“Three days,” Cal said. “We build an unbreakable case. We expose his fraud. And when he loses control—because he will, because men like Magnus can’t stand being humiliated—we’ll be ready.”
“And if he doesn’t lose control?” Theo asked.
Cal thought of his grandfather, slowly poisoned by the sacred trust of shared honey. Thought of Dahlia, her bakery and her legacy and her dreams hanging in the balance. Thought of a town full of people who’d chosen integration over isolation, community over fear.
“Then I’ll challenge him anyway. And I’ll find a way to win.”
Something in him settled for the first time since he’d come home—quiet, and ready.
“We should coordinate with the witches.” Hux was already planning. “Sue Tidewell has influence on the Regional Council. If she speaks on behalf of the Ursa sleuth?—”
“I’ll handle Sue.” Cal’s mouth curved in a smile that held no humor. “She’s been watching Dahlia and me with that knowing matchmaking expression. Time to put her investment to work.”
Leo laughed—a surprised sound that broke the tension. “The witch elder has been matchmaking you?”
“Apparently, my return was ‘foretold.’ The mountain bringing me back to what matters, or whatever.” Cal shrugged. “Either she’s genuinely prophetic, or she’s very good at taking credit for coincidences.”
“Knowing Sue? Both.” Beck’s humor had returned, though with an edge it hadn’t had before. “She told me and Rosemary we were destined to—” He stopped. Shook his head. “Never mind. Different story.”
Cal filed that away. The beta’s pain was too raw to probe, and they had a war to win before anyone could tend to heartbreak.
They spent another hour hammering out details—who would secure the evidence, who would coordinate with the council, who would keep watch on Magnus’s movements. By the time they finished, the afternoon sun had shifted to evening gold, and Cal’s coffee had gone cold in his untouched cup.
They were done running. Done hiding. Done pretending they could fix everything without getting their hands bloody.
Magnus Ironwood had started this war.
Cal intended to finish it.
And when it was over—when Magnus was defeated, the sleuth was safe, and the boundaries were secured—he was going to take Dahlia Moon to Paris and watch her chase the dream she’d hidden in a desk drawer for sixteen years.
FORTY-TWO
FINALLY
CAL
The night before the Regional Council hearing, Cal couldn’t sleep.
He’d tried. Laid in the narrow bed at Bran’s cabin, staring at the ceiling, running through evidence and arguments and worst-case scenarios until his brain felt like it was eating itself.
The folder Wyatt had compiled sat on the nightstand—damning proof of Magnus’s fraud, the cursed honey imports, the decades-long campaign to destroy the Ursa sleuth from within.
The healing magic for his grandfather had begun, but it would be a while until they’d see any progress. All the honey storage had been tested, and three cursed batches had been destroyed.
Tomorrow, everything they’d built would be tested. Dahlia would present her research on the fraudulent surveys. Witnesses would testify. And Magnus would either be exposed as the murderer he was—or he’d slither free, and Cal would have to challenge him anyway.
Cal stared at the dark ceiling and tried not to think about what would happen if they lost.
Something in him knew Dahlia was still awake.
Go to her,the bear urged.She’s awake. She needs us.
Cal didn’t know how he knew that. The mate bond hadn’t been completed—no claiming, no permanent mark. But he could feel her anyway. A low hum of awareness that told him Dahlia Moon was not sleeping either. He could almost sense her restlessness, her worry, the frantic energy she channeled into flour and butter when her thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.
He checked his phone. 12:47 a.m.
He was in his truck before he’d consciously decided to move.
