I settled into the worn leather chair across from his desk, the same chair I'd occupied for countless conversations about responsibility and legacy and the particular burdens that came with Callahan blood. But this felt different. Heavier.
Dad turned away from the window, and I saw something in his expression that I'd never seen before. Not fear, exactly, but the kind of deep concern that came from facing threats too large to handle through normal channels.
“The Council called an emergency session,” he said, settling behind his desk like he was preparing for a siege. “Reports have been coming in from across the continent. Dead wolves. Dozens of them, scattered from Alaska to Mexico.”
The words hit me like cold water, reframing the morning's tension into something much more serious. “Rogues?”
“That's what we thought initially. Territorial disputes, challenges gone wrong, the usual violence that comes when packs test boundaries.” Dad's jaw tightened. “But the pattern doesn't fit. These aren't challenge kills or territorial executions. These are something else entirely.”
He pulled a manila folder from his desk drawer, spreading photographs across the wooden surface like tarot cards predicting disaster. Black and white images that showed what remained of wolves who'd died badly, torn apart by something that understood anatomy well enough to maximize suffering.
I forced myself to look, to catalog the evidence that would help me understand whatever threat was moving through our world like a plague. The kills were methodical, precise, designed to send a message rather than simply eliminate opposition.
“How many?” I asked, voice steadier than I felt.
“Forty-three confirmed, with more reports coming in daily.” Dad's finger traced patterns on the map he'd spread beside the photographs, marking locations with the clinical attention of someone planning a military campaign. “From seven different territories, no apparent connection between the victims beyond species and the method of death.”
The scope of it was staggering. In my lifetime, pack conflicts had been localized affairs, disputes between neighboring territories that rarely extended beyond a few casualties and carefully negotiated treaties. This was something entirely different, coordinated and widespread enough to threaten the stability that had kept our world hidden from human awareness.
“Do we know who's responsible?”
Dad was quiet for a long moment, studying the photographs with the attention of someone trying to read meaning in patterns that defied logical explanation.
“No clear perpetrator,” he said finally. “But the kills show knowledge of pack structure, understanding of how to eliminate leadership and destabilize communities. Whoever's doing this has studied us, learned our weaknesses, planned these attacks with surgical precision.”
This wasn't random violence or territorial expansion. This was systematic elimination, conducted by someone with enough knowledge and resources to wage war against supernatural communities across an entire continent.
“The Council thinks it's connected to the old bloodlines,” Dad continued. “Families that were driven out during the territorial consolidations, magic practitioners who've been nursing grudges for generations. Names that haven't been spoken in pack meetings for decades.”
“What does this mean for us?” I asked, though I was already beginning to understand the weight of what Dad was telling me.
Dad leaned back in his chair, expression grave. “It means every pack in North America is looking to us for leadership, guidance, protection.”
The reminder of our position in the supernatural hierarchy hit me then. Our pack wasn't just another territorial group managing local disputes. Dad served as Head Alpha for the entire continent, the final authority in matters that affected every werewolf community from the Arctic Circle to the Rio Grande.
Which meant that when threats emerged that could destabilize the entire system, the responsibility for response fell to us. To him. And someday, to me.
“Forty-seven packs across twelve territories,” Dad said, reading my thoughts with the accuracy that came from sharing blood and bonds and the particular burdens of leadership. “Nearly three thousand wolves, all looking to the Callahan pack for answers we don't have yet.”
The numbers were staggering, the scope of responsibility almost incomprehensible. I'd grown up knowing that our pack carried weight beyond our small-town boundaries, but the abstract knowledge of authority was different from facing the practical reality of what that meant.
“You're telling me this because it's my inheritance,” I said, understanding finally settling into place. “Because someday I'll be the one making these decisions.”
“I'm telling you this because someday might be sooner than we'd planned.” Dad's voice carried the weight of fears he'd been carrying alone, probably for longer than I'd realized. “The attacks are escalating, becoming bolder. Whoever's behind this isn't content to pick off isolated targets anymore. They're moving toward something bigger, more devastating.”
The thought of Dad facing threats that could end his leadership, that could force early transition of authority tosomeone who'd never wanted the burden in the first place, made my chest tight with panic I couldn't afford to show.
“What do you need from me?”
“I need you to start thinking like an Alpha instead of a pack member,” he said. “The pack needs to be ready. Not just our immediate family, but every wolf who looks to us for protection. That means training, preparation, coordination with allied packs across the continent. It means being willing to make choices that will keep our people alive even when those choices cost us everything else we value.”
“How long do we have?”
“Unknown. Could be months, could be weeks. The pattern's accelerating, but we don't know what the endgame looks like.” Dad gathered the photographs, sliding them back into the folder. “What I do know is that when it comes, we need to be ready. All of us.”
“I'll start working with the pack,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Training schedules, coordination drills, whatever preparation you think we need.”
“Good.” Dad stood, moving back to the window that overlooked the mill floor where pack members continued their work. “But Evan, remember this—leadership isn't about being the strongest or the most ruthless. It's about being willing to carry burdens that would break other people, about making decisions that serve the greater good even when they destroy you personally.”
