side of his upper body burst red, and the force took him off the deck like something had reached from the trees and thrown him.
He hit the railing shoulder-first.
Wood cracked.
His weight tore through it.
Then he disappeared over the side.
For a heartbeat, the front deck held only blood in the air where he had been standing.
Gabriel screamed his name.
“Thane!”
Mark’s tablet hit the boards.
Gabriel vaulted the broken railing without looking.
Mark went after him.
They landed in the dirt below the deck, claws cutting deep tracks through soil and leaf litter.
Thane lay on his right side near the base of the deck, half-twisted, one arm trapped under him, the other clawed into the ground. Blood poured across his fur and into the dirt. His shirt was shredded around the left shoulder and upper chest, fabric dark and wet and torn in a way clothing was not meant to tear.
There was a hole through him.
Not a cut.
Not a wound Gabriel could make sense of.
A hole.
Gabriel dropped beside him.
“Thane. Thane, look at me.”
Thane’s eyes were open.
Too bright.
Too blue.
His muzzle wrinkled back from his teeth, and the sound coming out of him was not words at first.
It was pain.
Low and awful and animal enough to make the hair rise along Gabriel’s spine.
Mark hit the ground on Thane’s other side.
His face went empty in the way it did when fear tried to take him and he refused to let it drive.
“Entry or exit?” Mark said.
Gabriel stared at him.
“What?”
“Wound path. I need—”
Thane growled.
“Don’t.”
Gabriel froze.
Thane’s claws dug deeper into the dirt.
“Don’t. Move. Me.”
Gabriel’s paws hovered uselessly over him.
“Thane—”
“Don’t.”
The word tore out of him.
Blood bubbled at the shoulder wound and slid down his ribs. The smell of it hit the air hard enough to erase the morning.
Mark leaned close without touching.
“He’s conscious. Airway clear. Bleeding severe but slowing at the deep tissue edge.”
Gabriel looked at him like he had said something from another planet.
“He has a hole through him.”
“I know.”
Mark’s voice cracked on the second word.
Only a little.
Enough.
Thane snarled and pressed his forehead into the dirt.
“Few minutes.”
Gabriel bent closer.
“What?”
“Give it…” Thane’s breath hitched. His whole body shuddered. “Few minutes.”
Gabriel looked at the wound again.
Muscle moved.
Not right.
Not enough.
But moved.
The torn edges were already trying to pull inward, tissue knitting too slowly for comfort and too fast for anything human. The bleeding remained terrible, but it was no longer the explosive flood from the first seconds.
Mark’s breathing steadied by force.
“Gabriel. Call it.”
Gabriel blinked.
Then came back into himself hard.
He grabbed his radio.
“Shots fired! Officer down! Detective down at Night Shift residence. Unknown shooter, unknown direction, long-range rifle possible. Need medical, perimeter, command, crime scene. Stage responding units off the open drive. Do not approach exposed front without cover.”
The radio erupted.
Crowe’s voice cut through first.
“Gabriel, status.”
Gabriel looked at Thane.
Then at the deck.
Then at the trees.
“Thane hit. Left shoulder, upper chest area. Massive wound. Conscious. Healing but not mobile. Shooter not visible.”
Crowe’s voice went cold.
“Copy. All units responding, use cover. Unknown shooter, possible long gun. Set outer perimeter at the road and tree line. Do not rush the residence. Medical stage until cleared. Night Shift, can you move to cover?”
Thane’s growl deepened.
“No.”
Gabriel keyed the radio.
“Negative. He says don’t move him.”
Mark lifted his head, scanning the tree line.
“Shot came from distance. Sound delay minimal but echo off trees. Direction likely northeast to east, but uncertain.”
Gabriel relayed it.
Thane moved one paw.
Barely.
But enough to catch Silas’s scent before he saw him.
The front door flew open above them.
Silas came out fast.
Not walking.
Not running.
Launching.
He stopped at the broken railing.
For half a second, he saw the deck.
Blood.
Tablet.
Splintered rail.
Empty space.
Then he looked down.
His face changed.
Everything in him went still.
That was worse than a shout.
“Thane.”
He jumped over the railing and landed beside Mark, claws driving into the dirt.
His eyes went from Thane’s wound to Gabriel’s bloody paws to Mark’s face to the trees.
“Who did this?”
Nobody answered.
That was answer enough.
Silas stepped toward Thane.
Gabriel lifted one paw.
“Careful.”
Silas stopped.
He stopped so hard his claws sank deeper into the ground.
Thane had told them not to move him.
Gabriel and Mark were beside him.
Silas wanted to touch.
He wanted to lift.
He wanted to run.
He did none of it.
His voice came low.
“Who?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
Silas turned toward the tree line.
His lips peeled back from his teeth.
The growl that came out of him had no performance in it.
No child-safe edge.
No Kaden Face.
It was old fear and new rage wrapped around a name nobody had yet found.
