Brute 257

ATASHA’S POV 

“We did manage to uncover something about the tribe,” Grace said, handing me a folded parchment. Her gaze flicked briefly toward Collin’s unconscious form before returning to me. “Are you certain you’re letting him live?” 

I nodded, refusing to spare Collin’s unconscious body another glance. His coughing had gone on for so long it stopped sounding like illness and started sounding like his body was being punished from the inside, until his strength finally ran out and he slumped into silence, unconscious once again. 

For now, he would stay exactly as he was. 

I unfolded the parchment. My brow creased almost immediately It was a map of the southern territories, but not the one recorded in official archives. The names scattered across it were unfamiliar, marked in faded ink. They were small tribes, rogue settlements, werewolves who had never sworn allegiance to any recognized pack. 

This reminded me of something that I learned when I was younger. 

There had been a time when Arecor was drowning in chaos, long before Demon Fangs ever existed. Back then, the threat came from fractured tribes that refused the King’s authority, groups that rejected order and ruled themselves through blood and conquest. This was before the current King’s reign. Before stability was forced into existence. 

And according to this map, those tribes had not simply vanished 

The parchment was old enough that the folds had turned into permanent scars. Someone had drawn borders by hand, not with the clean lines used in official charts, but with rough marks that looked like they were made in a hurry. The ink had faded into brown in some places, and yet the names still stood out. 

Near the outer territories that would later be swallowed by Nightfall’s influence, three marks had been scratched close together. Three tribes clustered like a wound that never properly healed. 

Koru–Kai sat along the river bends, their territory marked with crude symbols that looked like hooks. 

Varru–Senn was placed near the forest line, where the trees thickened and the paths narrowed until outsiders could be swallowed whole. 

Hollow–Renn was drawn closest to the foothills, almost hugging the natural caves and stone cuts that could hide a hundred bodies and never give them back. 

Three tribes. All within striking distance of what became Nightfall’s border. 

I traced the marks with my fingertip, following the old lines. If Collin’s story was true, then the tribe he had “found” me in would have been somewhere around here. Somewhere that could be erased without the rest of the south questioning it too loudly. 

Grace’s voice broke the silence. “There is more.” 

She pulled out a thin notebook. The cover was cracked leather with water stains along the edges, and the pages inside looked brittle, like they had been turned too many times by hands that didn’t care if they ruined it. 

“These are the only written records we found that still match the map,” Grace said as he set it down beside the parchment. “It’s not a full report. It reads like a field log. Names, dates, leaders. Nothing else.” 

The first pages were nothing but entries, written in an older script that was still readable if I slowed down and followed the strokes. 

Koru–Kai 

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Chapter 257 

Leader: Chieftain Rask Tol. 

Date: 3rd Frost–Moon, Year 611. 

Status: Removed. 

Varru–Senn 

Leader: Matron Sera Vann. 

Date: 18th Frost–Moon, Year 611. 

Status: Removed. 

Hollow–Renn 

Leader: Chieftain Dorg Renn. 

Date: 2nd Ash–Moon, Year 612. 

Status: Removed. 

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Each entry was short, almost careless. There was no mention of how many died or who led the assault. No mention of where survivors fled, if there were any at all. Just the leader’s name, the date, and that cold word that meant annihilation without saying it outright. 

My eyes narrowed as I flipped again. The notebook continued, listing tribes scattered farther out, some with names I had never heard spoken. Some with leaders who had been wiped from history so thoroughly that no one alive would recognize them. 

Then my gaze snagged on a line that made my fingers pause. 

Sha’Dory 

Leader: – 

Date: 

Status; 

It was the only entry in the notebook that did not end the way the others did. It looked like someone had begun documenting it and then stopped midway, as if whatever came next had never been approved to exist on paper. 

I lowered the notebook and turned my attention back to the map spread across the table. 

I traced the regions again, comparing landmarks, borders, and the faint markings that identified territories long erased by time. Every other tribe on the list had a corresponding place on the map, even if the land had since been absorbed or renamed. 

This one did not. 

There was no symbol where it should have been. No border line faded by age. No note in the margins. 

It was as if the tribe had never occupied land at all, or as if someone had gone out of their way to make sure no trace of it remained. 

Just empty space where it should have been. 

A chill moved up the back of my neck, not because of fear, but because something about it felt too familiar. Too close to the 

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Chapter 257 

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way secrets were handled in Nightfall. Hidden in plain sight, and still protected even after everything else had been burned. 

Sha’Dory… Shadows… 

Would it be possible that the two were somehow related? 

I closed the notebook slowly and looked at Grace. “This is all you found?” 

“Yes,” she said. “We searched the old storage inside your father’study, we found some sealed records, even the scraps that were left behind when Nightfall changed hands. This is all that survived,” 

I nodded. “You did enough.” 

“Clean up the Demon Fangs that were caught in Nightfall territory,” I told her. “Track down Crimson Howler’s scattered wolves and keep them at bay. I don’t want them regrouping while we’re still cutting the rot out of this pack.” 

“Understood.” 

Grace bowed her head once and left, closing the door behind her 

The room settled again. 

It smelled like rain now, carried in from the open window earlier, mixing with old wood and ink and whatever sickness still clung to the bed where Collin lay. He was unconscious, but not peaceful. Even asleep, his body looked tense, like it expected punishment. 

I stared at him for a moment, then spoke into the room as if the darkness itself was listening. 

“Do you think whatever he called will come?” I asked quietly. 

A beat passed. Then Cassian stepped out from the far corner near the wardrobe, where the light from the candles never reached properly. He had been there long enough that the air already carried him. 

This was intentional. 

If anyone was watching, if any ears were pressed to the walls, it was better they believed I was alone. Better they believed I was vulnerable enough to be approached. 

Cassian’s gaze flicked to the notebook in my hands, then to the map on the table. “If Collin used what he thinks he used,” he said. “Someone heard it.” 

I let out a slow breath. The wind hit the house again, harder this time. 

The windows flew open with a sharp crack, and the candles fluttered violently. Papers on the table lifted and scattered, sliding across the wood and spilling onto the floor like startled birds. 

I turned fast, hand tightening around the notebook. 

Cassian moved at the same time, shifting into position without a sound, placing himself slightly behind me and to the side, where he could see the window and the bed and the door all at once. 

The curtains whipped inward. 

Rain sprayed the sill. 

And then the shadow crawled into the room. 

It slid along the wall like liquid darkness, thickening as it moved stretching toward the floor until it looked almost shaped like a person that refused to be fully seen. 

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Chapter 257 

I felt my pulse jump once, then steady. 

Cassian’s voice was low, close enough that only I could hear it. 

“It’s here.” 

AD