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His wolf had gone entirely quiet — the stillness it reached only when it had gotten exactly what it needed.

Drayce found this more restful than he’d expected.

They broke up after ten. Maelin left first — he had the morning patrol assignments to revise, and he treated deadlines with the same committed efficiency he applied to everything. He and Drayce exchanged a look at the door, a glance that held the full tactical summary of the evening without either of them saying a word — the shorthand of a good working partnership.

Tor went second. He put on his jacket, stopped at the door, and looked at Drayce with the attention that meant he was deciding whether to say what he was thinking.

“Whoever’s doing this started before the awakening wave. It’s not on the Rift’s usual clock.”

Drayce looked at him.

“Whoever’s responsible was waiting for a founding-line awakening.” Tor adjusted his jacket. “The original target wasn’t her, but now that she’s here, she is.”

He left, and the door closed behind him. Drayce stayed in the hallway a moment, letting himself process everything, which took longer than he liked.

Pike, who had been gently tugging on his jacket in the background and taking his time — probably intending to be the last to leave since he arrived — watched him.

“She’s not alone in it.” Pike tucked the notebook under his arm. “For the record.”

“I know.”

“You’ll want to tell your face maybe that. It’s doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The ‘I am personally responsible for all outcomes’ thing. You’ve had it since your twenties. I have photographic evidence.” He picked up his notebook. “Go finish the radio.”

Drayce looked through the doorway at the restoration workspace. The tubes in their rows. The housing waiting to be reassembled.

“The radio isn’t going anywhere.”

“Neither is she,” Pike said lightly, the tone he reserved for the truest things. “Goodnight, Drayce.”

He left.

Drayce stood in the quiet of his house, the fire burning down, the ward line holding offshore, and his wolf finally settled for the first time in weeks.

He went to the restoration table and picked up where he’d left off.

ELEVEN

ALTHEA

Fiora and Bexley showed up at nine with too much pasta and a graph.

I was nearby,” Bexley said at the door, as if she had double-checked all the details and knew she needed to be there.

Fiora cheerfully pointed out, “We’re not here just for a walk,” as she stepped inside and hung up her coat. “Our main reason is the pasta. But, hey, if you feel like talking about the walk while we enjoy our meal, that’s totally your call!”

Althea did not mention the walk. Fiora had a new theory about her situationship’s latest facial tell. Bexley had produced a second graph, apparently to account for variance.

“Your fire is very quiet tonight,” Fiora said, halfway through the bottle, watching her with the same attention she turned on things she’d decided to notice.

“Training.”

“Mmm. Not training-quiet. This is a different quiet.”

Bexley made a note and said nothing else. Althea chose not to ask.