I meet his gaze, pulse steady. “I’m the only one who can trace him clean. Anyone else risks corrupting the trail.”
“And getting killed,” he bites out.
The room goes still. It’s not the threat in his voice that sets me off. It’s the implication. Like I haven’t already calculated the risk.
“So lock me up? Keep me under guard?” I don’t raise my voice. “Would that make you feel better, Alpha?”
His jaw flexes. “It would keep you alive.”
“No,” I say flatly. “It would keep you in control.”
Lyanna touches my arm lightly. “At least take some protective herbs. They won’t interfere with trace-tracking.”
I nod. “Fine.”
“This isn’t a vote,” I tell the room. “I’m not asking permission. I’m telling you how this ends.”
Dane’s jaw works silently. I can see the arguments building behind his eyes—all the reasons this plan is flawed, dangerous, unacceptable. But he doesn’t voice them.
Instead, he asks, “What do you need from us?”
The question surprises me.
“Distance,” I answer honestly. “And a clear perimeter when the breach hits.”
Rafe nods almost imperceptibly. Lyanna looks troubled but resigned. Dane just watches me, his expression unreadable.
I fold the map into my jacket pocket and head for the door.
Outside, the air hits cold against my face. I pull my hood up, scanning the treeline. The darkness presses in, but I don’t feel afraid. I feel sharp. Ready.
Hunting Faelan isn’t just about closing breaches anymore. It’s about taking back what was stolen before I knew it was missing: choice.
He wanted a key. He gets a weapon instead.
Chapter 14
Dane
The door swings shut behind her. Its click echoes in the quiet.
I don’t move. Can’t move. The air shifts cold where she stood minutes ago.
Tactically, she’s right. One tracker, clean lines, minimal interference. But she’s not just a tracker. She’s—
I cut the thought off before it forms.
“She won’t wait for your blessing,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His voice is flat, an observation without judgment. That makes it worse.
I flex my fingers, releasing tension that’s built without me noticing. “She doesn’t need it.”
“No,” he agrees. “She doesn’t.”
Lyanna steps forward, arms crossed tight against her chest. “The herbs I mentioned might help, but they won’t shield her from backlash if he catches her tracing him.”
“When,” I correct. “When he catches her.”
Because he will. That’s what predators do. They let the prey think it’s hunting until the jaws snap shut.
