The third source point sits almost exactly on the disputed boundary line.
“He’s using the contested ground as cover,” Maximus says. “Ferals placed in disputed territory. Both species claiming jurisdictional confusion.”
“So neither acts fast enough,” Erik says.
“And the incidents accumulate.”
I look at the map. The three points. The twelve radiating marks.
Erik is quiet for a beat. His eyes drop to the map, then back to me.
“He’s done the same thing with the blood supply,” I say. “Contaminate the distribution channels, accelerate the feral conversion rate, create a shortage that forces desperate decisions.” I move my finger above the paper, following the lines outward from each hub without touching it. “Both fronts at once. Starve the vampires. Back the wolves into a corner. Then walk in with solutions when everyone’s desperate enough to take them.”
Erik folds his hands on the table. Looks down. Then at me.
“After three months on this problem,” he says, “my people didn’t connect those two vectors.”
“Your people weren’t looking at the blood supply data.”
“No.” A pause. “They weren’t.”
Maximus leans forward. “The source points need surveillance. Not action. Not yet. Move too fast and he shifts the operation and we lose the trail.”
“My trackers can watch those locations without being detected,” Erik says. “That’s what they do.”
“Mine can access the supply chain records and map backward from the contamination sites.” Maximus looks down at the twelve red marks. “If the distribution points and the placement locations connect to the same operation, we have proof. Not guesswork.”
Erik nods. Once.
Erik extends his hand across the table. Maximus shakes it.
Erik looks at me.
I extend my hand. He shakes it.
“Moreau.”
“Erik.”
He stands, folds the map in tight clean lines, and slides it across the table to Maximus.
“My trackers’ notes are on the back. Your people will want them.” He moves toward the door. Stops with his hand on the frame.
“The buffer zone,” he says, without turning around. “There’s something else in those three square miles. My wolves won’t go past the eastern tree line. They don’t know why. They just won’t.” A pause. “Whatever Konstantin put there, it’s not only ferals.”
He walks out.
The door swings shut behind him. The sound of the bar returns, faint through the walls. The chair at the far end is still pulled out where he left it. His glass empty.
Delia’s voice carries in the corridor, low and even, directing someone.
“He’s been running this alone for three months,” I say.
“Not anymore.” Maximus takes my hand.
His fingers close around mine.
We stand. Maximus puts the map into his jacket. I follow him down the corridor and back into the bar.