Thane forced one eye open wider.
“Silas.”
Silas did not look away from the trees.
Thane’s voice was broken gravel.
“Don’t chase.”
Silas’s head snapped toward him.
“Thane—”
“You don’t know where he is.”
Silas shook with it.
The need to go.
The need to punish.
The need to make the woods answer.
Thane’s right hand scraped across the dirt until his claws touched Silas’s foot.
Not grabbing.
Just there.
“Don’t.”
Silas looked down at the blood on Thane’s claws.
His chest rose once.
Twice.
Then he crouched.
Not close enough to jostle him.
Close enough to be present.
“I won’t.”
Gabriel heard what that cost.
Mark did too.
Thane’s eyes closed.
“Good.”
Then his body seized.
The knitting tissue pulled inside the wound.
Thane’s head jerked back, teeth bared, a sound tearing out of him so sharp Gabriel nearly touched him despite the order.
Mark caught Gabriel’s wrist.
“Don’t.”
Gabriel’s eyes flashed.
Mark held him.
“He said don’t move him.”
Gabriel swallowed air through his teeth.
“I know.”
Above them, the cabin stood open.
Morning light struck the blood on the deck.
The front door swung slowly in the breeze Silas had made when he came through it.
For the first time since they had built the place, the den felt exposed.
Patrol arrived first.
Not at the front door.
Grant’s unit stopped low on the drive behind cover from the curve, lights off until she had position. Darnell came in from the west side road. Patel took the far turn by the fence line. They moved like people who had been told one of their own was down and had chosen not to let panic write the next page.
Crowe’s voice controlled the radio.
“Outer perimeter first. Northeast tree line gets eyes but no blind entry. Nobody skylines themselves. Medical holds at the road until I clear route. Watch the open front. Shooter may be gone. Shooter may not be gone.”
Gabriel stayed beside Thane.
Mark stayed beside Thane.
Silas stayed half-turned toward the trees, body between the woods and the others even though there was no angle that made that safe.
Thane noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Silas.”
Silas looked down.
“Don’t be a wall,” Thane rasped.
Silas flinched.
Then shifted one step sideways, lower, less exposed.
Still guarding.
But not stupid.
“Okay.”
Gabriel pressed one paw to the ground beside Thane, not touching the wound, just anchoring himself.
“You’re very bossy for a wolf with a hole through him.”
Thane’s mouth twitched.
It was not a smile.
It was what survived on the way.
“Noticed.”
Gabriel laughed once.
It came out wrong.
Mark leaned closer to the wound.
“The bleeding is slowing.”
“Good,” Gabriel said.
“The wound channel is closing from the deepest visible tissue outward.”
“Gross.”
“Accurate.”
“Still gross.”
Thane growled softly.
“Both quiet.”
Gabriel immediately shut up.
Mark did not, because Mark had never fully understood survival.
“Pain level?”
Thane opened one eye.
Mark corrected himself.
“High.”
Thane closed the eye.
“Smart wolf.”
Silas made a sound that was almost a laugh and not remotely happy.
Then his head lifted.
“Vehicle.”
Gabriel listened.
Engine noise.
Fast.
Coming up the drive.
Crowe’s unit swung into view, stopped behind Grant’s position, and Crowe got out with her sidearm drawn and her eyes already mapping angles. She did not run to them. She moved through cover, paused, looked, listened, and waited until Grant signaled the immediate approach was clear.
Then she came down the side of the deck.
Her face did not change when she saw the blood.
That was command.
Her eyes did.
That was human.
“Status.”
Gabriel answered.
“Conscious. Severe through-wound left shoulder/upper chest. Healing but not mobile. He ordered no movement.”
Crowe looked at Thane.
“You always this difficult?”
Thane breathed through another wave of pain.
“Usually worse.”
“Good. Stay alive and annoy me later.”
She keyed her radio.
“Medical to move up to the west side only, covered approach. No one crosses the front open line. Crime scene start route documentation from the drive. Chief notified?”
Dispatch answered.
“Chief Whitaker en route. Detectives Voss and Rusk en route. CSI paged.”
Crowe looked at Mark.
“You witness the shot?”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“No. Heard report and impact. Thane was behind us on the deck. Gabriel and I were at the door. We turned after impact.”
Crowe nodded.
“Do not give me more right now. You’re witnesses. We’ll do it clean.”
Mark nodded once.
His ears were tight against his skull.
Clean mattered.
Even now.
Especially now.
Crowe looked at Silas.
“Silas.”
His eyes remained on the trees.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“You stay here unless I move you. You’re household, witness, and potential target. You are not pursuing anything.”
Silas’s claws flexed in the dirt.
“I know.”
Crowe stepped closer, voice low enough that only the pack heard.
“You sure?”
Silas finally looked at her.
His eyes were molten gold.
“No.”
Crowe held his gaze.
“Then follow orders until you are.”
Silas breathed in.
