“He wouldn’t do this,” I say instead. “It doesn’t make sense. He came here for sanctuary. Provided intelligence that we verified. Why would he jeopardize that by killing one of your advisors?”
“Maybe he was never really defecting,” Tabitha says. Voice choked. “Maybe this was the Syndicate’s plan all along. Get inside our walls. Gain trust. Then sabotage from within.”
“By killing randomly?” I shake my head. “If that was the goal, there are bigger targets. More strategic choices.” I stop before saying Samien wasn’t important enough. That’s cruel and wrong. “It doesn’t fit his profile.”
“Or he lost control,” Viktor suggests. “Dragon rage. Heat of the moment. Not premeditated. Just violence.”
My wolf rejects this violently. Snarls protest inside my head. Jericho doesn’t lose control. That’s his entire existence—discipline over instinct, logic over emotion, control maintained over centuries.
“He doesn’t lose control,” I say. “That’s not who he is.”
Viktor’s expression sharpens. “You sound very certain about someone you’ve known for less than a week.”
Iamcertain. Can’t explain the knowledge. Can’t articulate how the mate bond I’m still coming to terms with tells me truths I have no logical way of knowing.
“I’m certain he wouldn’t do this,” I say carefully. “Evidence or not.”
A knock at the door interrupts. Viktor calls entry.
A security guard enters. Young. Carrying a tablet. “Commander. We found something during the footage review.”
“Show me.”
The guard crosses to Viktor’s desk. Places the tablet down. Pulls up video.
I move closer despite myself. Need to see.
The footage is grainy but clear enough. Corridor on level three. Timestamp: 02.30 hours. A figure walks into frame.
Jericho.
My heart leaps into my throat. There he is on the screen—moving through the corridor with that particular economical grace. Heading toward the east wing, where Samien was found.
The sight of him triggers a physical response I can’t control. My wolf flings herself at my control with desperate need. My body aches like I’ve been crushed. I want to reach through the screen, to get to him, to—
This is wrong. The footage is wrong somehow.
“This is from a maintenance corridor camera,” the guard explains. “Time matches the estimated window for Samien’s death. That’s the only access route to where the body was found.”
Viktor studies the footage. Rewinds. Plays it once more.
Again, I watch Jericho’s image move across the screen, wanting desperately to reach him through glass and distance and the reality that he’s trapped in detention while I stand here watching proof of his guilt.
Except it’s not proof. It’s wrong. I can feel the wrongness of it even though I can’t articulate what specifically is off. His gait, maybe. The way he moves. Something subtle that my instincts recognize even when my logical mind can’t pinpoint it.
The mate bond pulses with certainty.
Not him. Fabrication. Lie.
“This is conclusive,” Viktor says quietly. “Combined with the physical evidence—”
“It’s not him,” I say.
Tabitha’s laugh is sharp and bitter. “You’re watching him on camera, and you’re still defending him?”
“There’s something wrong with that footage.”
“What?” Viktor asks. Not mocking. Genuinely asking. “Tell me what you see that contradicts this evidence.”
