Page 69 of The Hyena’s Guardian

The bond pulsed softly between them.

And for the first time in centuries, Theron realized he was no longer imagining survival only for other people.

***

The preparations moved quickly after that.

Too quickly.

Theron watched the survivors distribute the motion anchors between teams while Baptiste reviewed detonation timing near the equipment crates. Vale assigned routes through the lower tunnels with the clipped efficiency of someone deliberately refusing to think too far ahead.

Nobody said the obvious thing aloud. Some of them were not making it out of the mountain. The realization hung over the chamber anyway.

Matt stood near the center of the activity helping one of the injured wolves secure ammunition straps with hands that still carried dried blood across the knuckles. Exhaustion weighed heavily through the bond now. Theron could feel it beneath everything else, buried under determination and the constant pressure Matt placed on himself to keep everyone steady.

He should have rested. The thought almost made Theron laugh.

Matt Reynolds did not seem capable of resting while someone else still needed him standing.

No fresh tremors came. The mountain seemed to be gathering itself, and somehow the stillness felt more unsettling than the violence had.

Vale straightened. “Movement teams ready in two minutes.”

Weapons clicked into place around the chamber. Harnesses tightened. For the first time since entering the catacombs, the frantic pace eased into purposeful routine.

Theron turned toward the deeper tunnels automatically, listening to the shifting vibrations moving through the stone. The First King’s power continued to build beneath the mountain. He could feel its presence spreading through the prison like cold water seeping through cracked walls, patient and endlessly hungry as it pushed against the weakening containment.

The corruption beneath Theron’s skin stirred in answer. Not as violently as before, but enough to remind him it was still there, waiting for even the smallest lapse in control.

He flexed one hand while the old hunger pushed against the edges of his control again, whispering through instincts that had once belonged to something far less human than he wanted to remember.

Then warmth touched the bond. The pressure eased. Matt had crossed the chamber without him noticing. “You vanished into the tragic internal monologue again,” Matt said softly.

Theron looked at Matt. “You keep saying strange things with alarming confidence.”

“That is because I’m consistently correct.”

Despite everything happening around them, Theron found himself breathing a little easier. Matt noticed.

By now, he seemed to catch every subtle shift in Theron before anyone else did.

For a moment neither of them spoke while the rest of the chamber moved around them in tense preparation. Theron became abruptly aware of how close Matt stood now, close enough that the bond hummed steadily beneath his ribs instead of aching. Close enough that the mountain felt quieter again.

Matt studied him carefully for several seconds before speaking. “You’re getting worse again.”

It was not a question.

Theron looked away toward the tunnels. “The First King grows stronger.”

“And being near him affects the corruption.”

“Yes.”

Matt was silent for a moment after that. Then: “How bad?”

Theron considered lying. The bond made that impossible. “The closer we get to the source chamber,” he said, “the harder it becomes to remain myself.”

Matt’s jaw tightened, and the bond carried the reaction into Theron before a single word left his mouth. Fear hit first, sharp and instinctive, but it tangled with anger and a fierce kind of determination that Matt seemed incapable of separating from his own compassion.