Out.
Then nodded.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Thane’s claws scraped the dirt once.
“Good.”
Silas looked at him, and the rage cracked just enough for fear to show through.
“Don’t talk.”
Thane’s eyes closed.
“Make me.”
Gabriel made a wounded sound that might have been a laugh.
Crowe looked at him.
“Don’t encourage him.”
Gabriel nodded too fast.
“Yes, ma’am.”
EMS did not know what to do with Thane.
That was not their fault.
They arrived with the correct gear, correct urgency, correct training, and a patient whose body had already rejected several basic assumptions.
The lead paramedic, Jonas Bellamy, crouched near Thane with his bag and a face that went from alarm to professional focus by force.
“Detective, can you hear me?”
Thane opened one eye.
“Yes.”
“Any trouble breathing?”
“No.”
That was not entirely true.
Breathing hurt.
Everything hurt.
But air moved.
Bellamy looked at the wound and then at Gabriel.
“How long since injury?”
Gabriel checked his phone with a bloody paw and almost dropped it.
“Eight minutes.”
Bellamy stared at the partially closing wound.
Then chose to continue living in reality.
“Okay. We’re going to control bleeding and assess—”
Thane growled.
“No pressure.”
Bellamy paused.
Mark spoke quickly.
“Deep pressure may disrupt tissue knitting. External dressing only until he can tolerate movement. He heals rapidly. We need containment, not standard hemorrhage packing unless bleeding resumes heavily.”
Bellamy looked at Crowe.
Crowe said, “He knows their physiology.”
Bellamy nodded once.
“External dressing. Minimal movement. Detective, tell me if I do something stupid.”
Thane’s mouth twitched again.
“List might be long.”
“Fair.”
Gabriel looked at Bellamy.
“I like him.”
Mark handed over gauze.
Bellamy placed dressings around the wound carefully, not pressing deep, not trying to solve what he could not solve. Blood soaked the first layer, then the second more slowly.
Thane’s body shook with each internal pull of healing.
Bone or tissue shifted under skin.
His claws carved small trenches into the dirt.
Silas watched every tremor like it was a personal crime.
“This is because of me.”
Gabriel’s head snapped up.
“You don’t know that.”
Silas did not look at him.
“I know enough people hate that I’m standing in your house instead of a cage.”
Thane’s eyes opened.
“Not yours.”
Silas looked down at him.
The words landed.
They did not stay.
“How do you know?”
Thane breathed.
Then forced the answer out.
“Because I said.”
Gabriel stared at him.
“That is not evidentiary.”
Thane’s eye shifted toward him.
Gabriel swallowed.
“Sorry. Terrible timing.”
Mark said quietly, “But correct.”
Silas crouched lower.
His voice was barely sound.
“Thane.”
Thane moved his right hand again, slow and shaking, until his claws touched Silas’s wrist.
“You didn’t pull trigger.”
Silas’s eyes shone with fury and something worse.
“No.”
“Then not yours.”
Silas looked toward the trees again.
“Maybe it’s someone angry about the deal.”
Crowe’s attention sharpened.
So did Mark’s.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
Thane’s claws pressed lightly against Silas’s wrist.
“Maybe.”
Silas looked back at him.
That one word mattered.
Thane was hurt.
Badly hurt.
But he did not dismiss the thought just because Silas had said it from guilt.
Maybe was honest.
Maybe was dangerous.
Maybe belonged in a report later, not in a chase now.
Thane growled through another wave of pain.
“Not chase.”
Silas nodded.
“I know.”
Crowe looked at Gabriel.
“Make a note of that statement when you can. Not now. Later. Clean.”
Gabriel nodded.
His eyes never left Thane.
Twenty minutes took longer than twenty minutes.
The sun moved.
The blood darkened in the dirt.
The wound closed.
Not healed.
Closed enough.
The torn shoulder pulled inward by degrees, muscle knitting under fur, edges raw and angry and swollen. The exit side at the back of Thane’s shoulder looked worse at first, then better, then worse again as deeper tissue dragged itself into alignment.
Thane did not scream.
Gabriel almost wished he would.
The growls were worse.
Low.
Controlled only because Thane forced them to be controlled.
At fourteen minutes, Whitaker arrived.
She came through the west-side approach with Grant, wearing plain clothes under a department jacket and the face of a chief who had been woken into attempted murder.
She stopped at the sight of Thane.
Only for half a second.
Then she crouched outside Bellamy’s working space.
“Thane.”
He opened his eyes.
“Chief.”
The word was barely shaped.
Whitaker’s mouth tightened.
“You’re still with us.”
“Annoying Crowe.”
“Good. She needs hobbies.”
Crowe, standing three feet away, said, “I heard that.”
“You were meant to.”
Whitaker looked at Gabriel and Mark next.
“You two hurt?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“No.”
Mark said, “No physical injuries.”
Whitaker accepted the distinction.
