My stomach drops. Where the hell did she go?
Me: Try her apartment. She didn’t bring her suitcase back with her, so if you were watching the baggage claim area, she may have slipped past you and gone straight home.
Ethan: On it.
About an hour later, my phone buzzes again. I glance down quickly.
Ethan: She’s home. Lights are on. I can see movement through the windows.
Relief crashes through me so hard, I collapse onto the bed. She’s there. Still in Moonvale. I haven’t lost her yet.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and finish packing, some of the tension easing from my shoulders.
The Coalition buildingtowers over downtown Miami, the glass and steel reflecting the afternoon sun. I stride through the main entrance just before two p.m., my wolf still snarling beneath my skin. Every step feels wrong, like I’m tearing myself in half.
But this is important pack business. Just for a few hours. I can manage a few hours here, and then, I’ll fix everything else.
I have to.
The conference room sits on the top floor, with panoramicwindows overlooking Biscayne Bay. Five alphas wait around the massive oak table, their power filling the space like static electricity before a storm. Two of my father’s supporters sit on one side with Jeddian, their expressions grim and determined. Across from them, the three alphas harboring hybrids watch me enter with wary eyes.
Alpha Calloway of Blue River Pack leans back in his chair, arms crossed. Alpha Strand from Silver Rock drums his fingers on the table. And Alpha Voss of East Ridge Pack studies me with an intensity that makes my teeth grind together.
“Darius.” Jeddian Vince gestures to the empty seat beside him. “Thank you for coming. These three alphas have a proposal regarding the hybrid situation.”
I take my seat, forcing my mind away from Violet. Later. Think about her later.
But dread is building in my chest.
“Let’s hear it.” I keep my tone even, professional.
Calloway straightens. “We’ve been discussing your position on hybrids. Specifically, the push for mandatory relocation to containment facilities.”
“For everyone’s safety,” I say. “The massacre eleven years ago proves the threat is real. Forty-three soldiers lost in a single night. I saw the site myself, the destruction.”
“We heard the reports.” Strand’s voice carries skepticism. “We have also protected hybrids within our territories for generations without incident.”
My jaw clenches. “When they lose control, people die. Our warriors were torn apart.”
“Your pack’s version of the event is the only one documented,” Voss says carefully. “No outside investigation was ever conducted. Don’t you find that concerning?”
A coldness slithers down my spine. I push it away. “My own brother survived that attack. Zion was there, fighting alongside one of our soldiers. The incident changed him. He became withdrawn, haunted. My father had to reassign him because he couldn’t handle it.”
“And the soldier who foughtbeside him?”
“Found dead a few weeks later.” The words taste bitter. “The trauma was too much.”
“Only two witnesses to the worst hybrid attack in pack history,” Voss says slowly. “One becomes plagued with memories and gets reassigned. The other kills himself shortly after. And your pack uses this single incident to justify eliminating an entire subspecies.”
My pulse pounds in my temples. He’s implying something that I don’t want to examine too closely. Not now. Not when Violet is out there and I’m stuck in this room playing politics.
“The evidence speaks for itself,” I say, my voice harsh. “I was there in the aftermath. I helped clear the bodies, witnessed the carnage. I saw what those hybrids were capable of.”
“Your pack controlled all the evidence from the beginning,” Calloway says. “No outside eyes, no independent verification. And now, eleven years later, you’re using that one incident to justify removing all hybrids from every pack in the Coalition.”
“We’re willing to consider your proposal,” Voss continues, “but only if the events from eleven years ago are investigated again. Properly this time. With our people involved.”
I force myself to breathe through the implications trying to surface in my brain. The pieces don’t fit together the way they should. My father’s refusal to allow outside investigators. The sealed site. The convenient absence of witnesses.
