“He does,” Tess said.

I took a sip of my coffee, trying to keep up. “What are Reapers?”

“There aren’t many Searchers left in the world.” Lydia’s voice had a hard edge. “Most stay at the Academy teaching or training; they only head out for missions on an as-needed basis. But those who are still fighting the good fight day-to-day live in outposts like this one. Our teams always have the same distribution of members: groups of ten, specific assignments for each member. The Reapers gather supplies and run valuable goods through the black market, maintaining our cash flow in contemporary world currencies.”

“Black market?” I frowned, a little nervous.

“Don’t worry, Calla, we don’t deal in nasties, like human organs.” Tess giggled, shaking her head. When I laughed uneasily, she hurried on. “It’s mostly art and antiquities. Stuff we know how to find that other people wouldn’t have access to.”

“She’s trying to tell you that Reapers are smugglers,” Connor said. “But nice ones.”

“Connor, you know we trained long and hard for this work,” Isaac said.

“Longer than you,” Tess added.

“How long?” I asked.

“Standard training for Searchers is two years of general skills and another year of specialization for assignment,” she said. “Reapers do an additional two years.”

“To learn how to smuggle?”

“Look what you’ve done now, Connor.” Tess shook her head. “No, that’s not how it works. Reapers know art history, language, and classics backwards and forwards. That’s in addition to their combat training. Reaper work is almost more dangerous than the Strikers’ duties.”

I cleared my throat nervously. “And the Strikers are?”

“The Strikers are your counterparts,” Lydia said. “They’re trained to be the first line of offense against the Keepers. They execute hits against designated enemy targets. But that mostly means they kill Guardians.”

“Great,” I said, feeling my canines sharpen at her words. “And Weavers open doors. And Monroe, he’s your—”

I tried to remember what they’d called him.

“Guide,” Tess offered. “He’s our Guide.”

Ethan came forward, slamming his empty cup on the table. “Now that preschool is over, can we get moving? Anika had a point. We only have a few hours of daylight left.”

“Ethan!” Tess was on her feet.

“Easy, girl.” Connor stood up too. “He’s right. We need to head out.”

Lydia looked at me. “I’m sure you still have lots of questions. I’m sorry we can’t answer them all right now.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Irose from my chair, muscles humming. The caffeine buzz and the thought of getting into the forest had me itching to run.

It was time for this alpha to find her pack.

SIX

THE DOOR ADNE OPENED this time revealed a landscape I’d known my whole life. The snow-covered slope sparkled under the afternoon sun, cut at intervals by the shadows of towering pines.

“That’s the eastern face,” I murmured. The need to run, to track my packmates and bring them to safety was overwhelming. I ground my teeth as I fought for control.

“Yes,” Adne said. “Will this work? We have the rendezvous point set nearby. Grant’s on a snowshoeing trail about a half mile away; it’s in the park reserve that runs up against the edge of your patrol routes, but he shouldn’t draw the wolves’ attack . . . hopefully.”

“I hate winter,” Ethan grumbled, lacing up his boots.

“I can’t wait to make a snow angel,” Connor replied as he strapped on a pair of snowshoes.

“Sometimes I really don’t like you,” Ethan said, reaching for gloves, but I could tell he was trying not to smile.

Lydia laughed and continued to put on her own winter gear. “Calla, Ethan and I are going with you to track down your packmates. Connor is heading in the other direction to meet up with Grant.”

I nodded, though I silently wished it were Connor coming with us rather than Ethan. It didn’t help that Lydia took point as we headed into the portal with Ethan bringing up the rear. I worried that having my open back in range of his crossbow might prove a little too tempting.

“I’ll be waiting,” Adne said, closing the door. She leaned against the tree. “Don’t take too long. I think even my twenty layers might not hold up at this elevation. It’s freezing.”

Her comment pulled me back from thoughts of running wild through the snowdrifts. “Why don’t you just wait inside?”

The Searchers stared at me. I stared back, not understanding why they were frowning. When a door was open, you could see the other side of a portal. It was blurry, but not that blurry.

Ethan grumbled something under his breath. Adne glanced at him before offering me a quick smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “We forget you don’t know all the rules. Portals are never left open.”

“Never.” Ethan stamped the snow. “And Weavers never join an actual strike—they stay at the outer edge of any mission zone.”

Adne scowled, but Connor shook his head. “You know why it’s necessary, peaches.”

“Shut up.”

Lydia placed her hand on Adne’s shoulder. “Weavers are the most powerful and valuable instruments among the Searchers. We try to keep their risk minimal.”