Then she looked at Silas.
He had not moved from his crouch except to shift out of direct exposure. His claws were dirt-packed. His eyes were fixed on Thane.
“Silas.”
He looked up.
“Chief.”
“You are not going to solve this by punishing yourself.”
His voice came low.
“I might solve it by finding him.”
“No.”
The word cracked across the space between them.
Silas went still.
Whitaker’s voice did not soften.
“We solve it by proving who fired. We do not feed rage into the woods and call it justice.”
Silas’s lips parted.
For one second, he looked like every old instinct had found a door.
Then Thane’s claws scraped against his wrist again.
Silas looked down.
Thane’s eyes were on him.
Pain-bright.
Furious.
Alive.
Silas swallowed.
“Yes, Chief.”
Whitaker nodded.
Not satisfied.
But accepting the answer as a beginning.
Voss and Rusk arrived three minutes later.
Voss came down the same route, eyes taking in everything: deck, railing, blood pattern, body position, lines of sight, Gabriel’s hands, Mark’s stiffness, Silas’s posture, Thane’s wound.
Rusk followed behind her, face emptied of humor so completely he looked older.
Voss stopped beside Crowe.
“Tell me.”
Crowe did.
Brief.
Clean.
Officer shot at home.
Unknown shooter.
Long-range possibility.
Thane conscious, healing.
Witnesses Gabriel, Mark, Silas.
No visual on shooter.
Possible northeast or east tree line based on sound and impact, uncertain.
Perimeter still expanding.
CSI inbound.
Voss listened without interruption.
Then she looked at Gabriel and Mark.
“We will take statements when you can give them. Not before. You understand?”
Mark nodded.
Gabriel did too.
Voss looked at Thane.
He gave the smallest nod possible.
She crouched near him.
“You did not see the shooter?”
Thane’s jaw flexed.
“No.”
“Direction?”
His nostrils flared.
He tried to breathe deep.
Pain punished him immediately.
His claws tore at the soil.
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Don’t.”
Thane snarled.
Then forced the breath out.
“Trees. East. Maybe northeast. Gun oil scent faint. Too much blood.”
Voss’s expression changed at the last words.
Not because they were emotional.
Because they were evidence.
“Okay. Stop trying.”
Thane closed his eyes again.
Rusk stood behind Voss, staring at the wound.
Then at the tree line.
Then at Silas.
“Anybody goes running, they make the shooter’s job easier.”
Silas did not look away from Thane.
“I know.”
Rusk nodded.
“Good.”
The word held more than approval.
It held warning.
It held trust.
It held the fact that Rusk knew exactly how badly Silas wanted to become a weapon and exactly how important it was that he did not.
At twenty-two minutes, Thane moved.
Not well.
Not gracefully.
But deliberately.
His right elbow dug under him.
Gabriel immediately leaned in.
“Don’t you dare do that alone.”
Thane growled.
“Not alone.”
Mark moved to his right side.
Gabriel took the front angle.
Silas stayed where he was, waiting.
Thane opened one eye and looked at him.
“You too.”
Silas froze.
“Me?”
“Need steady.”
Gabriel looked at Thane.
Then at Silas.
Then nodded.
Silas moved in like he was approaching something sacred and wounded and dangerous all at once.
Which he was.
Mark gave instructions because Mark survived fear by building scaffolding out of words.
“Right side support only. Avoid left shoulder entirely. Gabriel, under right arm but not lifting vertically until he engages legs. Silas, stabilize torso from the rear right. No pressure across the wound path. On three.”
Thane muttered, “Bossy.”
Mark said, “Correct.”
Gabriel slid one arm behind Thane’s back.
Silas placed both paws where Mark indicated, huge and careful.
Thane breathed once.
Twice.
Mark counted.
“One. Two. Three.”
They lifted.
Thane’s snarl hit the underside of the deck.
Birds exploded from the trees.
Gabriel held.
Mark held.
Silas held.
Thane’s legs locked under him, shaking, claws cutting into the earth.
Blood ran again, thinner now, over the temporary dressings.
Bellamy hovered close but did not interfere.
Thane stood.
Barely.
Crowe looked at the open front door.
“Inside?”
Thane nodded.
“Sofa.”
Gabriel huffed.
“Of course. We’re bleeding on the expensive sofa.”
Thane’s mouth pulled back.
“Bandage.”
Mark said, “The bandage is not for furniture protection.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“It can have two jobs.”
Silas made a small sound.
Almost a laugh.
Almost a sob.
Neither got free.
They moved slowly.
Up the steps was impossible because the front deck railing was broken and the stairs sat too exposed to the angle Crowe did not trust. Crowe sent them around through the garage-side entry instead, under cover, with Grant and Patel holding positions and Rusk watching the tree line like he could hate it into confession.
The garage door rose.
Home.
The Humvee sat inside, dusty from the shift, suddenly irrelevant.
