The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 51: THE DISAPPEARING THREAD

"She wouldn’t leave without her sketchbook," Savannah said, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Rhett didn’t look at her. He stood at the edge of Camille’s bedroom, his arms folded across his chest, jaw ticking with tension. Moonlight filtered through the tall arched window, casting fractured light over the pale sheets of the unmade bed. The silence between them clung like static, restless and too quiet to be innocent.

Savannah moved closer, her steps slow but deliberate as she crossed the threshold. The room smelled faintly of lilac and ash, like something lovely that had burned. On the desk, Camille’s journal lay half-open, its spine cracked and bleeding ink. A streak of blood cut across the final page, smeared with the edge of a fingerprint. The last entry ended mid-sentence.

"She didn’t run," Savannah said again, her voice steadier now. "She was taken."

Rhett finally spoke, though it sounded more like a growl than a word. "There were no guards on the east wing after dusk. Lucien pulled them. He didn’t tell me."

"That’s not like Lucien," she replied, kneeling by the foot of the bed. A shattered mirror lay beneath it, sharp edges of glass glinting like tiny stars in the carpet. "Unless he had a reason."

Rhett didn’t answer. His silence wasn’t agreement, it was calculation. Savannah knew that look well enough by now. He was sifting possibilities, weighing betrayals, trying to choose which fire to put out first.

She found the torn sketch under the bed.

It was of Magnolia, half-complete, eyes unfinished. The paper was ripped diagonally from corner to corner, and a second blood smear ran across the side of Magnolia’s neck. Whoever took Camille hadn’t done it cleanly.

"Why her?" Savannah asked quietly. "Why now?"

Rhett exhaled through his nose, pacing to the window. "Because of what she knows. Or what she’s about to remember."

"You think she’s regaining more of the memories?"

"I think Sterling had plans buried so deep even death couldn’t rot them," he said, voice dark. "And Camille’s the thread. Someone’s trying to pull it loose before we can."

The words settled between them like frost.

Savannah stood slowly, brushing her fingers over the cracked sketch. Her chest ached with something she didn’t want to name. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. Maybe both.

"We need to find her," she said.

Rhett didn’t hesitate. "We will."

They moved together down the hall, past stone columns and high glass windows, the estate silent in the midnight hour. The usual sounds of guards shifting, wolves patrolling, or servants whispering behind heavy curtains were gone. Too gone.

When they reached the war room, Lucien was already waiting, arms crossed, expression carved from ice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his greying hair pulled tight at the back of his neck. A man forged from command and betrayal.

"You moved the east wing patrol," Rhett said without preamble.

Lucien didn’t flinch. "I had intel a Hollowfang runner was spotted near the southern boundary. I diverted for two hours. The window was narrow."

"You left Camille exposed."

"I didn’t think she’d be targeted," Lucien said, jaw tight. "Not yet."

"She vanished from her room. Blood was left behind."

Lucien’s eyes flickered. "Blood?"

Savannah held up the journal. "You want to explain this, or should we wait for a body to do it for you?"

"I don’t answer to suspicion," Lucien said calmly. "Only proof."

"Then find some," Rhett snapped, stepping forward. "Because if Camille is dead, I’ll burn through every rank until I find who let it happen."

"She’s not dead," Savannah said quickly. Her voice cracked, but she didn’t blink. "She’s calling. I can feel it."

Lucien stared at her for a beat too long, then finally gave a stiff nod. "Beckett left twenty minutes ago. Said he caught a scent in the mountain trail. He took a guard."

Savannah’s stomach turned. "He went alone?"

Lucien shrugged. "He said you’d understand."

"I do," she muttered. "He doesn’t trust anyone else."

Rhett cursed under his breath. "Get two tracking teams ready. I want eyes on the ridge, and I want the Chapel perimeter sealed. If Sterling is behind this, we’re already behind schedule."

Lucien didn’t argue. He left the room in silence, coat sweeping behind him like the tail of something vengeful.

Savannah leaned against the edge of the war table, letting the tension shake through her arms before she locked it down again. "Do you think he knows more than he’s saying?"

"Lucien always knows more than he says."

She met Rhett’s gaze. "And you?"

"I think Camille is alive. I think this was done with precision. And I think the only reason we haven’t found a body is because they want us chasing ghosts."

"Or walking into a trap."

