"He's more useful alive," I say.
Marek looks at me. "You're arguing on behalf of the man who drugged and abducted you."
"I'm arguing for what benefits the pack, which I thought was the point of this council." I hold my arms out to the sides. "A public trial would do more for pack unity right now than a quiet execution. Half this pack spent last night watching wolves they respected walk away from Gideon's side. They need to see what the pack does with betrayal. Law over vengeance." I look along the council arc. "That's what separates a pack from a mob."
Two of the younger council members— Reid and one of the Calloway twins— exchange a glance that isn't disagreement.
"She's not wrong about the optics," Reid says carefully.
Marek turns his head toward Reid with an expression that suggests he finds the use of the word ‘optics’ unbecoming of a council session, but he doesn't argue the substance.
Lydia taps her fingers once against her forearm. "A public trial delays closure. Every day Kieran is in holding is a day the pack has an open wound."
"A rushed execution is also an open wound, just a different kind," I say.
Alden looks at me from across the ring. He doesn't speak, but he nods and his lips quirk up in a subtle half smile. His show of appreciation.
Standing my ground against Gideon is just the beginning, if I want the council to vote in my favor.
"There's precedent for delayed trial when external threats are active," Ciaran says from his position beside Kieran. "The law allows it. The case for it here is strong."
Brynn listens without commenting, her staff planted, her amber eyes moving from face to face with patience. I don’t think anything surprises her anymore. She lets the silence run after Ciaran finishes.
"The execution order is suspended," she says. "Kieran Rourke will stand trial before the full pack after the external threat has been fully addressed." She looks at Ronan. "That is my ruling. It stands."
Ronan's mouth presses flat, but he inclines his head.
That's when Ciaran's radio crackles.
He pulls it from his vest without urgency, clicks the channel open, and the scout's voice comes through, tight and distressed. "Multiple armed vehicles at the lower forest road. Six confirmed, possibly more staging further back on the county highway. They haven't crossed the boundary line, but they are gathering. Looks like they're waiting for a signal."
The clearing goes quiet as the news sinks in.
Ciaran clicks the channel. "Hold position. Do not engage. Report any movement." He looks at Alden. "That's not a civilian hunting party."
"No," Alden says. "It's not."
"The syndicate," I say.
He doesn't answer, but everyone in the ring hears it.
Brynn raises her staff and brings it down once with a loud crack. "The Luna vote is postponed," she says, and there's no softness in it, just the clean cut of a decision made. "All pack resources redirect to perimeter defense. Council will reconvene when the boundary is secured." She looks around the clearing. "This discussion is not finished. But it waits."
The council dissolves into motion—bodies turning, voices dropping into urgent, practical registers, the particular shift from deliberation to preparation that a pack does faster than any organization I've ever been part of.
Alden crosses to me, moving carefully on the injuries. He stops a few paces away where I can see the new lines around his eyes, the cost of a night that asked everything from him.
"Stay inside the inner boundary," he says.
"I know the terrain better than most of your enforcers," I say.
"I know." He holds my gaze. "Stay inside the inner boundary."
I look at him. The bond sits warm and present between us, and there's nothing romantic about this moment—it's just the two of us knowing what's coming and not having enough time to say what that means.
"Don't get shot," I say.
His lips curl. "Same."
