Her secondary field bag is still on the desk, unzipped. I look without touching. A worn paperback with a cracked spine. A photograph of a man in a park ranger uniform, her father, I've gathered, from the way she mentioned him once and then didn't again.
A small notebook with her handwriting crowded into every margin, analysis and observation stacked on top of itself in the way of someone who thinks faster than she writes.
I stand there longer than I intend.
For someone who arrived in Briar Ridge with nothing but field equipment and a state-issued assignment, she has made this room look lived in. That's not a small thing. I recognize it for what it is, which is the same reason I don't like what the open window implies about where she's gone.
I reach for the window latch when the bond hits.
It's not subtle. The mate bond drives the message through the chest wall like a fist and leaves no room for interpretation. Fear. Sharp and immediate, not the low ongoing anxiety of someone alert in the field, but the spiking adrenaline of a specific moment. And underneath it, restraint. The sensation of movement stopping, of struggling against something that has weight.
That last part turns the cold in my chest into something that has no patience left.
I'm through the window before I've made a conscious decision about it, shifting as I hit the ground. I land on four paws in the side courtyard, and the howl that comes out of meis not the measured signal I use to call patrol. It's full pack mobilization.
Wolves come out of doors and training grounds within seconds. I shift back to human before the first enforcer reaches me, because I need words more than speed right now.
"Cassidy is in trouble. Hurt, injured, possibly missing,” I say with firm, unyielding resolve. “Someone get Ciaran on a radio!”
The enforcer—Rafe, third year, reliable—is already reaching for his radio. "Ciaran, this is Rafe at the mansion. Alpha is requesting immediate contact. Over."
Static. Then Ciaran's voice, tighter than usual. "I'm here. We have a situation."
I take the radio from Rafe's hand. "Talk."
"We were running the eastern corridor for camera retrieval," Ciaran says. "I took Tomas south to check the lower boundary markers. Kieran was holding Cassidy's position." A pause that carries weight. "When we came back up the trail, she was gone. Kieran's not responding to comms. Cassidy’s last GPS coordinate puts her at the rocky incline off the eastern fork, but the signal dropped and hasn't returned."
The bond is still flaring against my ribs, fear with that particular quality of restrained movement pressed against it. Alive. She's alive. But not free.
"How long ago?" I ask.
"Forty, maybe fifty minutes," Ciaran says. "I tried to raise her on the radio. Nothing. I tried Kieran four times. Nothing."
"Stay at her last position. Don't let anyone disturb the ground around it." I hand the radio back to Rafe. "Get me four enforcers who know the eastern corridor, full gear, five minutes."
The assembly responds fasterthan I expect, which means word has already spread through the estate in the way pack newsmoves. By the time the four-enforcer team is assembled at the eastern gate, there are twenty wolves gathered in the courtyard watching, and the energy is charged, ready to act, ready to find my mate.
Gideon steps through the crowd before I've cleared the gate.
He's dressed for the ritual—dark ceremonial gear, the kind worn only for Blood Moon proceedings—and he moves with the unhurried confidence of a man who has choreographed his entrance. Behind him, three of his closest council allies fall into position with the deliberate spacing of a planned appearance.
"Alpha." His voice carries to the assembled wolves without effort. "The council requires your presence. The Blood Moon Trial has a prescribed opening protocol, and your absence from the assembly hall constitutes-"
"Step aside, Gideon."
"-procedural violation that could be interpreted as forfeiture under ritual law." He doesn't step aside. He tilts his head slightly, the gesture of someone making a point rather than asking a question. "The pack is assembled. The stones are prepared. Whatever domestic concern has arisen can wait until after the protocol is observed."
I look at him for a moment. Specifically at his face, and the way he holds it very still, the way his eyes move from me to the assembled wolves behind me and back again, measuring audience.
He expected this. He timed his arrival for this.
"You'll have your trial, Gideon," I say. "When I return."
"Ritual law doesn't accommodate personal schedules." He takes one measured step forward. "If the Alpha is unable to maintain composure in the face of a missing human woman-”
"Careful."
The single word comes out quiet, and the temperature around us drops by several degrees. A wolf somewhere behind me takes an involuntary step back.