Rhett gave a short nod. "That too."

They moved again, this time heading toward Camille’s personal studio, a space few dared enter. The door was half-open. Inside, moonlight painted the floor in shifting shades. Savannah stepped in first, and her breath hitched.

Camille’s paintings were everywhere. Hung crookedly. Unfinished. Half-burned.

One stood out. It wasn’t of a person or a place.

It was of a symbol.

A crest Savannah had seen only once before, in a forbidden book buried beneath the estate’s old archives.

"The Hollowfang," she whispered.

Rhett joined her, studying the jagged shape. A spiral broken by claw marks, a wolf’s mouth open wide, a black sun above it. "She knew. Maybe not what it meant. But she remembered."

Savannah reached for the edge of the canvas and found something folded behind it. A letter. Slipped into the frame’s corner.

She opened it carefully. The paper was creased, stained at the edge, and written in Camille’s small, looping hand.

"If I vanish again, it’s not by choice. If I remember who I was, what they did to me, don’t follow. Not until you’re sure the bond can hold. I see things now. Things that scream in silence. Things that wear my face when I dream."

Rhett took the letter from her slowly, reading it twice before folding it back up. His voice was low when he spoke. "She knew this was coming."

"She was trying to protect us."

"Or trying to protect herself from what she’s becoming."

Savannah shook her head. "No. This is someone else’s doing. Sterling... Hollowfang... someone is pulling her memories apart."

Rhett looked toward the window. The horizon was beginning to tint with the faintest smear of pale light. Dawn was near, but the estate felt darker than it had at midnight.

He reached for her hand without speaking, and Savannah let him. His fingers were warm, calloused, strong, but the tension in them never eased. He was a man who’d seen too many battles and expected too few victories.

"I’ll go after Beckett," he said. "You stay here. Search the west wing. If Camille left anything else, I want it found."

Savannah hesitated. "Be careful."

He gave her a half-smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "I stopped being careful the day I met you."

"Then stay alive."

He didn’t promise. He just kissed her temple softly, briefly, and walked away.

The door closed behind him, and Savannah exhaled slowly, fighting the pressure building behind her ribs. Something had shifted. Not just in Camille’s absence, but in the estate itself. The walls felt thinner. The light colder. The heartbeat of the place faltering like something sacred had been stolen.

She turned back to the painting. The Hollowfang crest pulsed in the moonlight. And for the first time, Savannah wasn’t sure if they were hunting ghosts, or being haunted by something far worse.

Behind her, the candle on Camille’s desk flickered.

Then died.

And in the mirror across the room, a second reflection stared back.

One that didn’t belong to her.

"Do you ever sleep?"

Rhett’s voice echoed softly beneath the stone arches of the old chapel, his footsteps quiet on the moss-covered floor. The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but Magnolia, standing alone near the broken altar, answered anyway.

"Not when something’s clawing at the edge of memory."

She didn’t turn. Her hands were pressed flat against the ancient wall, tracing faded etchings etched into the stone. Symbols neither of them fully understood, yet both had bled over.

Rhett approached her slowly, his coat damp from the forest mist. The scent of pine clung to him. Dirt marked his boots. He’d come straight from the trail where Beckett had vanished hours ago, and he’d found nothing.

No tracks. No body. Just a single copper coin resting atop a bloodied stone.

"Beckett’s gone."

Magnolia’s hand stilled. "Gone?"

"Vanished. Blood near the ravine. No scent trail to follow. Just this." He reached into his coat and pulled out the coin. He placed it on the altar. "Do you know what it means?"

She studied it. One side was blank. The other bore a crescent moon with a scratch through its curve.

She exhaled. "A death marker."

He nodded. "Used by the Hollowfang. They only leave it when they want to be known."

Magnolia stepped back, brushing her hair from her face. Her eyes were darker than usual, and he noticed it, how the violet hue shimmered faintly when the light shifted. "They’re not hiding anymore."

"No," Rhett said. "They’re inviting us in."

She crossed her arms, posture rigid. "So why haven’t we gone in?"

He looked at her then, really looked, how the strength in her stance was beginning to bend, how her power simmered just under the surface like something coiled and waiting to strike. "Because you’re not ready."

Magnolia’s eyes narrowed. "You’re afraid I’ll lose control."

"I’m afraid you’ll burn everything we have left."

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "You think I haven’t already?"

