He wore power like a second skin, but there was something in the way he watched me holding the baby—something that almost passed for hope.
I licked the lollipop, switched it to the other cheek, and said, “This wasn’t how I pictured fatherhood.”
He gave the barest nod, the tiniest tilt at the corner of his mouth. “Most things worth doing aren’t.”
I wondered if he was talking about the baby or about me.
I wondered if it mattered.
The room stayed silent except for the hum of the city, forty floors below. The scent of cedar and scotch saturated the upholstery, the kind of territorial marker that reminded you who the space belonged to, and yet the only thing I could smell was the powder warmth of the kid in my arms.
I held her close. I didn’t let go. Not for a long time.
After the initial weirdness of having a newborn clamp onto me like I was the only working Wi-Fi signal in a disaster zone, things got still. Not quiet. Still. I sat on the long leather sectional, the kid asleep in the crook of my elbow, and did my best not to stare holes through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Ashe had taken up a position near the kitchen, fake-reading a magazine and not bothering to pretend he wasn’t security. Braham stood at the edge of the living room, suit jacket off, tie still on, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.
The moment I got used to the silence, Wolfe started talking.
“Her parents were Cormac and Lena Daly. Betas, Ridgeline Pack, south of Roseburg.” Each syllable landed sharp, like he was itemizing a bill. “They requested a private meeting. Routed it through official channels, marked urgent. No subject given.” He didn’t soften the next part. “They never made it to the appointment.”
The lollipop went motionless in my cheek. I kept my hand free, just in case, and didn’t blink.
“They were intercepted just inside city limits.” No hesitation. “Cormac fought. Long enough for Lena to run. She hid Grace, doubled back, didn’t survive. Neither did he.”
I tried to imagine what it would take to separate a mother wolf from her baby, then realized I didn’t have to imagine it. I’d seen it play out in a dozen desert towns, the logic of brutality. Wolves were supposed to be different, but the universe was a champion at recycling tragedy.
I said, “No bodies?”
He shook his head. “No bodies. No scent. No trace.”
Grace snuffled in her sleep, then let out a hiccup. The whole room froze for half a beat. I patted her back, kept my voice soft. “Motorcycles last night. Not a coincidence?”
Braham’s jaw shifted. “No. They were searching. Not for you—for her.”
“Who sent them?”
He took a breath. “Still working that.” He flicked his eyes toward Ashe, who gave a small nod: already on it.
I looked at the baby, her whole head fitting in my palm, and then at the man who was supposed to make all this go away. “Who else knew the Dalys were coming?”
Braham said, “Just my office and the Ridgeline Alpha.”
“And who’s left at Ridgeline?”
“As of this morning?” A pause, microsecond hesitation. “No one I trust.”
I let that settle. The city below was doing its usual Thursday morning impression of controlled chaos, but up here the world had shrunk to three people, a baby, and the single question pulsing in my head.
“Why her?” I said. “What makes her worth two dead and a chase through city traffic?”
That stopped him. For the first time since I’d met him, Wolfe looked human. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He said, “I don’t know.”
It landed like a fist. I could tell it cost him—a guy who’d built a life on always having the answer, who kept a city’s worth of people in check by knowing every variable before it came up, and now he was admitting the one thing a wolf never admits.
I wanted to push.
I didn’t.
