Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Evelyn

S irens wailed behind me as I wove through the crowded Seattle streets, my heart pounding in rhythm with my hurried footsteps. The chaos of the city clamored for my attention—honking cars, chattering pedestrians, the distant echo of construction work—but I barely registered any of it, my mind solely fixated on the intersection of Cambert and Pine St.

Dispatch had called in a Code Blue moments ago, and every second counted. I'd learned to navigate the pandemonium of emergencies, but the urgency never diminished. A life hung in the balance, and my duty was to ensure they had a fighting chance.

I pushed past a group of tourists, their cameras flashing in my peripheral vision. A few disgruntled shouts floated after me, and I wanted to flip them the bird. The arrogance of some people. Crowding around one of their own as if their suffering was a circus act presented for their entertainment.

But thoughts like that made me angry, and I couldn't afford to let any strong emotion take hold. For more reasons than one. It wasn't safe to react emotionally in the field, and it wasn't safe for me personally.

The tense knot in my stomach tightened with each step, adrenaline and anxiety mixing in my stomach like rocket fuel.

Two more blocks.

I rounded the corner, my hand instinctively reaching for the radio at my hip. "ETA 90 seconds." My voice strained against the burning in my lungs. Static crackled in response, followed by an acknowledgment from my partner, Bruce. His real name was Jack, but he was an asshole so I took the liberty of giving him the name his mother should have.

The scene came into view, a small crowd gathered around a prone form on the sidewalk. I quickened my pace, my training kicking into high gear as I mentally ran through the protocols.

Check for responsiveness. Assess airway, breathing, circulation. Begin resuscitation if necessary.

I shouldered my way through the onlookers, my focus narrowing to the lifeless body before me. The world faded away, replaced by the singular goal of saving the person at my feet.

I dropped to my knees beside the unconscious man, my hands already moving to check his vital signs. If the pockmarks on his cheeks and bleeding gums weren't enough of an indicator, his skin was pale and clammy, his breathing shallow and erratic.

Overdose.

"Sir, can you hear me?" My words were steady despite the hammering of my heart. No response. I turned to the nearest bystander, a middle-aged woman with fear etched on her face. "Did anyone see what happened?"

She nodded, her eyes wide. "He just collapsed. I think... I think he was on something?"

I acknowledged her with a brief nod, my attention already back on my patient. His pulse was weak and thready beneath my fingertips, a stark contrast to the adrenaline surging through my veins.

"I need space," I barked, my voice cutting through the crowd's murmurs. They stepped back, giving me room to work. I reached for my bag, my hands moving with practiced precision as I retrieved the necessary equipment. Naloxone. A syringe. An airway adjunct. Bruce, as usual, puffed out his chest and postured as if he planned to save a life through sheer douchery.

It was easiest to ignore him in moments like these. When the world narrowed to this moment, this life in my hands. I drew up the naloxone, my movements swift and sure. There was no room for hesitation, no time for second-guessing.

I positioned the syringe, finding the vein, then drew a deep breath and exhaled as I pressed. The needle slipped beneath his skin, and I pushed the plunger, watching as the life-saving medication disappeared into his bloodstream.

Come on, fight, I willed. Seconds ticked by, each one an eternity. I monitored his vital signs, ready to begin CPR if needed. The crowd around me held its collective breath.

And then, a gasp. A flicker of movement beneath his eyelids. The man's chest heaved as he drew in a ragged breath, color slowly returning to his face. Relief washed over me, tempered by the knowledge that the battle was far from over. But for now, I'd given him a chance.

I leaned in close, my voice gentle but firm. "Hey, can you hear me? You're going to be okay. We're EMT's and we're here to help you."

The man's eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. He tried to speak, but his words came out as a hoarse whisper.

"Don't try to talk just yet," I soothed, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We're going to take good care of you. You're safe now."

I could see the fear in his eyes, the unspoken questions. How close had he come to the edge? What would have happened if we hadn't arrived in time? Had he wanted us to arrive in time?

"You're stronger than you know." I held his gaze. "You fought hard today, and you won. This is a new beginning, a chance to start over."

Every time I gave that speech I remembered when I'd given it to myself. Three years ago. When I packed a duffel and drove to Seattle.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy for the man lying before me as my team—not Bruce, who was busy consoling a woman on the edge of the crowd wearing a tank top that cut to her belly button—worked around me, attaching monitors and starting an IV.

I knew all too well the darkness that could drive someone to such desperate measures. The scars on my own soul were a testament to the battles I hadn't fought. The bully I tore myself away from. Maybe I couldn't go back and kick the hell out of Nathan Black, but I could show up night after night and fight for people who couldn't fight for themselves.

Something nobody did for me when I needed it most.

Exhaustion hit me like a freight train as I stumbled into my apartment, the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders. The silence that greeted me was a stark contrast to the chaos of blaring sirens and shouting voices still echoing in my mind.

I leaned against the door, closing my eyes momentarily as I settled my breathing. The solitude was both a comfort and a curse, a reminder of the emptiness that trailed me like a lost puppy. I wanted this. I chose this .

