“The truth is this,” he spoke up. “The doctrine you’ve all been fed, that all wolves go feral, that all wolves must be eliminated… It’s just wrong.”
Several Watch members glanced at him, surprised to hear acivilian—worse, a former London physician—speaking like he belonged at the table.
Eamon didn’t flinch.
“This sort of lie keeps London’s population obedient,” he went on. “And it gives them a permanent enemy to point at whenever the citizens get restless.”
Craven’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this how?”
Eamon held her stare. “Because I used to live in London. Because I treated the people the city dragged in and called ‘contaminated.’ Because I watched children disappear and never come back.”
Halden looked down at his lap. “London is the problem then,” he murmured, as if saying it out loud hurt.
“Yes,” I said. “London is the problem.”
Halden slammed his palm on the table. “So, we take the fight to them.”
Nox laughed once, the sound quiet, dry, and utterly unimpressed.
Halden’s head jerked toward him. “What’s funny?”
Nox’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You.”
Halden flushed. “Excuse me?”
“You think you can march an army into London?” Nox asked mildly. “With what? Half a base, a handful of bullets, and righteous anger?”
“Better than lying down,” Halden snapped.
Griff’s voice cut in, rough as stone. “No one here is lying down.”
Dane cut in. “What are you doing then? Making speeches about co-existence and trying to turn us against our allies?”
Bishop finally spoke, his voice quiet. “London has guns. London has ships. London has the numbers.”
“It would be the right thing to do,” Halden spat.
“You have a broken arm,” Bishop stated simply.
Halden’s face darkened. “Careful, wolf.”
Bishop’s expression didn’t change. “I am being careful. That’s why I’m still alive.”
A few Watch members shifted uncomfortably. Some bristled. Others looked… thoughtful.
I exhaled slowly. “We can’t attack London directly.”
Halden’s nostrils flared. “So, we do nothing.”
“No,” I said, and let steel enter my voice. “We do what London has always feared.” I leaned over the map on the table and pressed my finger down directly on the city. “We take them down from the inside.”
The room went very still.
A woman with cropped hair and a medic’s badge spoke up quietly. Clara Hines. Her hands were stained with ink and iodine.
“What does ‘from the inside’ look like?” she asked.
“We use our networks, resources from both the Accord and the Watch,” Eamon said instantly. “Safehouses. Smuggling routes. We work our way in like an infection, slowly killing the city from the inside out.”
