CASSIDY
The stone clearing feels different in daylight.
It looks ancient, carved out of the mountain like something that predates roads and fences and sheriff departments. The pines rise tall around the perimeter, their shadows stretching long across the central stone where the council stands. Wolves line the outer ring, not in wolf form, but close enough that the air hums with contained power.
I tell myself I have presented findings to committees before.
None of them had fangs.
Ciaran walks beside me as we cross the clearing. His expression is neutral, but his shoulders are set in a way that signals quiet support. Alden stands near the central stone, posture rigid, gaze fixed ahead rather than on me.
His eyes refuse to glance in my direction.
“State your name for the record,” Brynn says. Her voice is steady and resonant, staff planted firmly at her side. She looks like someone who has held authority long enough that she does not need to prove it.
“Dr. Cassidy Ellis,” I reply, keeping my tone clear. “Wildlife biologist assigned to assess the recent attacks.”
A faint ripple moves through the outer circle.
I set my bag down and pull out my materials without rushing. If I let them see nerves, they will interpret it as weakness. If I move too confidently, they will interpret it as arrogance. There is a narrow middle ground, and I aim for it.
“I will begin with the corridor pattern,” I say.
I unfold the first large map and secure it to a wooden board Ciaran brought forward. Colored lines trace the ridge systems and ravines, while small red marks indicate attack sites. The paper flutters briefly in the breeze before settling.
“These red markers represent confirmed livestock kills,” I continue. “Blue markers represent wildlife kills near road access points.”
Marek steps closer, arms folded. “And the black lines,” he says.
“Patrol routes,” I reply.
Alden’s gaze flicks to the board.
I point to the eastern ridge with a gloved finger. “The rogue’s escape corridor follows this ravine system, then intersects with weak border zones created by shift changes.”
Lydia narrows her eyes slightly. “Created.”
“Yes,” I say. “Created.” I pull out a second sheet showing the patrol rotation chart with highlighted gaps. “These highlighted areas represent timing inconsistencies,” I explain. “Repeated in the same zones over multiple days.”
Silence stretches tight across the clearing.
I continue before anyone can interrupt.
“When I overlay the GPS coordinates of the kills with the patrol shift gaps, they correspond precisely,” I say. “The rogue moves through these zones during brief windows when coverage is weakest.”
Gideon steps forward, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “You are suggesting manipulation,” he says.
“I am presenting correlation,” I reply.
His lips curve faintly. “Correlation is not causation.”
“No,” I agree. “But repetition indicates intent.”
A few younger wolves shift uneasily under the safety of the trees. I feel their attention sharpen, the way an audience leans in when the tension shifts from theory to accusation.
Gideon moves closer to the board and studies the map as if seeing it for the first time.
“These lines could be fabricated,” he says calmly. “Data is easy to adjust.”