They brought Thane through the interior hallway and into the great room.
The cabin smelled like coffee, wood, Silas, sleep, and now blood.
Too much blood.
Silas’s face tightened when the den took the scent.
Thane noticed even through pain.
“Breathe.”
Silas looked at him.
“I am.”
“No. You’re holding it.”
Silas inhaled.
Then exhaled slowly.
Gabriel helped lower Thane onto the sofa.
Thane’s claws dug into the upholstery for one terrible second.
Mark grabbed his wrist and guided the claws to the blanket instead.
“Not the leather.”
Thane growled.
Gabriel blinked.
“Did Mark just prioritize the sofa before I did?”
Mark said, “I prioritized safe claw placement.”
Gabriel pointed at him.
“Furniture safety.”
“Patient safety.”
“Both jobs.”
Bellamy stepped in with fresh dressings.
“I’m going to re-cover the wound.”
Thane nodded once.
Inside the house, away from the dirt, the wound looked both better and worse.
Better because the hole was no longer open all the way through.
Worse because everyone had enough light to understand what had happened.
The left shoulder was a ruin of torn fur, swollen tissue, clotted blood, and raw new skin trying to become whole faster than pain could tolerate. The back side still oozed under the shoulder blade, where the round had torn out.
Gabriel pressed gauze where Bellamy told him.
His paws shook.
He hated that.
Thane saw.
“Gabriel.”
Gabriel looked at him.
Thane’s voice was rough.
“Good hands.”
Gabriel’s throat moved.
“Yeah.”
Mark taped gauze across the rear wound, careful not to pull fur more than necessary.
“This is primarily to prevent blood transfer.”
Gabriel said, “To the sofa.”
“To everything,” Mark said.
Thane muttered, “Liked that shirt.”
Gabriel stared at him.
“Your shoulder exploded.”
“Still liked shirt.”
Silas sank onto the floor near the coffee table and let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in him since the shot.
For two seconds, everyone almost laughed.
Not because it was funny enough.
Because Thane was alive enough to be ridiculous.
That counted.
The cabin became a command post despite everyone hating that sentence.
Whitaker established the great room as the family/witness area only because Thane could not be moved elsewhere and because forcing the pack out of their own den after an attack on that den would have been both cruel and impractical.
Crowe took the deck and exterior.
Voss took witness coordination.
Rusk took the first look at angles with CSI when they arrived.
Grant and Patel remained on perimeter.
Darnell worked the road with county backup.
Bellamy stayed until he was convinced Thane was not about to stop breathing in a way EMS could understand.
He finally stood, looking at the wound, then at Thane.
“I can’t make you go to the hospital, can I?”
Thane opened one eye.
“No.”
“I should advise it.”
“You did.”
“I should advise it more strongly.”
“Still no.”
Bellamy looked at Whitaker.
Whitaker said, “Document refusal and keep a unit available.”
Bellamy nodded.
Then looked back at Thane.
“If anything changes—breathing, dizziness, bleeding, loss of consciousness—”
Mark said, “We call.”
Bellamy pointed at him.
“You, I believe.”
Gabriel looked offended.
“I also know how phones work.”
Bellamy looked at his bloody paws.
“I’m sure you do.”
Gabriel glanced down.
“Fair.”
When EMS stepped outside, Silas remained on the floor near Thane’s right side.
Not touching.
Close.
His entire body aimed toward the door.
Thane’s eyes were closed, but his voice found Silas anyway.
“Stop guarding furniture.”
Silas’s ears twitched.
“I’m guarding you.”
“Too late. Got shot.”
Silas’s eyes flashed.
Gabriel said softly, “Thane.”
Thane opened his eyes and looked at Silas.
“Not funny?”
Silas’s voice was low.
“No.”
Thane held his gaze.
Then gave the smallest nod.
“Okay.”
That apology meant more than the word would have.
Silas looked down.
“I can smell it.”
“The blood?”
“The bullet path. Smoke. Metal. Your pain.”
Thane breathed slowly.
“Don’t live in it.”
Silas’s claws pressed into the rug.
“I don’t know how not to.”
Mark looked up from washing blood off his forearms with wipes someone had handed him.
“Name what you can prove.”
Silas turned toward him.
Mark’s voice was quiet.
“Not what you fear. Not what you want to be true. Name what you can prove.”
Silas looked toward the open front door.
Then back at Thane.
“I can prove someone tried to kill you.”
No one corrected that.
Silas swallowed.
“I can prove I wanted to run after him.”
Thane said, “But didn’t.”
Silas’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
Silas’s eyes went wet, but the tears did not fall.
Not this time.
He pushed them back with anger and discipline and love that had nowhere safe to go.
“It doesn’t feel like enough.”
Thane’s voice dropped.
“It is.”
Gabriel sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, one bloody hand wrapped in a towel.
“Staying when every part of you wants to chase is more than enough.”
Silas looked at him.
