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“The reason behind it isn’t.”

The first hint of emotion crossed her face. “In practice, the distinction doesn’t matter. The women don’t mean any harm. They never do. The outcome is the same every time.”

“Garnet’s reframe.” He kept his voice level. “The wards call the awakenings. Not the reverse.”

“A theory.” Her voice was flat. “Not documented.”

“Not yet.”

She looked at him, patient — she’d been right long enough that being challenged was no longer an event. “I’ve spent twenty years watching the council sit on the evidence and do nothing. I decided to stop waiting.”

“By creating the vulnerabilities yourself.”

“By making it impossible to ignore,” she said without flinching. “I opened three gaps in the ward structure. The creatures found them — they always find weakness. The council would watch it happen, see who was at the center of it, and finally have no choice.”

He noted that she had built a two-year plan based on the assumption that Althea would fail to be what she was. He found this, in a professional capacity, the most useful thing she’d said so far.

“The creature attacks were directed. Someone gave them the routes.”

“The information was available. I ensured it was accessible.”

He was still. His wolf had gone to the place it went when it needed him to stay in control so it didn’t have to be.

Althea was two hours from securing the northern anchor line, and this woman had been directing creatures for eighteen months. He put it somewhere he could come back to later, when his hands were free.

“You ensured it was accessible,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“To the creatures.”

“To the intelligence directing them. Yes.”

The water had risen another two inches while she spoke. Tor was now three feet behind Colleen, still and ready, three steps ahead of whatever came next. The eastern wall fracture had widened by another three centimeters. The anchor array was still above water, but not by much.

He noted that she had aimed Rift creatures at Althea Virelli and called it evidence gathering.

“You knew about her.”

“Anyone who’s read the archive knows. An uncontrolled founding-line heir is the most dangerous thing in this town. The records go back three hundred years, and I’ve read them all.”

“She wasn’t the problem. She was the answer.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“It was seen. Three hours ago. At the northern anchor. By everyone who was there.”

Colleen’s hands pressed together — the same small gesture he’d noticed in the council chamber months earlier and had not known how to interpret. He knew now.

“Elder Colleen.” His voice carried without volume, as it did only when he needed it to. “You are finished here. Step back from the anchor housing.”

The access door opened.

He didn’t need to look. His wolf knew who it was before the door had finished moving — the warmth that came into the room with her, the settling in his chest that hadn’t failed yet.

Althea came in through ankle-deep water, wearing her coat and boots, with the focused look she wore when she’d heard a ward’s distress from the surface and had come directly toward it instead of away. He’d stopped thinking it was recklessness. It was simply how she was built.

She took in the chamber in a single glance: the water level, the fractured wall, Colleen standing against the anchor housing, Tor and the deputies, and Drayce.