Dane’s scent shifts, anger mixing with something darker.
“Here.” I rise, pointing to a depression in the earth hidden beneath fallen branches. “Equipment was stored here. Removed recently.”
“What kind of equipment?”
“Long-range surveillance tools. Magical, not electronic.” I scan the treeline, noting sight lines to the compound. “From this position, he could monitor pack interactions without triggering your electronic sensors.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dane’s voice carries the edge of barely controlled rage. “How long?”
“Based on the scent degradation? At least two months. Maybe longer.” I follow the trail deeper into the trees, noting how carefully it’s been concealed. “He’s been using fae magic to stay invisible to wolf senses. Your pack wouldn’t have detected anything because he’s been masking his presence.”
The trail leads to a second cache point, this one more sophisticated. Metal buried beneath layers of pine needlesand forest debris. I brush away the camouflage, revealing a waterproof case.
Empty, but not clean. Traces of crystalline residue. The lingering shimmer of fae magic. The sharp ozone smell of scrying enchantments.
I pull out my detection stone. The moment it nears the cache, it flares violet—not the steady purple of ambient manipulation, but sharp, aggressive spikes.
Dane moves closer as the stone flares in my hand.
“Proof.” I hold it up so he can see the difference clearly. “This stone reacts to artificial emotional amplification. The readings here are extreme—he wasn’t just watching your pack. He was testing which emotional triggers worked best on which wolves.”
His face goes stone-still. “He was experimenting on us.”
“Building a playbook,” I confirm, tucking the stone away. “So he’d know exactly how to tear you apart when the time came.”
Dane’s jaw clenches, the implications settling between us. This isn’t just surveillance. This is warfare—patient, methodical, and deeply personal.
“The other packs,” he says finally. “The ones you tracked. Did any of them find evidence like this?”
“No. They didn’t know what they were fighting until it was too late.”
“And we do.”
“You do now.” I step closer, drawn by his scent, by the way he carries the weight of protecting his pack. “That changes everything.”
His scent wraps around me—ash and earth and something purely male that makes my wolf press against her restraints. This close, I can see the exhaustion etched around his eyes.
“You don’t believe that,” he says quietly.
The observation catches me off guard. “What?”
“You don’t believe knowledge is enough. Not really.” His gray eyes search my face with unsettling intensity. “You’re here because you think we’re doomed anyway.”
The accuracy of his reading makes my chest tight. Because he’s right. I’ve seen too many packs fail. Too many wolves turn on each other. Too many second chances destroyed by fear, trauma, and the simple impossibility of healing from some wounds.
“I’m here because someone has to witness it,” I say, the truth slipping out before I can stop it. “Someone has to remember what they tried to build. What they almost achieved.”
His eyes narrow. “Witness? Or document?”
The question hits like a blade between my ribs. Because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing—cataloging failure, recording the pattern, building my own psychological profile of pack destruction.
“Both,” I admit.
“Why?”
The simple question unravels something I’ve kept carefully contained.
“Because someone should care,” I whisper. “Even if it doesn’t matter. Even if it doesn’t change anything. Someone should care enough to remember.”
