Chapter Fifteen

Rafael turned as two scouts entered the space under the awning.

“We’ve found a body,” one said.

“Show me,” Rafael responded.

They had found the body just before sunset. A man lay half-buried in the sand near the entrance to their camp, his backpack torn open, water bottles empty and crushed. Buzzards lifted into the air as Rafael approached, annoyed at being interrupted.

He stood over the body for a long time, saying nothing. Human. Too thin. Too young. Probably walked until he couldn’t anymore. Rafael looked up at the horizon where the border fence cut across the desert like a scar.

“Another one,” he muttered.

He heard footsteps behind him and didn’t turn around. The scouts approached slowly.

“We found tracks heading west,” one of them said. “Group of four. Probably the same people he was with.”

Rafael nodded once, but he didn’t respond. He just kept staring at the body in the sand.

After a moment, the other wolf said carefully, “Mateo’s pack left water drops along the north trail again.”

Rafael finally turned.

“And?” he asked.

“They’re helping more cross,” the wolf said. “Risking more territory. Risking wolves.”

Rafael’s jaw tightened.

“They always risk wolves,” he said quietly.

“They say it’s the right thing to do,” the wolf replied.

Rafael looked back at the body in the sand.

“This is what humans do,” he said. “They build lines in the sand, and then they kill each other trying to cross them.”

The wind moved across the desert, lifting dust around their feet.

“And we die for them,” Rafael continued. “We fight for them. We hide for them. We bleed for them.”

He kicked the sand hard, covering part of the body.

“They would shoot us if they saw what we are,” he said. “They would call us monsters. They would hunt us. And still Javier says we protect them.”

One of the wolves shifted uncomfortably. “Some humans are different.”

Rafael turned sharply toward him.

“Different?” he said. “Different from what? The traffickers? The Border Patrol? The ranchers who shoot anything that moves at night? The people who leave water in the desert and the people who pour it out? Which humans are different?”
His voice was rising now.

“Humans kill humans,” he continued. “Humans kill wolves. Humans kill the desert itself and then act surprised when everything dies.”

He started pacing now, hands running through his hair, breathing harder.

“And we protect them,” he said again, quieter but more dangerous now. “We protect them while our own die. While wolves disappear. While our kind becomes stories and myths and bones in the ground.”

His eyes turned almost red in the setting sun.

“They call us monsters,” he said. “But we bury our dead. We protect our families. We don’t destroy the world we live in.”

He stopped pacing and looked back at the body again.

“They cross this desert because the world they came from is worse,” he said. “And the world they’re going to doesn’t want them.”

He crouched down and started covering the body with sand, pushing it gently over the man’s face.

“No one wants them,” he said quietly. “No one wants us either.”

He stood up again slowly, hands covered in sand and dust.

“So why,” he said, turning back toward his wolves, eyes burning now, “are we dying for a world that would erase us if it knew we existed?”

Neither wolf answered. The sun dropped lower, turning the entire desert red. Rafael looked out across the land, the sky, the fence in the distance, the endless desert that swallowed people and wolves and secrets alike. His hands clenched into fists.

“I am done watching wolves die for human borders,” he said quietly.

The wind moved across the desert again, lifting red dust into the air around them. And for a moment, standing there in the red light of sunset, Rafael looked less like a man and more like something older, angrier, and much more dangerous. And the wolves standing near him understood something without him saying it: Rafael wasn’t angry at one person. He was angry at the world.

Rafael finished covering the body with sand and stood slowly, brushing his hands off against his jeans. The sun was almost gone now, and the desert had turned that deep red color that made everything look like it was bleeding. His wolves stood a few feet away, silent, waiting for him to speak.

“I am done watching wolves die for human borders,” he said quietly.

The wind picked up suddenly, stronger than before, pushing dust across the wash in long red sheets.

One of the wolves looked up. “Storm?”

Rafael shook his head slowly. “No clouds.”

The wind kept moving anyway. Hot, dry, wrong. Rafael looked out across the desert toward the fence in the distance, and for a moment he felt a familiar strangeness, like the desert was looking back at him and listening.

“Bury the rest of the gear,” he said. “Then finish your patrol.”

The wind gusted again, stronger this time, lifting sand into the air around them. Rafael turned toward the ridge, and for just a second he thought he saw something standing there. His chest felt tight now, like pressure and heat and anger but heavier. He started walking toward the ridge anyway. The scouts stayed behind to complete his commands.

