Page 19

I do. All of it, Cross, the organization, Simon's involvement, the confirmation that she was never just an unlucky target who happened to end up near pack territory. She listens without interrupting, expression steady even as the color drains slightly from her face.

"So this whole time," she says finally, "someone's been using me. Simon sold my location, and now this organization's been watching, waiting for exactly the kind of proof they got the night of the bear."

"That's what the evidence suggests."

"And you think this is your fault." It's not a question. She's watching me with an expression that tells me she already knows exactly where my head's gone. "Kellan, you didn't create this threat. You saved my life. Twice."

"If I'd kept my distance⁠—"

"Then I'd probably be dead, and Cross's people would have found another way to confirm what they suspected eventually anyway." She gets up, crossing to where I'm standing, and takes my hands in both of hers. "You don't get to carry this alone. Not the guilt, and not whatever comes next. I'm not something separate from this fight anymore. I'm in it, same as you."

"This is dangerous. I don't think you fully understand yet. Cross isn't going to stop because we're careful. He's going to keep pushing until he either gets proof or gets desperate enough to force a confrontation."

"Then we face it together. That's not me being naive about the danger, Kellan. That's me choosing not to let you shoulder something this heavy by yourself." Her grip tightens on my hands, certain and steady. "You taught me how to survive out here. You taught me to think clearly under pressure instead of panicking. I'm not the same woman who arrived on this mountain a month ago, scared of every shadow. I can help fight this, if you let me."

Something in her certainty settles the worst of the guilt still churning in my chest, replacing it with something steadier, more like resolve than fear. She's right that I don't have to carry this entirely alone anymore, a realization that still feels foreign after seventeen years of believing exactly the opposite.

"Okay," I say finally. "We face it together."

"Good." She pulls me down for a kiss, brief and grounding. "Now tell me everything you know about this Cross person. If he's been studying us, I want to know exactly what we're dealing with."

We spend the evening going over what little the pack's gathered, Zoey asking sharp, practical questions that come from years of navigating her own kind of relentless scrutiny, and somewhere in that focused, determined conversation I understand that whatever's coming, I'm not facing it the way I've faced every threat for the last seventeen years.

I'm not facing it alone. And that feels less like vulnerability and more like strength.

17

ZOEY

The surveillance gets worse before it gets better, exactly the way Kellan warned me it might. Within days of learning about Cross's operation, I start noticing things I would have missed a month ago, a car parked too long at the trailhead pullout, the same hiker passing the cabin twice in one afternoon wearing different jackets, a drone I catch only because the light catches wrong off something metallic hovering above the tree line.

I mention the drone to Kellan that evening, and he goes very still in the way he does when something matters more than he wants to show.

"You're sure it was hovering, not just passing through."

"Positive. It held position for almost a full minute before it moved off toward the ridge." I sketch the flight path on the notepad we've started keeping by the door, marking the direction it eventually took. "That's not random reconnaissance. That's someone confirming a specific location before they move resources there."

He studies the sketch, something shifting behind his expression that looks almost like reassessment. "How do you know that?"

"Because I spent six years being followed by paparazzi who worked exactly the same way. Hover long enough to confirm you've got the right target, then reposition once you're sure." I tap the notepad. "This isn't random surveillance. Whoever's flying that drone already knows roughly where I am. They're refining the picture, not searching blind."

Kellan brings the sketch to Everett the next morning, and I go with him this time, no longer content to wait at the cabin while decisions that affect my own safety get made without me. Everett studies the flight path for a long while, something calculating behind his usually composed expression.

"She's right," he says finally, glancing at me with something that looks almost like reassessment of his own. "This tracks with a targeted confirmation sweep, not a broad search pattern. Cross's people have narrowed their focus considerably."

"Which means they're getting more confident," Rebecca adds, arms crossed as she studies the notes I've been keeping. "Confident enough to risk equipment that's easier to spot."

"Or desperate enough that the risk doesn't matter to them anymore." I look between the three of them, an idea forming that I turn over carefully before saying out loud. "I spent years learning how paparazzi and stalkers think, how they calculate risk versus reward, when they push closer and when they retreat. If you want, I can help identify patterns in their behavior. I know what obsessive surveillance actually looks like from the inside of being watched. That's not something any of you have direct experience with."

Everett considers that and I can see him weighing the request against every instinct that probably says outsiders shouldn't be involved in pack strategy at all. "You'd be working directly against people who've already proven willing to use lethal force."

"I understand the risk. I'd rather understand it and help than sit in a cabin waiting to find out what happens next." I hold his gaze steadily. "I've spent most of my life being the person things happen to. I'd like to actually do something this time."

"Very well. Rebecca will coordinate with you directly, cross-reference what you notice against our own observations."

Over the following days, I fall into a rhythm that feels strange and satisfying, poring over notes and sketched patrol routes with Rebecca, cataloging every anomaly the pack's spotted against everything I recognize from years of dodging exactly this kind of relentless attention. I catch things they miss. They catch things I'd never think to look for. Between us, a picture starts forming of Cross's operation.

Kellan watches this shift happen with an expression I can't quite name at first, somewhere between pride and something more complicated, until one evening he finally puts words to it.