"Someone's feeding them information," I say.
"Has to be. No outsider would know where to look otherwise." Declan's voice carries the weight of an alpha confronting betrayal within his territory. "The brotherhood is meeting tonight at the old boathouse. We need to discuss options."
"I might have another option." The words come out before I fully consider them. "There's a scientist, Dr. Isla Calder. She's researching whale migration patterns. Her data shows exactlywhat the corporate activity would disrupt, endangered species, breeding grounds, protected ecosystems. If she can present that to the council, it could stop the permits before they're approved."
Silence on the other end. Then, carefully, "You're bringing an outsider into this?"
"She came to me. Showed up on my dock yesterday asking questions about whale migration. She's the one who told me about Maritime Development Corporation in the first place." I let that sink in. "I'm using her research to fight a legal battle. She doesn't need to know anything beyond what her instruments tell her."
"And if her instruments tell her things she shouldn't know?"
I stare out at the water, watching the first pink light touch the horizon. "Then I deal with it."
Another pause. "Be careful, Hale. She's not like the others who've come and gone. I've heard talk in the village. People say she has something about her, something the sea recognizes."
My bear stirs at his words, suddenly alert. "What kind of something?"
"The old blood, maybe. Hard to say without getting closer than I'd like." His tone turns pointed. "You've been closer. What did you sense?"
Too much. The answer rises unbidden, and I push it down. Her scent of salt and lavender. The way the water seemed to reach for her when she stood at the dock's edge. The jolt of connection when our hands touched, like two currents meeting and recognizing each other.
"She's human," I say. "Whatever else she might be, she's human. And right now, she's useful."
"Just remember what's at stake." The radio hisses with static. "We'll expect you at the circle tonight. Watch yourself out there."
The connection cuts off, leaving me alone with the growing dawn and the weight of choices I'm not sure I should be making.
The sun is just cresting the eastern hills when I hear footsteps on the dock. My bear knows who it is before I turn around, recognizing her scent on the wind, that mix of salt and clean skin and lavender soap that has haunted me since yesterday. When I face the dock, she's standing there in the early light, and something in my chest tightens at the sight.
She's dressed for cold water work, layered fleece under a weatherproof jacket, insulated boots, fingerless gloves that will let her operate equipment without losing dexterity. Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical braid, and she carries a waterproof case that looks expensive. Professional. Prepared. Everything I expected.
What I didn't expect is the way she looks at the water. Even from here, I can see the hunger in her expression, the longing that has nothing to do with scientific research. She stares at the sea like it's calling to her, like it holds something she's been searching for her whole life.
Like she belongs to it, whether she knows it yet or not.
"You're punctual," I say, because I need to say something before the silence stretches too long.
She turns, and those changeable eyes catch the sunrise. "You said dawn. I wasn't about to give you an excuse to leave without me."
Smart. And not wrong. I'd considered it, in the small hours when sleep wouldn't come. Just takingDeepwatchout alone, doing my usual run through the channels, reporting back that I'd found nothing useful. Ending this before it could start.
But the corporate surveyors changed that calculation. The threat is real, and her research might be the only weapon we have that doesn't require exposing what we truly are.
"Come aboard." I extend a hand to help her down into the boat. She takes it, and there it is again, that spark of connectionthat races up my arm and settles somewhere behind my ribs. Her eyes widen slightly, and I know she feels it too.
Neither of us acknowledges it. She releases my hand as soon as she's steady on the deck, turning away to secure her equipment case near the stern.
"Where will you need to set up?" I ask.
"Anywhere with good visibility for the sonar array. And I'll need access to deeper water, the trenches you mentioned yesterday. That's where the anomalies are strongest."
The trenches. Of course. The very places I most need to keep her away from, and she's asking to go straight to them.
"We'll see what the water allows," I say, which isn't a promise but isn't a refusal either.
She accepts this with a nod, already pulling instruments from her case. A laptop, waterproofed in military-grade housing. Sensors that will measure temperature and current and pressure at depths most equipment can't survive. Recording devices that will document everything we see and hear.
Everything. Including things that should never be documented.
