“By lying.” Jonah's voice was flat, furious. “By hiding what you were while you learned our weaknesses, our patterns, everything Silas would need to destroy us.”
“Yes.” No apology, just acknowledgment. “I lied about my bloodline. I hid what I knew. And I did something worse.” His eyes found mine, held them with the kind of desperate courage that came from knowing you were about to lose everything. “Daniel. I put a memory spell on you.”
The world tilted.
“What?” The word came out strangled, because my mind was already racing backward, trying to find the gap, the place where my memory should have held something and didn't.
“You figured it out.” Gideon's voice was careful, controlled. “You found records, put pieces together, realized who I was andwhat my bloodline meant. And you were going to tell the pack. To exile me. To protect them from potential threat.”
“I don't remember?—”
“I know. That's the point of a memory spell.” Pain bled through his words. “You confronted me in the garage. Demanded answers. And I took your certainty. Locked the knowledge away where you couldn't access it without a specific trigger.”
Rage flooded hot through my system, turning vision red at the edges. “You took my mind.”
“I took your knowledge of one specific thing,” Gideon corrected, but there was no defense in his tone. Just terrible honesty. “Your instincts stayed intact. Your ability to protect the pack, to lead, to recognize threat—all of that remained. I just removed the information that would have forced you to make a choice that would have killed us all.”
“That wasn't your choice to make!” The words tore from me, and I felt pack bonds pulse with my fury. “You don't get to decide what I know, what I remember, what fucking thoughts are allowed in my own head!”
“You're right.” Simple. Absolute. “It wasn't my choice. It was a violation, and I knew that when I did it. But Daniel—” His voice cracked slightly. “If you'd exiled me all those years ago, if the pack had lost access to my ward-work and magical knowledge, we wouldn't have survived last night. Silas would have walked through broken defenses and slaughtered everyone while you watched.”
“You don't know that?—”
“Yes, I do.” Gideon's expression was carved from grief and terrible certainty. “Because I've been fighting him for a long time. I know how he thinks, how he plans, what magic he uses. Every ward I reinforced, every protection I layered into pack territory—it was designed specifically to slow him down. To buytime. To keep this pack alive long enough to face him with actual weapons instead of just teeth and fury.”
“He's right.” Michael's voice cut through my rage, quiet but certain. “Gideon's magic is the only reason Nate and I could break the ritual circle. The only reason the wards held long enough for the pack to reach us. Without his work—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “We'd all be dead.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to rage that the ends didn't justify the means, that violating pack trust was unforgivable regardless of outcome. But I looked at Michael, at Nate still breathing beside him, and knew with sickening certainty that Gideon was probably right.
“Why tell us now?” Sienna asked, voice sharp with suspicion. “Why not keep hiding if you're so convinced it was necessary?”
Gideon's shoulders sagged. “The secret's out, and continuing to hide would just make it worse. So I'm telling you everything. Giving you the choice I took from Daniel three years ago. You can exile me. Kill me. Lock me up. Whatever you decide, I'll accept it. But I'm asking—” His voice went rough. “I'm asking you to let me help. To let me stay long enough to finish fortifying the wards, to teach what I know, to give you every weapon I have against him. And then, if you still want me gone, I'll go.”
The pack erupted.
Not physically attacking—not yet—but with voices that carried fury and betrayal and grief looking for a target. Jonah demanded immediate exile. Sienna wanted a formal trial. Mason just looked at Gideon like he was seeing a stranger wearing a familiar face.
And through it all, Gideon stood there taking it. Not defending himself beyond what he'd already said. Not making excuses or begging for forgiveness. Just accepting the consequences of choices he'd made knowing they'd eventually destroy him.
I should have been furious. Should have torn into him with every ounce of Alpha rage for violating pack trust, for touching my mind, for hiding truths that could have gotten us killed. But I looked at Alaric's ashes scattered across black water, and felt crushing reality settle onto my shoulders.
We didn't have the luxury of purity anymore.
“Enough.” My voice carried over the pack's rage, silenced them through sheer force of authority that said Alpha has spoken, you will listen. “Gideon stays.”
“Daniel—” Jonah's protest died when I looked at him.
“He stays,” I repeated. “Under watch. Under rules. Under consequences that will be brutal if he breaks them.” I turned back to Gideon, let him see the fury and betrayal I was barely containing. “No more secrets. No more touching anyone's mind. You teach us everything—every piece of magic, every defense, every weakness in Silas's craft. And you do it knowing that if you betray us again, if you hide even the smallest piece of information, I will personally tear your throat out and leave your body for the crows. Understood?”
“Understood.” Gideon's voice was rough with something that might have been relief or grief or both. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me. You're not forgiven yet. You're just useful.” The words came out cold, meant to draw blood. “Earn your way back into this pack's trust. Prove that you're worth the mercy I'm showing you. Because right now, the only reason you're still breathing is because we need your magic more than we need revenge.”
His expression flickered—hurt buried under acceptance—but he nodded. “I'll earn it. However long it takes.”
“You better.” I looked past him to the pack, at wolves who were watching with expressions ranging from grudging acceptance to barely contained fury. “Anyone who can't live withthis, speak now. I won't force you to fight beside someone you can't trust.”
Silence. Long and heavy. But no one moved. No one spoke.
