My Fated Alpha's Cruel Game (Elena and Marcus) novel Chapter 371

Chapter 371: Chapter 371 Pressure Never Stops

Marcus’s POV

"Yes."

"He hit both the forest and the underground tunnels at once."

"Both attempts failed."

But failure doesn’t mean he’s giving up. It means he’s learning from his mistakes.

Back in the command center, I spread the tunnel blueprints across the wide table. The paper crinkles under my hands as I smooth out the corners.

"He knew about our old infrastructure," I state, keeping my voice level.

"Agreed," Malcom responds from his position by the window.

"He thought we wouldn’t bother securing the forgotten passages."

"Marcus."

"He counted on us being too distracted by the forest attack to notice the underground breach."

Kian locks eyes with me across the table. His expression is grim but focused.

"He’s running multiple operations now."

Exactly. Benedict isn’t testing us with single strikes anymore. He’s building pressure from different angles, hoping something will crack.

"He’ll become more unpredictable," the Alpha from Northwood Ridge says quietly from his corner of the room.

"Without question."

"He’ll search for whatever we haven’t strengthened yet."

The mate bond pulses steady and strong between Elena and me. She’s somewhere in the packhouse, probably coordinating with the other Lunas, but I can feel her unwavering support.

Then we eliminate every weakness we can find.

"Complete inspection of all internal systems," I announce. "Every forgotten tunnel. Every drainage pipe. Every abandoned storage passage."

Zora gives a sharp nod from where she stands near the maps.

"We change our patrol schedules randomly," I continue. "No predictable patterns."

Benedict thinks he can wear us down by studying our routines. We’ll deny him that advantage.

Hours later, after personally checking the tunnel repairs, I walk the southern boundary. My boots sink slightly into the damp earth, but I maintain steady footing despite the exhaustion that’s starting to settle into my shoulders.

He threw considerable resources at us today. He revealed knowledge of our internal layout. He underestimated how quickly we could respond.

He won’t make the same mistake twice. Which means he’ll try something entirely different next time.

As evening approaches, another messenger arrives. But this time his expression carries something sharper than simple urgency.

"Western farmstead," he reports. "There’s a message."

A message. Not fire or sabotage. Something else entirely.

We move with controlled speed toward the small farmhouse at the territory’s edge. When we arrive, I see it immediately - carved deep into the wooden fence post at the property line.

Not written in charcoal or ash. Carved with a blade.

Endurance cracks eventually.

The letters are deliberate and cut deep into the wood. This isn’t a whisper or a threat made in haste. This is a statement of belief.

The bond thrums low and steady in my chest.

"He thinks time is on his side," Kian observes quietly.

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