They stared at each other, a silent war waging between truths unspoken. Then Magnolia turned and moved toward the western corridor.

"I found something," she said without looking back.

He followed her without question.

The hallway grew narrower, colder. Dust floated in the shafts of light streaming through cracked stained-glass windows. They passed an old oil painting covered in soot, Lucia’s mother, if Rhett remembered right, and stopped before a wooden door, half-rotted at the hinges.

Magnolia placed her palm against it. "I felt it hum when I walked past last night. The stone. It remembered me."

She pushed it open.

The room beyond was empty. Or so it seemed.

Stone floors, stone walls, no windows. Just a single iron sconce on the far wall.

And something beneath their feet.

Rhett knelt, running his fingers across the floor. "Tiles."

"Out of place tiles," Magnolia said. "Look."

She pointed.

The center stones were carved with runes, not visible at first glance, but under touch, they pulsed faintly with heat.

Rhett drew his dagger and tapped the edge against the seams.

A hollow echo.

He stood. "There’s a passage."

She stepped back, and he jammed the blade between the stones, prying the center tile loose. It clattered aside, revealing a metal hatch with a rusted ring.

Rhett yanked it open, and a breath of cold air rushed upward.

It smelled like forgotten blood.

They descended slowly, Rhett first, Magnolia behind. The stone staircase spiraled downward, deeper than either expected. The air thickened with damp. The sound of dripping echoed off the walls.

When they reached the bottom, a hallway stretched ahead, narrow, lined with torches that lit on their own as they passed. Arcane flame. Enchanted long ago.

Magnolia whispered, "This is older than the estate."

"It’s older than the pack."

The walls were covered in sigils. Carved deep into the stone, the symbols bled into one another, markings from dozens of old languages.

Then they saw it.

A door.

Not just any door.

Blackened oak, reinforced with silver bands. An ancient lock with three concentric circles carved in wolf fang patterns.

Rhett approached slowly, his hand brushing across the surface.

"It’s sealed," he said. "This wasn’t meant to be found."

Magnolia placed her hand over his.

The moment they touched the door together, light burst from the circles. The runes ignited, gold and blue and deep crimson. The air vibrated.

The lock unlatched with a heavy click.

And the door opened.

Inside was a vault.

Books. Scrolls. Weapons mounted on the walls.

And in the center, an altar.

Atop the altar sat a box.

Black. Velvet-lined. Stamped with a sigil both of them knew too well now.

The Hollowfang crest.

Rhett stepped forward, fingers trembling slightly as he opened the lid.

Inside were documents. Seals. A small, preserved letter, wrapped in wax paper.

He pulled it free and unfolded it carefully.

Magnolia read over his shoulder.

To the future heir of the broken crown:

If you are reading this, the blood pact has already been broken.

The Hollowfang do not forget.

Nor do we forgive.

The heir will return through shadow, cloaked in another’s voice.

The mirror will lie.

The bond will fracture.

And war will bloom from the mouth of the betrayed."

They stared at the final line.

"She wears two names. And both will bleed."

Magnolia backed away slowly, her face pale.

"Camille," she whispered. "They’re not just taking her. They’re using her."

"She’s the mirror," Rhett said. "And she’s the weapon."

Before they could say more, a scream tore through the chamber.

Beckett’s voice.

Raw. Animal. Echoing from above.

Rhett and Magnolia didn’t wait.

They raced back through the corridor, up the spiraled stone, and burst through the hatch into the estate above.

Lucien was waiting at the top, blood on his hands.

"She’s here!" he shouted. "One of them is inside the walls!"

Rhett grabbed him by the collar. "Who?"

Lucien dragged him toward the hallway. "A servant, she tried to stab Celeste in the council chamber. Her eyes were black. Her voice wasn’t hers."

They reached the central foyer.

And there she was.

A woman dressed in Callahan servant robes, standing calmly at the center of the room, hands raised.

But her eyes were not human.

They were pitch.

She smiled when she saw Rhett and Magnolia.

And she spoke.

With Camille’s voice.

"Run all you want," the thing said. "The bond is already rotting."

Then she slashed her own throat, and dropped.

Magnolia froze. "That wasn’t Camille..."

"No," Rhett said, breath shaking. "It was what’s inside her."

They looked at each other.

And knew,

Camille wasn’t just gone.

She was becoming something else.