Halfway up the ridge, the wind stopped completely. The desert went silent. No insects, birds, or wind. Nothing. Rafael stopped walking.

He could feel something now. Like standing too close to a heat source you couldn’t see. Then, in the silence, he heard a voice, inside his head.

You are angry.

Rafael froze. This was not the first time the voice had spoken to him, but it was becoming more frequent.

You are tired of watching your kind die.

He clenched his jaw.

You are tired of protecting a world that would destroy you.

His hands curled into fists.

You are not wrong.

Rafael’s breathing slowed instead of speeding up. He didn’t know why, but the voice didn’t feel like an attack. It felt like agreement.

They are weak, the voice said.

They protect humans. They die for humans. They hide. They run.

Rafael swallowed slowly.

You could be strong, the voice continued.

You could protect wolves. You could build something new. A world where wolves do not hide.

Rafael closed his eyes for a second.

“What do you want?” he said quietly.

Rafael opened his eyes slowly. The desert in front of him looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same.

I do not want your wolves, the voice said.

I want the flame.

Rafael’s heart skipped once.

And you can lead me to her.

He took a slow breath.

“What do you want from me?” he whispered.

The wind returned suddenly, hard and hot, sand whipping across the ridge.

Nothing you do not already want.

The voice faded. The pressure in his chest faded with it. The desert sounded normal again. Rafael looked out across the desert for a long time.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said.

But that wasn’t true. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew one thing for certain. Something in the desert had heard his anger, and that something had answered. Rafael stood alone on the ridge above the canyon, staring in the direction of the Guardian’s camp far across the desert.

Maeve was out there somewhere. He didn’t know what she was doing, but he knew where she would be, probably with Javier smiling in that quiet way she did when she was tired but happy. His jaw tightened.

“She should not be with him,” he said quietly to the empty desert.

The wind moved across the ridge, warm and dry.

“You know that,” he continued. “He protects humans. He protects borders. He protects people who would shoot him if they knew what he was.”

He looked down at his hands.

“He is not strong enough for what is coming.”

The wind stopped. The silence came slowly this time, like the desert was holding its breath.

“You again,” he said quietly.

He felt the presence before he heard the voice.

You are thinking about the girl.

Rafael didn’t react.

“Yes,” he said.

The flame.

He nodded slightly.

“You said power was coming into this world,” Rafael said. “That power is her.”

Yes.

Rafael continued to stare into the distance.

“She is with the wrong pack,” he said.

She is with the wrong man.

Rafael’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

“Javier would die to protect her,” Rafael said.

Yes.

The voice was quiet for a moment.

They will both die if things continue the way they are.

Rafael didn’t respond because he had already thought that himself.

The flame is not meant to be hidden in a canyon protecting migrants and water drops, the voice continued.

The flame is meant to change the world.

Rafael crossed his arms.

“How do you know she wants power?” he said. “Maybe she wants people safe.
Maybe she wants peace.”

Then she will lose, the voice said calmly.

Power does not belong to those who do not want it.

Rafael thought about that for a long time.

“What are you saying?” he asked finally.

The wind lifted slightly again, warm against his face.

I am saying the flame will belong to someone.

Rafael didn’t move.

Javier will protect it. Humans will use it. Or…

The voice paused.

A true wolf could take it.

Rafael’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You think she would just give it to me?”

No, the voice said.

But power is rarely given. Power is taken.

Rafael’s breathing slowed. He didn’t like how much sense that made.

You could protect her better than he can, the voice continued.

You could give her a world where she is not hunted. Where wolves do not hide. Where her power is respected.

Rafael stared out into the dark for a long time.

“And what do you get out of this?” he asked finally.

The voice was silent for a long moment before answering.

I want the world to change.

Rafael nodded slowly.

“So do I,” he said.

The wind returned suddenly, the silence breaking, insects and distant coyotes returning to the night. The presence faded and Rafael stood alone on the ridge again. He looked one last time toward the distant camp where Maeve and Javier’s wolf were probably sitting together, her hand buried in his fur. His jaw tightened.

“She should be with us,” he said quietly.

Then he turned away from the ridge and walked back toward his own camp, the idea already forming in his mind, not fully a plan yet, but something dangerous and growing. Not just to take the flame. But maybe, if he had to, to take her too.