Their expressions stop me mid-sentence.
“We found something,” Nova says, spreading documents across the table. “The proof you needed—Caelynn’s death reporthas serious inconsistencies. And the timing...” She meets my eyes directly. “It’s not just suspicious. It’s tribunal-admissible evidence.”
I lean forward, studying the documents.
“This report is dated the same day she died,” Derek points out, his investigator’s tone carefully neutral despite the implications. “No magical death investigation is ever completed on the same day.”
Nova’s finger traces along official seals at the bottom of the parchment. “My court contacts confirm the investigation was rushed through without standard magical residue analysis. The reports were sealed before the customary three-day observation period.”
The door opens again, and Nyxiana slips in, her silver-white hair catching the light. She moves directly to the table, studying the documents Derek has spread out.
“The portal malfunction doesn’t match standard failure patterns,” she says, pointing to the magical signature readings. “Normal portal collapses show specific energy spikes here and here. This reading is ... manufactured.”
I stare at the death certificate, my sister’s name in stark black ink. The grief that’s been a constant ache sharpens into something colder, more focused. This wasn’t an accident. Someone killed Caelynn.
“There’s more,” Nova says, her expression grim. “My contacts in Gleann na Sidhe confirm unusual magical activity near the portal site the day before Caelynn’s death. The signature is ... vaguely familiar. But I can’t place it yet.”
The evidence is damning. But something still doesn’t fit.
“The timing is orchestrated,” I say slowly, thinking aloud. “The rushed investigation, the accelerated marriage timeline ... someone is pulling strings. But we don’t yet know who or why.”
Nova’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “If someone is manipulating your father—and orchestrating political pressure this precisely—they’d want insurance. Eyes on the ground to make sure their plan stays on track.”
“Surveillance,” Ben says quietly from where he’s been listening. “If whoever’s behind this has compromised court officials, they might have observers watching pack territory too.”
The implication settles over the room like frost. I feel Callum tense beside me, his protective instincts warring with tactical awareness.
“The bond,” I say, and no one in the room pretends not to understand. They’ve all sensed it—every wolf here can feel the connection humming between Callum and me. “If the courts discover it, it becomes leverage. They can threaten him to force my compliance or use our connection to increase pressure on my father.”
“Or isolate you emotionally,” Nova adds. Her eyes flick briefly to Callum, then back to me. “Make choosing him seem selfish while emphasizing the war casualties. Turn your love into a weapon against you.”
Dane’s Alpha authority fills the space. “Then we control the information flow. The wards protect our strategy meetings, but we need to think about what observers outside the wards might see through everyday pack activity.”
“Rotation schedules,” Derek suggests, his investigative mind working. “Lyanna works with different pack members throughout the day, like everything is normal. Multiple witnesses to every interaction. Nothing that looks like a private relationship.”
The door opens as Harper slips in, followed by Kari. Harper’s eyes flick briefly toward Ben before she deliberately positions herself on the opposite side of the table. Kari takes a position bythe window where she can watch both the room and the territory beyond.
Nova quickly summarizes for them—the surveillance methods, the bond monitoring, the need to control information flow.
Harper’s expression sharpens as she absorbs the implications. “I can coordinate logistics,” she offers, already thinking operationally. “Work assignments, meal schedules, medical consultations—all documented as standard pack operations.”
“Sight lines from the perimeter,” Kari adds, her tactical mind engaged. “They can’t penetrate our wards, but they could observe through cabin windows from outside the protected zone. We need to control what’s visible.”
Ben meets my eyes with quiet understanding. “I’ll map external observer positions and identify which areas have exposure. We can adjust patterns to minimize what anyone watching from beyond the wards could piece together.”
I feel the weight of what they’re offering—not just hiding a secret but protecting us from being used against each other. If someone is watching and reports back about the bond, every moment between Callum and me becomes ammunition for whoever’s orchestrating this.
“We keep potential observers blind while we investigate and build the legal case,” Dane says, his voice carrying absolute conviction. “They need to see a healer doing her job and a pack supporting a member through a difficult obligation.”
“Dawn’s wards,” Nyxiana says suddenly. Everyone turns to her. “She’s been strengthening the protective barriers. With some modification, we could extend them—create a glamour layer that shows mundane pack activity to anyone scrying from outside.”
Dawn straightens, violet light flickering at her fingertips. “I can do that. It would take a day to set up properly, but onceactive, anyone watching from beyond our borders would see only what we want them to see.”
“Do it,” Dane orders.
I meet Callum’s eyes across the careful distance between us, seeing my own determination reflected back. We have a plan. We have protection. And we have each other—even if the courts can never know it.
“Then let’s get to work,” I say quietly.
