“Same source,” Brenna confirms. “Someone with access to pack communication networks is passing Ravenclaw locations and movement patterns to both groups. The Syndicate gets themagic-blooded wolves they want for research. The purists get targets for elimination. And the source gets to watch us bleed from both ends.”
The room is dead silent.
“Second: the surveillance.” She crosses to the window and points toward the eastern hills, where the ridge line cuts black against the fading sky. “There are observation positions on three sides of this property. The southeast ridge is the most active—the Frostbourne wolf scout found the tracks there.” She says this without looking at me.The Frostbourne wolf scout.Not Briar. Not Merric’s scout. She’s keeping distance. “But there are older positions to the north and northwest. Someone has been building a comprehensive picture of the ranch’s layout, defenses, and personnel for some time.”
“Before we arrived,” I say. The first words I’ve spoken in this room. Every head turns.
“Before you arrived,” Brenna agrees. “Your presence accelerated things. Today’s attack proved it. Four new wolves, one of them an alpha from a powerful pack—that’s new information for whoever’s watching. They’ll need to reassess. Which means the timeline for whatever they’re planning just got shorter.”
“Or longer,” Rook says. “If they factor in the increased defensive capability.”
“Depends on how confident they are. And how committed their source is.” Brenna pauses. “Which brings me to the third thing.”
She takes a breath. The room waits.
“The intelligence leak originates somewhere in the southern wolf political structure. I don’t know exactly where. I’ve traced the information flow through three intermediary channels, and each one leads back toward the network of pack alliances that report to the Elder Council.”
I stiffen.
“I’m not accusing the council itself,” she says, reading the room’s reaction. “I don’t have proof of that. What I have is a pattern: information that only someone with access to inter-pack communications could have obtained, distributed through channels that are designed to look like routine pack intelligence sharing. Someone is hiding inside the system. Using the legitimate communication infrastructure to move stolen intelligence to hostile actors.”
“Someone on the council,” Willow says. Not a question.
“Someone with access to council-level communications,” Brenna corrects. “That could be a council member. An aide. A pack alpha who sits in the outer circle of council business. I don’t know yet.”
She’s being careful. Precise. Laying out what she knows without reaching beyond the evidence. It’s the right approach, and it tells me something important: whatever Brenna’s become, she hasn’t lost her discipline. She could name suspects, throw accusations, whip this room into a fury. She’s choosing not to.
I think about the outrage I’ve faced from the wolves who’ve been reaching out to me since we got here. The bristling demands that I’ve studiously ignored.
The council is pissed. But does it go beyond that?
I don’t say anything. Not yet. I don’t have proof of anything. Just a feeling that’s been growing since I read those messages, and feelings aren’t evidence.
“What do you need from us?” Greta asks. Direct as always.
Brenna looks at the old woman, and for the first time since she walked into this room, something softens in her face. Not much. A fraction. Enough that I see the woman underneath the operative.
“I need time. A few days to consolidate the intelligence I’ve gathered and share it with people who can act on it. I needyour scout,” still not looking at me, “to help me map the active surveillance positions so we can establish a proper early warning system. And I need everyone in this room to understand that the attack today was not the last one. It was a probe. They’re testing the ranch’s defenses. When they come back, it’ll be with more wolves and a real plan.”
“And the families?” Arlen asks. “The ones still scattered?”
Brenna swallows hard. “I relocated three groups. Two are safe—hidden, off-grid, in places even the network hasn’t got to. The third…” She pauses. “I lost contact with the third group four months ago. A family in eastern Texas. I’ve been trying to re-establish communication.”
The silence that follows is the kind that has weight.
“We’ll find them,” Willow says. Quiet. Fierce.
Brenna looks at her niece. Nods once.
The briefing breaks apart after that. Wolves disperse in clusters, talking low, processing. Cameron stays on the stairs, watching his mother with that intense, unblinking focus. Willow pulls Brenna aside, and they have a conversation I can’t hear; short, sharp, both of them leaning in with the intensity of family members who are three sentences away from either embracing or throwing punches.
I stay by the door. Rook materializes at my shoulder.
“Council-level leak,” he says. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking a lot of things.”
“That there’s a mole? Or worse, a traitor at the top?” He focuses on me.
