“Oh, I think I do,” he replies, staring straight ahead.
My face burns so hot, I’m certain there’s a haze over my head. I say nothing more.
The parking lot is full of Aurora operatives. Six of them, heavily armed in black tactical gear. Weapons ready. They’re here for extraction, but their eyes track us like we’re threats.
Maybe we are.
A helicopter waits on the street, rotors already spinning. Utilitarian. Aurora insignia on the side.
“Get in,” Viktor says to me. Then to an operative: “Restrain the prisoner.”
Prisoner?
Not defector. Not intelligence asset. Prisoner.
The operative moves toward Jericho with suppression cuffs. Standard field restraints, like I used on him before. Not the heavier ones used for long-term holding, but the word “prisoner” echoes wrong in my head.
Three days ago, the Council voted to grant him sanctuary. Now Viktor calls him prisoner like that decision was never made.
Jericho offers his wrists without protest. The cuffs lock with a metallic click. His expression stays neutral, but I see the tension in his shoulders.
“Far side,” an operative tells me, gesturing to the helicopter.
I climb in and strap into the seat. The interior is loud—engines, rotors, mechanical noise that makes conversation nearly impossible.
Viktor sits directly across from me. Jericho is three seats away on the opposite side, flanked by operatives. Deliberate separation.
My wolf doesn’t like it.
The aircraft lifts off. My stomach drops as we gain altitude. I keep my eyes on the window. Watch the town shrink below us. Watch mountains rise up around us as we fly deeper into the Cascades.
Viktor pulls out a comm unit. Speaks into it with clipped syllables. “Detention. Prepare level three for intake. Long-term hostile holding.”
Long-term hostile holding.
That’s maximum security. Reserved for war criminals awaiting trial. For enemies who’ll never see release. Not for defectors seeking sanctuary.
My chest tightens. I risk a glance at Viktor, but his expression is unreadable. Cold. Professional.
Just days ago, I was furious that the Council granted Jericho sanctuary. Walked out of that meeting ready to hunt him myself because the thought of him safe inside Aurora’s walls was unbearable.
Now I’m terrified they’ve changed their minds.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I walked away from Aurora. Resigned my position. Told Mara I was done, that I couldn’t watch them protect the man who killed Chance.
Then I went hunting.
Not as an Aurora operative. As a widow. As a wolf who’d built grief into rage and finally had a target.
I was going to kill him. That was the plan. Simple. Clear. Righteous.
Except—
I didn’t. Faced with a man I couldn’t kill in cold blood, my wolf chose a different path for us. And it was the exact opposite of killing him.
How do I explain that?
I can’t tell Viktor about the heat cycle. That’s private. Biology that I won’t discuss with Aurora leadership. And I can’t tell him about what my wolf keeps insisting about a mate. That’s acknowledging something I’m not ready to look at too closely.
