By the time the last nails were hammered and the final boards replaced, Libby looked almost untouched by war. The square smelled of soap and smoke; roofs gleamed under a clean dusting of snow. No scorch marks, no wreckage. Even the gouges in the dirt road had been filled in. It was the kind of normal that people build after chaos—thin, maybe, but determined.
Marta called a town-hall meeting that afternoon.
The benches were full, and the mood felt different now—tired but proud. Hank’s deputies leaned along the back wall, rifles slung. Thane came in last, the two massive ferals trailing him like thunderclouds. Holt and Rime didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. The chuckles from the benches came easy and nervous—Libby had gotten used to its Alpha having two shadows.
Marta tapped her clipboard. “Alright. Libby’s standing again. But we need to talk about Glendive.”
The room went still.
Hank cleared his throat. “They’ll think we’re weak if we just patch the walls and sit here. Voss sent those men. He’s still breathing.”
“We could send a message,” one farmer said carefully. “Not revenge. Just… a reminder.”
A few heads nodded. “Make them think twice next time.”
Eyes turned to Thane. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded, listening. Everyone expected him to end the idea before it started. Mercy had been his banner since the day he’d walked into Libby.
Instead, he said, “A message sounds right.”
Marta blinked. “You’re agreeing?”
“I am,” Thane said. “No fire, no killing. Just fear. Enough to keep them home.”
That pulled a murmur through the room—half surprise, half relief.
Sable sat near the window, white fur silver in the late light. Her voice carried clear and calm. “We move night. Only Voss. No others. He wake small. We leave before sun.”
Mark gave a low whistle. “We can handle power and comms. Gabriel and I’ll make sure their whole town blinks out like someone pulled the plug.”
Gabriel smirked. “Just long enough to get everyone jumpy. They’ll have no idea what hit ‘em.”
“Good,” Thane said. “Do it clean. Leave no trace.”
The days leading up to the mission were quiet and precise. Holt and Rime took night runs, learning the edges of Glendive’s defenses. Mark and Gabriel mapped power lines and radio towers, whispering back and forth in easy conversation—joking one minute, engineering the next. “We kill the juice at 0200, get a full blackout for twenty,” Mark said, tracing an invisible line in the air.
“Plenty,” Gabriel replied. “They’ll think it’s the end of the world… again.”
When the moon came thin and bright, they moved.
Libby stayed lit, its fires steady, while the pack vanished into the forest. Pads pressed snow; claws ticked on frozen grit. Sable’s northern ferals joined silently—ghosts among trees. Mark and Gabriel worked in the dark like men tuning a guitar: steady hands, quiet voices, perfect timing. A quick twist of wire, a single pull, and Glendive’s lights went out all at once. Radios sighed into silence. Pumps stopped. The town slept inside its own heartbeat.
Thane and the wolves crossed into Glendive’s edge. They entered only one house—the one with the warmest chimney, where Garrick Voss, self-proclaimed commander of the Black Winter, slept heavy and sure. A black bag went over his head, ropes followed, and within moments he was dragged into the dark without a single alarm.
No one in Libby saw a thing.
No one in Glendive knew—yet.
They tied him between four young pines at the camp just outside town. The ropes were thick, the knots expert. When the hood came off, he was staring into firelight and a circle of faces that made the night feel small.
Thane stood in front of him, arms loose at his sides.
Sable watched with that steady, predator’s calm.
Holt and Rime loomed like carved figures at the fire’s edge, silent and waiting.
Voss tried to snarl, but his voice cracked. “You can’t do this—”
Thane’s gaze never wavered. “You sent men to raid Libby. They died. So did some of ours. You built Black Winter on fear. Tonight, you learn it.”
“You think I’m scared of a few mutts?” he spat, forcing a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
Holt moved in one step, no words—just a growl low in his chest. He gripped the rope at Voss’s wrist and pulled until it strained. Rime mirrored the motion at the opposite arm, slow and deliberate, stretching the man’s frame tight. Voss grunted, legs trembling.
Thane’s voice was soft, but it carried the weight of command. “You feel that? That’s how easy you were to take. Your men slept while we walked into your town.”
Voss tried a laugh, desperate and hollow. “You’re bluffing.”
“Try me,” Thane said.
Holt leaned close, breath hot against the man’s face. “You want know how hard we pull?” His tone wasn’t mocking—it was measured, dangerous. “We find out.”
Rime’s claws pressed against the rope, tightening it just enough to make the man gasp. The campfire hissed.
Voss broke. “Wait—please! I’ll stop the raids! I’ll—”
Thane didn’t move. “You’ll trade. Fairly. You’ll leave Libby alone. You’ll tell your people to leave every other town alone. You’ll stop pretending you’re building something when you’re just stealing.”
Voss’s head jerked in frantic nods. “Yes! I swear it!”
Thane tilted his head slightly. “Louder.”
“I SWEAR IT!” His voice tore the quiet forest.
Sable’s expression didn’t change. “Good,” she said softly. “He mean it now.”
Holt gave one last deliberate jerk on the rope, hard enough to make Voss yelp—a punctuation mark. Then he looked over his shoulder at Thane.
Thane stepped forward until his shadow swallowed the man. “Go home. Tell them we came once. If they try again, we won’t stop at lessons.”
He gave Holt and Rime a subtle nod. The ropes went slack. Voss collapsed onto the snow, chest heaving. Holt hauled him upright by the collar and shoved him toward the dark line of trees.
“Run,” Holt said.
Voss stumbled, then ran—bare feet slipping, half-falling into the dark until the night swallowed him whole.
The wolves stood still until even the sound of his panic faded.
Then Holt exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and let out a deep, rumbling laugh.
“Did you see eyes?!” he said.
Rime grunted, a dry noise that might’ve been approval.
Gabriel appeared from the shadows, brushing snow off his sleeves. “We’re good. Power and comms will come back on in half an hour. They’ll wake up confused as hell.”
Mark smirked. “Perfect. By the time he makes it home, they’ll be wondering why he looks like he saw ghosts.”
Thane nodded once. “Good work.”
By dawn, Glendive’s lights blinked back on, street by street. Radios hissed to life, pumps groaned awake. The people found their leader stumbling back through the snow, trembling, eyes wide. He didn’t speak of what had happened, only barked orders that no one should ever go near Libby again. No one argued.
Back home, Libby’s morning began like any other.
The smell of baking bread.
A pair of kids racing through the square.
Holt and Rime sitting outside the café, mugs of coffee steaming in their paws. Holt nudged Rime. “Could done it,” he muttered with a grin. “Messy, though.”
Rime’s ear flicked. “Next time maybe.”
Thane overheard them as he passed and shook his head, smiling faintly. “You two are hopeless.”
They both laughed, low and rumbling, and went back to their mugs.
Marta found Thane near the well. “It’s done?”
“It’s done,” he said simply.
She studied him. “And?”
“And they’ll stay put,” Thane said. “Fear travels fast.”
Her nod was quiet approval. “Then we can breathe again.”
That night, Thane sat in the radio station with Sable standing beside him. The faint hum of the old console filled the silence.
“You think he remember?” she asked.
“Oh, he’ll remember,” Thane said. “Every time the lights flicker, he’ll wonder if we’re coming back.”
Sable huffed softly—maybe amusement, maybe respect. “You bent branch,” she said. “Did not break.”
Thane let the words settle. “Let’s hope it stays bent.”
Outside, Libby slept in peace.
Inside, the wolves watched over the lights they’d kept burning.
And far to the east, Garrick Voss sat awake in a warm room, hearing phantom sounds in the wind, certain that somewhere in the dark, claws were waiting.