I hold his eyes. “The rogue is not acting like an animal. Whoever is doing this knows your schedules intimately.”
Alden’s expression goes still, and the stillness feels like a decision being made. “We will treat it as an internal breach,” he says.
Ciaran’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Understood.”
I let out a slow breath I did not realize I was holding. The room smells like ink and cedar and the faint warmth of Alden’s body, close enough to register without effort.
“Good,” I say. “Because that means we stop reacting and start anticipating.”
Alden’s gaze remains on me for a beat longer than necessary. “Do not say that outside this room.”
“I was not planning to,” I reply. “I want this stopped as much as you do.”
Ciaran picks up the binder again and tucks it under his arm. “We will restructure the east rotations.”
Alden nods once. “And we will find who benefits.”
The words settle heavy between us.
Alden does not look away first. His fingers curl, knuckles pale where the wood of the desk meets skin. The office feels smaller now, the air thick with cedar and smoke and the weight of something neither of them wanted confirmed.
“I started to suspect an inside job,” he says at last. His voice is controlled, but there is steel beneath it.
Ciaran stills beside the filing cabinet, eyes sharpening as if the word itself has teeth. He crosses to the locked cabinet along the back wall and retrieves a brass key from his pocket. He unlocks it without hesitation and pulls open the drawer. Inside are thick folders labeled with names instead of patrol routes.
“Council oversight files,” he says. “Assignment histories. Rotation authority. Disciplinary records.”
He lays several of them on the desk, spreading them beside my map. The paper edges brush against my hand as I steady the stack, and Alden’s fingers briefly touch mine when he adjusts one of the folders.
The contact is accidental. It still sends heat up my arm, and I wish he didn’t have that affect on me.
Ciaran flips open the first file and scans the assignment history. “Only a council member has the authority to adjust quadrant oversight without raising immediate questions.”
Alden’s jaw tightens slightly. “You are narrowing quickly.”
“I am narrowing logically,” Ciaran replies. “Lower ranks do not touch rotation timing. That requires influence.”
I lean against the wooden desk and look at the names. Some are repeated across quadrants. Some have consistent oversight in the eastern boundary where the gap formed.
“You think this sits at council level,” I say. I still don’t understand the inner workings of Alden’s pack, or really what he is, but I heard them talk about a council before.
Ciaran glances at me. “If someone is bold enough to manipulate patrol timing repeatedly, they are confident they will not be challenged.”
Alden’s gaze shifts to him. “You will monitor quietly.”
Ciaran nods once. “I will begin tracking routine adjustments and cross-referencing who signs off on them.”
“No accusations,” Alden says.
“Not without proof,” Ciaran answers.
I tap the corridor zone on the tablet. “We can force movement.”
Both men look at me.
“If the rogue uses this gap consistently, we close it and watch what shifts,” I continue. “But we also set bait.”
Alden’s brows draw slightly together. “Explain.”