With a heavy sigh, I pushed off the door and went to the kitchen, my feet dragging with each step. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

When I first started renting this place, I'd planned to replace the 1970's curtains that hung like a pair of bloomers over the window above the sink. That was overly ambitious of me. As was the idea to purchase a new light fixture to replace the boob light over the kitchen table. That one had grown on me, though.

I sipped from the glass, the water cooling my parched throat, then jumped out of my skin as my phone vibrated on the counter. My cell, not my work phone that always sat in my back pocket.

Nobody ever called my phone.

I hesitated, a sense of unease washing over me. I had a feeling that whatever was waiting for me on that screen wouldn't be welcome news.

With a shaking hand, I reached for the phone. My heart pounded in my chest as I unlocked the screen. And there it was. A flood of missed calls and two text messages, all from the same person.

Blake Ash. My best friend's brother and the last person I expected to be reaching out to me. Could I call her my best friend anymore ? I hadn't talked to her in over a year, but I certainly hadn't made any better relationships to take her place.

She was one of two people with this number, so if Blake was calling…

I scrolled through the messages, and my stomach dropped.

Hey. It's Blake. Emergency. Call me.

Evs, not joking. Call now pls

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I hit the call button. The phone rang once, twice, before Blake's gruff voice answered. "Evelyn?"

"Blake, what's going on? Why are you calling on Callie's phone?" My words tumbled out in a rush.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could hear the tension in Blake's voice when he finally spoke. "Callie's missing."

My heart stopped. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. "What do you mean, missing?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"She didn't come home last night, and no one's seen her since yesterday afternoon." Blake's voice caught. "I've been trying to track her down, but obviously her phone is here."

I closed my eyes, trying to process the information. Callista was the most reliable person I knew, always checking in and letting someone know where she was going. For her to disappear like this? It was unthinkable.

"Do you have any idea where she might be?" It was a stupid question. If he had her phone and had resorted to calling me, he'd likely exhausted his other options. Why had she left her phone? My mind raced with possibilities, none of them good given my profession.

Blake sighed heavily. "No, nothing. That's why I'm calling you. I thought maybe she might have said something to you, given how close you two are. Were."

Ouch. That stung. I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "No, I haven't heard from her."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fears. Finally, Blake spoke again. "I don't know what to do. I've never seen anything like this before. It's like she just vanished into thin air. And with the others?—"

"What others?"

"You don't know?"

"How would I know, Blake?" I snapped, then pursed my lips. "I'm sorry. No. I haven't talked to anyone from Kitimat since last September." That was the last time Callista and I talked.

"She's not the first." I could hear the desperation in his voice, and it mirrored the growing sense of dread in my own stomach.

"What are you saying? There are more members of our pack who have gone missing?"

The phone scraped against his cheek. "Merrill. Beth."

Air hissed through my teeth. "What the hell? Since when?"

"Merrill left back in May. I didn't think much of it. He wasn't—you know what I mean."

Yeah. I did. Merrill had always been a little off.

Blake exhaled. "But Callie wouldn't do something like this. Neither would Beth."

"We'll find her, Blake." I tried to sound more confident than I felt. What was I saying? We? There was no we, not anymore. I'd told Callie as much last time we'd talked. But this was in my skill set. How could I sit here and not try?

As if reading my thoughts, Blake cleared his throat. "Nathan's up north."

"For how long?"

"Not sure. A week, maybe? We're not the only pack having trouble."

I stared at the cream backsplash behind the faucet, forgetting to blink until my eyes burned.

"Will you come back?" Blake asked. He already knew the answer. When I didn't reply, he said, "We don't know what we're dealing with yet. Be careful."

"I will," I promised, still holding the phone to my ear after the line went dead.

Callista was missing. Callista was missing. She was my rock, the one person who had always been there for me, no matter what. The thought of something happening to her was too much to bear. I had to do something, had to find a way to help. I owed Callista that much and more.

As I dropped my arm and strode out of the kitchen, the weariness from my long shift vanished, replaced by a fierce, unwavering resolve. I moved through my apartment with purpose, gathering supplies.

I packed a duffel bag with a few changes of clothes, a flashlight, snacks, and all of the cash I'd stuffed into the back of my underwear drawer. Questions swirled in my head but there was one that kept drifting to the surface. Had Nathan hurt her too?

Guilt swirled through me like a drink mix in a water bottle. If I hadn't left, maybe Callie would still be there. If I'd spoken up. If I'd gone to the council. If I'd been the loyal beta. If I hadn't abandoned my pack. If. If. If.

Not helpful. Anger and grief simmered until I could feel my wolf under the surface again, gnawing to break free. No. I drew on my crisis training, honing in on the task immediately in front of me as I forced air into my lungs.

Slamming my toiletries into the bag, I zipped it shut and hoisted it over my shoulder, then surveyed the room for anything I might've missed.

Nathan's up north.

A week. I had one week, possibly less, to find what I could and disappear again. I loved Callie, but I would not allow my alpha to look me in the eyes again.

With a deep breath, I stepped out into the hallway, closing the door with a definitive click. The hunt was on.