“Perhaps we should consider all options before making any decisions,” he suggests, his voice calm despite the charged atmosphere.
"Do we have any other options?” Ares asks softly.
Logan remains silent, his back still turned to us, his posture rigid with conflict. I can almost feel the struggle within him—the Alpha instinct to protect, to control, battling against his stated desire to be different, to be better.
“Logan,” I say, softening my tone slightly. “You said you wanted to be an Alpha I wouldn’t hate. This is part of that. Letting me make my own choices, even when you disagree with them.”
He turns slowly, his golden eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Even when those choices might get you killed?”
“Even then,” I confirm, holding his gaze. “Because they’re mine to make. My life, my risk, my decision.”
Something shifts in his expression—a surrender, perhaps, or at least a willingness to consider alternatives to his initial rejection. “We discuss it,” he says finally, each word sounding like it’s being dragged from him against his will. “All of us, together. We examine every angle, every risk, every possible outcome. And then we decide. Not just you, not just me. All of us, as a pack.”
It’s a compromise, not a complete acceptance of my plan. But it’s more than I expected, more than the old Logan would have offered. It’s a step, however small, toward the relationship he claims to want—one based on mutual respect rather than dominance and submission.
“Agreed. We put it to a vote,” I say, offering this concession in return. “Thank you, Logan."
The look he gives me is practically stricken like he is already imagining my dead body being lowered into the ground.
CHAPTER 30
Poe
The cell smells of piss and desperation. Not mine—not yet—but the lingering misery of countless prisoners before me. I sit with my back against the damp stone wall, legs stretched out on the narrow cot that passes for a bed. Three paces by four. I’ve measured it a dozen times since they threw me in here, calculating angles, assessing weaknesses, planning escapes that won’t happen.
Old habits.
My wrists throb beneath the iron manacles, the skin already raw and weeping. Amateur mistake. I should have gone limp when they chained me, allowed for circulation rather than testing the restraints immediately. Now I’ll have less strength when an opportunity presents itself.
If an opportunity presents itself.
“Poe?” Dani’s voice drifts through the small barred window connecting our cells. “You still with me?”
“Where else would I be?” The words come out rougher than intended, my throat parched from hours without water.
A soft laugh answers me, surprising in its genuine amusement. “Fair point. Though you’ve been quiet so long I thought maybe you’d found a way out without telling me.”
“And leave such charming company?” I shift, metal scraping against stone as I reposition myself to face the window. “Never.”
Through the bars, I can just make out her silhouette in the adjoining cell—a darker shadow against the general gloom. The guards took her weapons but left her clothes, unlike me. They stripped me to my undergarments, searching for hidden tools or poisons. They found three of the five I was carrying. Small victories.
“I’m sorry,” Dani says after a long silence. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the damp stone. “No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Basic tactical principle.”
“The Queen Mother will be furious.” There’s genuine fear in her voice now. Not for herself, I realize, but for having failed her mistress. “We were supposed to destroy the research, free the women there, and get out clean. Instead...”
“Instead, we’re guests of the king’s hospitality,” I finish for her. “Enjoying the finest accommodations the royal dungeons have to offer.”
Another laugh, this one tinged with something darker. “You’re taking this well.”
Am I? I consider the question, probing my own emotions like testing a wound. There’s anger, certainly—at being captured, at failing our mission, at the risk our presence here poses to the others. But beneath that, a strange calm I hadn’t expected. Almost relief.
“I’ve always known how this ends for me,” I say, the admission slipping out before I can consider its wisdom. “Better to die for something that matters than live as a coward.”
“Is that what you think the others are? Cowards?” Dani’s voice sharpens, defensive of her Queen Mother, of Logan by extension.
“No,” I correct, meaning it. “They’re strategists. Politicians. Playing the long game while people suffer in the short term.” I flex my fingers, trying to restore circulation to my numbing hands. “Someone has to be willing to act now. To take the risks they won’t.”
