The Lost Pack (Paige) novel Chapter 210

** Paige’s POV **

Time seems to move too fast and too slow at the same time.

Ryder slams into me, shoving me behind him, his body – covering mine. Remy and Callen surge forward, forming a barrier. Parker grabs Mrs Turner around the shoulders and hauls her down behind her low garden wall as she cries,” Oh my God, oh my God, someone shot him, someone shot him…”

Hayden and Blaine are already moving, heads snapping toward the end of the road, nostrils flaring. Their eyes blaze silver-gold as they track something I cannot see.

“Roofline, east,” Hayden snaps. “High. Moving fast into the trees.”

“I have a scent,” Blaine adds, voice flat and calm. “Single human, male, already retreating.

“Do not pursue,” Ronnie whispers. “Not with civilians watching. Not with Paige exposed. We need to stay put and visible.”

He is right. Every curtain on the street is twitching. Doors are opening. Shouts start up from somewhere behind us.

“Call an ambulance!” Mrs Turner sobs, clutching at Parker’s arm. “He’s been shot. Oh Lord, he’s been shot,they shot him…”

But one look at Greg tells me there is no point. The light that lives in everyone, even in the worst of us, is gone.

Snuffed out in a blink.

My power rises on instinct, a gold flare under my skin that aches to do something, to fix, to heal. I take a step forward.

Ryder’s hand clamps around my wrist. “No,” he hisses, low enough that only I hear it. “You can’t risk exposing yourself like this, not for him, and it is too late. Look at him, Paige. Really look.”

I do.

Not at the blood, not at the broken body, but at what I felt when I touched him inside the house. The hollow where Love should have been. The endless string of choices that led him here. The hunters did not kill the man he could have been. Greg did that all by himself, one selfish decision at a time.

My glow flickers… then settles. I let it go.

Sirens wail faintly in the distance. Someone must have called the police already, probably multiple people.

“This is not going to look good for us,” Remy grumbles.

Mrs Turner drags in a sobbing breath, pointing shakily toward the tree line at the end of the road. “I saw it,” she gasps. “I saw the flash. It came from there, from the trees.

I swear it. They shot him from over there. You saw, didn’tyou?” She turns frantically to Parker and Ryder. “You were all walking away. She was not even near him. She was here beside me. They can’t say otherwise. I will tell them.”

“You won’t have to convince anyone,” Ronnie says quietly, eyes on the CCTV camera perched on the corner of the neighbour’s house. “That thing covers the whole street.

They will see the angle of entry. The distance. The muzzle flash. All of it.”

Remy snorts softly. “Hunters cleaned up their mess,” he mutters through the mind-link. “They did not want him talking anymore.”

“Or they wanted to send a message,” Callen adds, jaw tight. “No loose ends. Not even their own.”

The sirens grow louder.

Ryder straightens slowly, keeping his body angled between me and Greg’s cooling body, between me and the growing crowd of onlookers.

“Everyone breathe,” he says softly through the link. “We were walking away. We did not touch him. There are witnesses. There is footage. We are clean.”

Parker tightens his hold on Mrs Turner, speaking softly to her. “You are safe. Stay down until the police arrive.”

“I will tell them she was with me,” Mrs Turner says fiercely, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I will tell them he ran out shouting and then someone shot himfrom those trees. I saw it. I am not senile yet, and I saw the men he had hammering on his door yesterday. They were not the kind of people who visit for dinner.”

I crouch beside her, ignoring the sting in my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For believing me. For believing in Jax.”

Her hand closes around mine. “You keep that boy far away from this place,” she says. “Do not you ever bring him back here. This town is poison now.”

I nod, because she is right.

Blue lights flash at the end of the street. Police cars. An ambulance. Voices shout for people to stay back.

The police move fast, tape already going up, voices clipped as they push back the gathering group of neighbours. Ryder subtly shifts in front of me again, not aggressively, just… instinctively, protectively.

They fan out, covering Greg’s body and talking to the people closest, taking notes, nodding and glancing our way.

Eventually, two officers approach us, a woman with a tight bun and assessing eyes, and a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in three days.

“Everyone stay where you are,” the woman calls. “We need statements from all of you.”

Her gaze flicks briefly to the Twiceborn, and something in her expression tightens. I don’t think it’s suspicion or fear.

Just a quiet, uneasy sense that she’s looking at something she can’t quite name.

I’d been worried about someone noticing their unusual appearance, or my glow, but Ryder had explained that most humans do not consciously recognise supernatural energy, not unless they’re looking for it… but sometimes their instincts notice the wrongness.

Hayden and Blaine stand completely still, almost unnaturally calm, with their hands at their sides and their eyes lowered. It should make them look less threatening.

It doesn’t.

The male officer whispers to the woman, too low for human ears, but we hear it.

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