Gabriel gave a tired, wrecked smile.
“Trust me. I’m currently made of bad ideas.”
Mark sat in the chair beside the sofa.
“We all are.”
Thane looked at him.
“You too?”
Mark’s expression stayed flat.
“Yes.”
Gabriel leaned back to look at him.
“What’s your bad idea?”
“Find the shooter before anyone else and explain consequences.”
Gabriel blinked.
“Mark.”
“I did not say it was a lawful idea.”
Silas stared.
Then laughed once.
A broken little sound.
But a laugh.
Thane closed his eyes.
“Good. Everybody terrible. Nobody chasing.”
Gabriel exhaled.
“Pack motto.”
Mark said, “No.”
Silas whispered it anyway.
“Everybody terrible. Nobody chasing.”
Thane’s mouth twitched.
“Acceptable.”
Outside, the investigation began turning shock into measurements.
CSI photographed the deck from every angle.
The red mist on the boards.
The splintered railing.
The blood trail where Thane had gone over.
The gouges his claws made in the dirt.
The path to the side entry.
The places Gabriel and Mark landed.
The places Silas landed.
The responding officers’ approach routes.
Everything.
Because horror did not get to erase procedure.
Rusk stood near the broken railing while a crime scene tech measured the height, angle, and blood pattern. Voss stood beside him, arms folded, face set.
“Shooter didn’t aim for the head,” Rusk said.
Voss looked toward the tree line.
“Or missed.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think so?”
Rusk looked at the blood on the boards.
“I think whoever fired had one shot before the pack disappeared into cover or chaos. Center mass on a seven-foot wolf from distance might be shoulder line if angle’s elevated or if he moved.”
“Thane was stepping.”
“Yes.”
They both looked toward the trees.
Crowe approached with Grant.
“Perimeter sweep found tire impressions on the northeast service path about four hundred yards out. No vehicle. County is checking road cameras.”
Voss nodded.
“Shell casing?”
“Not yet. If it was a distance setup, shooter may have policed brass or used a platform that retained it. Ground is messy.”
Rusk crouched near a deep scar in one of the deck posts behind where Thane had stood.
The shot had passed through Thane and struck the post at an angle before deflecting into the stone landscaping border beyond the deck.
The post damage was ugly.
Not a neat hole.
A torn gouge.
Rusk looked toward the stone border.
“Did CSI find the final impact?”
“Working it,” Crowe said.
A tech called from below the deck.
“Detectives.”
They moved.
The round had not remained whole.
Whatever passed through Thane had struck wood, then stone, then buried fragments into the landscaping bed and the base of a decorative stone pillar.
The gouge in the stone was massive.
Voss stared at it.
Rusk’s face went harder.
Crowe said nothing.
The crime scene tech looked unsettled despite trying not to.
“That’s not a standard hunting round.”
Rusk crouched.
“No.”
Voss looked back through the projected path.
Stone.
Post.
Air.
Where Thane had stood.
Trees.
Rusk’s voice was very quiet.
“That wasn’t meant to scare him.”
Crowe looked toward the open front door.
“No.”
Voss’s jaw tightened.
“That was meant to put him down.”
Rusk stood.
“And whoever fired it expected him to be hard to kill.”
The words hung there.
Not official yet.
Not report language yet.
But true enough to chill the morning.
Voss looked at Crowe.
“We need every enemy, every recent case, every public threat, every online threat, every person angry about Silas, the funds, the department, the arson arrests, everything.”
Crowe nodded.
“Already pulling.”
“Albrecht family?”
Crowe’s eyes moved toward the house.
“Yes. On the list.”
No one said more.
Not yet.
Inside, Silas sat close enough to hear voices if he tried.
They all knew that.
They also knew lists were not accusations.
Not until proof walked in.
Whitaker stood in the great room with her phone in one hand and command sitting heavy across her shoulders.
Thane was half-upright on the sofa now, supported by pillows Gabriel had chosen badly and Mark had rearranged correctly.
The gauze across his shoulder had already needed changing twice.
The bleeding had slowed to ugly seepage.
The wound had closed enough to make survival look certain and pain look permanent.
Silas sat on the floor near his right side.
Gabriel sat on the other end of the sofa, close enough to reach him.
Mark stood by the coffee table with clean hands, blood still under one claw where the wipe had missed.
Voss entered from the front, stepping carefully around the blood that still marked the threshold.
Rusk followed.
Crowe came last.
Their faces told Thane enough.
He opened his eyes.
“Bad?”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“You were shot off a deck. We established bad.”
Thane looked at Voss.
Voss did not soften it.
“The projectile passed through you, struck a deck post, damaged stone, and left fragments. It was a large-caliber, high-energy round. We won’t name it until ballistics does.”
Mark’s ears lowered.
Gabriel’s paw tightened around the edge of the sofa.
Silas went completely still.
Thane breathed in slowly.
Pain answered.
