"It's the only one I have." The road winds upward along the coastline, climbing toward the headland. The ocean stretches to our right, vast and restless under the moon. Below us, Stormhaven's lights scatter across the harbor like fallen stars. Ahead, perched on the promontory overlooking both sea and village, an ancient stone structure materializes from the darkness.
Wolfstone Abbey.
It's larger than I expected, built from dark stone weathered by centuries of Atlantic storms. A mix of medieval architecture and later additions, it sprawls across the clifftop with the commanding presence of a fortress. Windows glow with warm light. Smoke rises from multiple chimneys. This isn't just ameeting place—this is a home. A pack headquarters where Declan's wolves live and guard their territory.
Several vehicles are already parked in the small lot beside the abbey. Kian pulls in next to a truck I recognize from the harbor, kills the engine, and sits for a moment in silence.
"Last chance," he says quietly. "I could drive you to the ferry. Send you back to the mainland. You'd never have to see me or Stormhaven again."
"And the syndicate?" I ask. "The traffickers? The twelve children from Cork?"
"The brotherhood would handle it."
"Without the evidence I've gathered? Without the legal framework to dismantle their human operations?" I shake my head. "You said yourself, they keep taking down cells and more pop up. Maybe because they only fight half the battle."
Something changes in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.
"Then let's go face the brotherhood," he says, opening his door. "And hope they're smart enough to see your value."
I follow him up the stone steps to the abbey's heavy wooden door. It opens before Kian can knock, revealing a warm interior that's clearly a lived-in home rather than an abandoned relic. Stone walls lined with modern lighting. Comfortable furniture arranged around a massive hearth. The scent of wood smoke and something cooking. Ancient architecture housing contemporary life.
The brotherhood waits in what looks like a great hall, the space large enough to accommodate the pack that lives here. Vaulted stone ceilings soar overhead. Tapestries hang on the walls. The massive fireplace crackles with heat and light.
But they're not alone.
Three women stand near the fire, and the moment I step through the door, their attention fixes on me with varying degrees of interest and assessment.
The first is dark-haired and fierce, watching me with sharp intelligence. The second is red-haired and carries herself with confidence that speaks to strength hard-won. The third has an otherworldly quality that makes me think witch even before anyone speaks.
"Welcome to Wolfstone Abbey, Chief MacLeod," Declan says from his position near the hearth. "Now let's discuss exactly why we shouldn't erase your memory and send you back to investigating mundane crimes."
The implication that I can't be trusted sparks anger hot enough to override fear. "I found evidence of trafficking."
Every eye turns to me.
"The Cork shipment," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. "The harbor master's ledger showed livestock—twelve units, Cork to an undisclosed European location. The shipment had ventilation holes, restraint systems, no refrigeration. I cross-referenced with the Interpol missing children database. Twelve children, ages six to fourteen, disappeared from the Cork area in the weeks before that shipment went out." I meet Declan's stare without flinching. "I can't walk away from that. I won't."
Silence stretches through the abbey.
"You have documentation?" Grayson asks quietly.
"Ledger photos, shipping manifests, customs discrepancies, financial records showing payments that don't match declared cargo value. Everything admissible in human courts."
I force myself to keep talking, to make my case before they decide I'm expendable.
"You want to know what value I bring?" I ask. "I can build legal cases against the syndicate's human operatives while youhandle supernatural threats. They're using legitimate businesses as cover—shipping companies, warehouses, dock facilities. All staffed by humans who have no idea their employers are shifters. You take down the supernatural elements, I provide evidence to prosecute the human infrastructure. They can't rebuild if both sides fall simultaneously."
"She's got a point." Grayson's deep voice rumbles through the space. "We've fought syndicate operations for years. Every time we take down a cell, another pops up. Because we only hit the supernatural side while the human infrastructure stays intact."
"Or we let witnesses live who shouldn't," Jax counters, prowling closer. "How do we know she won't run to her superiors? Expose our existence? Bring human authorities down on every shifter in Scotland?"
"Because I saw what happened in that alley." I don't back down even as he circles me. "I watched Kian transform into a tiger and kill three trained assassins in seconds. Do you think I'm stupid enough to expose a supernatural community that could wipe out entire police departments?" I shake my head. "I'm a cop, not a martyr."
Rafe steps forward from the shadows, studying me with intensity that makes my skin prickle. "She's lying."
My heart stutters. "I'm not?—"
"Not about being smart." He continues as if I haven't spoken. "About survival being her primary concern. You're not thinking about staying alive right now. You're thinking about how to use our existence to take down criminals you couldn't touch through legal channels." A slight smile crosses his face. "You're not afraid of us. You're intrigued."
