Rowan’s jaw tightens. “Careful.”
“No,” I push back. “We’ve relocated, redirected, buried files, and called it protection. And every seven years, someone still dies. So tell me where secrecy actually helped.”
Mara doesn’t answer. That tells me everything.
"Two steps," Thomas corrects, attempting to gloss over the tension in the room. "She's already researched indigenous folklore about shapeshifters. She's dismissed it as metaphorical, but the framework exists."
My wolf paces beneath my skin, recognizing threat and opportunity in equal measure. Ellie's brilliance will either destroy us or force us into evolution. Neither option feels controllable.
"What do you propose?" I ask, though I already know.
"Containment," Rowan says simply. "She leaves town. Tonight. The story dies with her departure."
“And if sending her away gets her killed somewhere else?” I ask.
Rowan’s eyes flicker. “That wouldn’t be our responsibility.”
“That’s the problem,” I say flatly. “It already is.”
Thomas shifts uncomfortably. “Caleb…”
“No. I want it said out loud.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “We don’t get to decide whose life is acceptable collateral anymore.”
"What if she refuses to leave?"
Mara's expression doesn't change. "Then we protect what we've built."
The weight of their expectation settles across my shoulders like authority I never wanted. They assume my compliancebecause they've never questioned it. Alpha means protector, and protection sometimes requires difficult choices.
But they're not accounting for the mate bond that makes those choices impossible.
The bond fractures against my ribs like glass. Each breath draws it deeper, sharpening until I can taste copper and regret. Three days since I touched her, and the connection hasn't dulled—it's weaponized itself, turning every moment of distance into accusation.
I sit in my truck outside the diner, watching Ellie through rain-streaked windows. She's bent over documents, pen moving with the focused intensity of someone who's found a thread worth pulling. The sight should comfort me. Instead, it feels like watching a timer count down.
This is my fault. Not her curiosity. Not her persistence. Mine.
I taught this town how to stay quiet. I taught the pack that silence was safety. And now I’m watching the woman I’m bound to walk straight into the consequences of that lie.
The bond pulses, urgent and demanding. Not desire this time—pure alarm. She's close to something that will get her killed.
"You look like hell." Rowan slides into the passenger seat uninvited, shaking rain from his jacket.
"Didn't invite you."
"Good thing I don't need invitations." He follows my gaze to the diner. "She's asking about the Hollowell disappearance now. Thomas Reed mentioned she's started requesting files from as far back as the sixties."
The bond constricts like a fist around my heart. "How long ago?"
"This morning. Before you ask—yes, Thomas deflected. But she's not deflecting back anymore. Whatever you did the other night, it didn't scare her off. Made her bolder."
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles crack. Inside the diner, Ellie looks up from her papers, scanning the street. Her gaze finds my truck, holds for a beat that feels like judgment, then returns to her work.
"She's connecting the cycles," I say.
"Probably. Question is, what are you going to do about it?"
The bond twists, responding to the threat I can feel building like pressure before a storm. Something's coming, drawn by her questions, her presence, her stubborn refusal to accept easy answers.