“Shooter?”
“Gone,” Crowe said. “We found possible tire tracks on the northeast service path. No casing yet. Cameras being pulled. Roads being canvassed. County assisting.”
Thane closed his eyes.
“Good.”
Voss stepped closer.
“You’re not working this.”
Thane opened his eyes again.
The room changed temperature.
Gabriel sat up.
Mark looked at Voss.
Silas’s head lifted.
Thane’s voice was low.
“Yes.”
“No,” Voss said.
Thane stared at her.
Voss stared back.
“You are the victim. Gabriel and Mark are witnesses. Silas is a witness and household member. You can give statements. You can provide context. You do not investigate your own attempted murder.”
Thane’s lips curled.
“Someone shot me at my house.”
“Yes.”
“My den.”
“Yes.”
“My pack.”
Voss’s voice sharpened.
“And that is exactly why you do not touch this case.”
Silas looked between them, breathing tight.
Whitaker stepped in before anger found speed.
“Voss is right.”
Thane’s eyes moved to the chief.
Whitaker held them.
“This department will not hand your attacker a defense argument because we let the victim investigate. You know that.”
Thane’s right hand flexed.
Blood cracked in the fur along his wrist.
Gabriel’s voice came soft.
“Thane.”
Mark added, “She’s right.”
Thane looked at Mark.
Mark did not flinch.
“We would say it to anyone else.”
That did it.
Not because Thane liked it.
Because it was true.
He closed his eyes.
“Fine.”
Voss nodded once.
Not victory.
Respect.
“You’ll be kept informed where appropriate.”
Gabriel muttered, “That phrase sucks from this side.”
Rusk said, “It always does.”
Silas’s voice came from the floor.
“If it’s because of me, I need to know.”
Everyone looked at him.
He did not shrink from it.
He looked at Whitaker first.
Then Voss.
Then Thane.
“If someone did this because they’re angry I’m here, because I got a deal, because Thane stood up for me—”
“Silas,” Thane said.
Silas shook his head once.
“I’m not saying I did it. I’m not saying I caused it.”
That was new.
That distinction.
That growth under fire.
“But I’m saying you should look there.”
Voss studied him.
“We will.”
Silas swallowed.
“Albrecht.”
The name landed.
No one acted surprised.
That was its own answer.
Voss said, “He and his family are on the list.”
Silas nodded.
“Good.”
Thane tried to sit higher.
Pain stopped him hard.
Gabriel shoved a paw against his chest before thinking better of it and moved to his uninjured side.
“Stay down.”
Thane snarled.
Gabriel snarled back.
The room froze.
Gabriel’s ears went back immediately.
Thane stared at him.
Then, unbelievably, huffed.
“Rude.”
Gabriel’s eyes were wet and furious.
“I’m having a morning.”
Thane sank back against the pillows.
“Fine.”
Mark said, “That was not a medical category.”
Gabriel wiped at his face with the back of one wrist.
“Everything is a category if you’re bleeding on the sofa.”
Thane looked at the gauze.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
Gabriel blinked.
Then laughed once, rough and too close to breaking.
“You’re sorry about the sofa?”
Silas lowered his head.
His shoulders shook once.
Not crying.
Not laughing.
Surviving.
Whitaker let the room breathe for five seconds.
Then she said, “Here is what happens now. Patrol stays on the property. County assists perimeter and road canvass. CSI processes the scene. Voss and Rusk coordinate the investigation with Crowe. You four stay together, inside, away from windows until we clear line-of-sight concerns.”
Gabriel looked toward the front windows.
“We need better curtains.”
Mark said, “We need ballistic-rated exterior changes.”
Thane opened one eye.
“Call Eli.”
Silas looked up sharply.
Thane saw the reaction and growled softly.
“Not for revenge.”
Silas held still.
Thane continued.
“Security. Legal. Clean.”
Silas nodded.
“Clean.”
Whitaker looked at Crowe.
“Make sure Eli Carroway is notified through appropriate channels. He’ll want counsel involvement fast.”
Crowe nodded.
“Already on it.”
Thane closed his eyes again.
He wanted to hunt.
He wanted to know.
He wanted to stand on the deck and roar at the trees until the person who had done this remembered fear for the rest of his life.
Instead, he lay on his own sofa with gauze taped over a hole that hurt like hell and proved exactly what the shooter had intended, and he listened to the people he trusted build a lawful wall between his rage and the world.
It was miserable.
It was right.
The house stayed awake.
There was no other way to say it.
The cabin did not sleep around them.
Every board seemed to know.
Every window felt like an eye.
Every familiar thing had been dragged into a crime scene by one shot from the trees.
Gabriel changed the gauze when Mark told him to.
Mark recorded observations and then stopped when Voss told him he was crossing from witness into investigator and needed to breathe.
Silas made coffee no one drank.
Then he made it again because the first pot got cold.
Thane dozed in short, ugly bursts and woke each time the healing pulled too hard.
