“Ben,” Dane says, and the name clicks into place. The Beta.
Ben’s hand drops automatically to his knife, eyes flicking between me and Dane. Everything about his posture screams hypervigilance; this is a wolf who learned the hard way that strangers bring danger.
“It’s fine,” Dane says, though his voice carries enough edge to cut glass. “Ben. Yesterday afternoon. Who was here?”
Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Just pack. Why?”
“Think harder.” Dane’s tone brooks no argument. “Anyone else? Visitors? Someone offering help?”
“No one gets past the perimeter without authorization,” Ben says, confusion clear in his voice. “You know that.”
I shake my head. “The scent trail says someone was here. Someone who doesn’t belong to the pack.”
Ben’s face goes dark with suspicion, but before he can respond, rapid footsteps echo from the hallway. A young wolf appears—early twenties, dark hair, moving with barely contained energy that screams golden retriever with fangs.
“Alpha, I heard—“ He stops mid-sentence when he sees me, his entire body shifting to alert.
“Mateo,” Dane’s voice is carefully controlled. “Yesterday afternoon. Was there someone at the compound while I was out?”
The young man’s face goes through a series of expressions—confusion, realization, then crushing guilt. “Phil. I brought Phil Dawson. But he’s not—I mean, he’s been helping—“
“Helping how?” My question cuts through his stammering.
Mateo’s eyes flick between me and Dane, clearly unsure whether he should answer. Dane nods once, giving permission.
“He’s been ... I’ve been running into him in Silverwood for weeks. At the hardware store, the diner. Always friendly, you know? Asks how the pack’s doing, if we need anything.” Mateo’s voice gets smaller with each word. “Yesterday he said he had some construction materials he could let us have cheap, so I thought ...”
“You thought you’d bring a stranger to our home.” Ben’s voice is deadly quiet.
“He’s not a stranger! He’s been nothing but helpful. He understands what we’ve been through, how hard it is to start over—“
“What exactly has he been saying?” I interrupt before this turns into a full confrontation.
I look at Dane, seeing my own realization reflected in his face. “Someone’s been playing the long game with your pack. And yesterday, he came to check his work.”
The door opens again, and Callum enters with two other wolves I don’t recognize. They all stop when they see me, tension spiking immediately.
“Why is she out of the cell?” Callum’s voice carries accusation and barely leashed aggression.
“Because she’s going to help us find the bastard who’s been manipulating our pack,” Dane says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“We don’t need help from some fae spy—“
“You need help from someone who knows how this works,” I interrupt, keeping my voice level. “Someone who’s seen what happens when manipulation campaigns succeed.”
“And what happens?” The challenge comes from one of the wolves behind Callum—young, aggressive, looking for a fight.
I meet his stare directly. “The pack tears itself apart. Wolves who’ve bled together turn on each other. Trust becomes impossible. And everyone walks away convinced that healing was never really an option.”
The silence that follows is heavy with recognition. These wolves have been dancing on the edge of that exact scenario.
“So what do we do?” Ben asks quietly.
I look at Dane, letting him make the choice.
He straightens, decision made. “We find Phil Dawson. And we make sure he never manipulates another pack again.”
The agreement in the room is instant and unanimous. Whatever doubts they have about me, they all want answers about the man who’s been playing games with their healing.