Once, he woke with a growl so sharp Silas was on his feet before anyone spoke.
Thane opened his eyes.
“Stay.”
Silas stopped.
Sat back down.
“Yes.”
That became the morning.
Pain.
Commands.
Obedience.
Rage with a leash on it.
At 10:12, Eli arrived with Nora beside him, both routed through the side entrance by Grant. Eli wore a suit that looked too expensive for a crime scene and a face that looked ready to become a lawsuit with shoes.
He stopped when he saw Thane.
For once, he had no immediate sentence.
Nora did.
“Oh, Thane.”
Thane opened one eye.
“Hi.”
Eli’s jaw tightened.
“I leave you unsupervised for one night.”
Gabriel pointed weakly.
“That’s unfair. We were there.”
“Then I amend my statement to all of you.”
Mark said, “We did solve an arson pattern.”
Eli looked at him.
“Congratulations. Someone then tried to assassinate your brother.”
Mark lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Nora crossed to Silas and put a hand on his arm.
Silas looked down at her like he did not know what to do with kindness standing upright.
Nora said softly, “Are you holding?”
Silas’s mouth tightened.
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Silas looked toward Thane.
Then back.
“I’m staying.”
Nora nodded.
“That counts today.”
Eli moved to Whitaker and Voss near the kitchen island.
“Tell me what you can tell me.”
Voss said, “Attempted murder. Unknown shooter. Long-range firearm. Thane is victim. Gabriel, Mark, and Silas are witnesses. We are separating investigation from family as cleanly as possible.”
Eli nodded.
“Good. I will make myself useful without contaminating your file.”
Rusk, standing near the hallway, said, “That would be refreshing.”
Eli looked at him.
“I like you too, Detective.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No. But I respect consistency.”
Gabriel whispered from the sofa, “The lawyers are fighting. Nature is healing.”
Thane’s mouth twitched.
Then pain took the almost-smile and crushed it.
Silas saw.
His eyes went back to the door.
By late morning, the first hard measurement came inside.
Rusk brought it because Voss was outside with CSI and Crowe was on the phone with county.
He stood in the great room holding a folder and looking like every joke he owned had been locked away.
Thane opened his eyes before Rusk spoke.
“Tell me.”
Rusk looked at Whitaker.
She nodded.
Rusk came closer.
“Preliminary trajectory suggests the shot came from the northeast tree line or the service path beyond it. We found tire impressions consistent with a truck or large SUV leaving that path. No casing recovered yet.”
Thane waited.
Rusk looked at Mark, then Gabriel, then Silas.
Then back at Thane.
“Round passed through you, took a piece out of the deck post, and fragmented into the stone border.”
Gabriel’s ears flattened.
Mark’s paws curled.
Silas did not move.
Rusk’s voice went quieter.
“That wasn’t a normal rifle round.”
Gabriel stared at him.
“Meaning?”
Rusk looked toward the open front door, where beyond the crime scene tape the broken deck stood in morning light.
“Meaning whoever fired it expected you to be hard to kill.”
Silas stood.
Slowly.
Thane said his name.
Silas stopped.
Not calm.
Stopped.
Rusk did not look away from Thane.
“Ballistics will name it. We won’t do that here. But the damage tells us enough for now.”
Thane’s voice came low.
“It wasn’t a warning.”
“No,” Rusk said.
Voss entered as he said it.
Her face confirmed the same truth.
Mark looked from Rusk to Voss.
Then toward the front deck.
“I want to see.”
Voss shook her head.
“No.”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“I can help.”
“You can give me your statement. You can identify where you stood. You can tell me what you heard. You cannot process your brother’s shooting scene.”
Mark’s ears went back.
For one second, it looked like he might argue.
Then he looked at Thane.
Thane gave the smallest shake of his head.
Mark closed his eyes.
“Understood.”
Gabriel leaned forward, elbows on knees, bloody towel still wrapped around one paw.
“Was he aiming for Thane?”
Voss did not answer too quickly.
That was mercy.
That was also cruelty.
“We don’t know what he saw through the optic. We don’t know the exact aim point. We don’t know if Thane’s step changed the hit. But the weapon choice and shot placement tell us this was intended to do catastrophic damage.”
Silas’s voice came from near the coffee table.
“It was meant to kill him.”
No one contradicted him.
Outside, a camera clicked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The sound was small.
The silence after it was not.
Rusk looked at the damage photos in his folder, then at Thane on the sofa, then toward the door where the morning had broken open.
“This wasn’t meant to hurt him.”
The room held its breath.
Silas moved to the front of the sofa.
His paws were still dirty from the place he had stopped himself from running.
His claws pressed into the edge of the coffee table, careful not to break it.
His voice came low enough that everyone turned.
“No.”
His eyes stayed on Thane.
Not on the wound.
Not on the blood.
On Thane.
“It was meant to take him from us.”