I find Brenna in the lodge kitchen. It’s her office, her war room, and the place where every important conversation at Ravenclaw eventually happens. She’s at the long table with a cup of coffee and a stack of papers — the council case against Bern, from the look of it.
Greta is at the sink with her back to us, running hot water over a cast-iron skillet. She turns when I come in.
“Good to have you back, honey.” Her smile is warm. “Got biscuits if you’re hungry.”
I nod. “I’ll get some.”
“As many as you like. You look like you lost half yourself out there.” She turns away and continues her washing as if the exchange never happened. That’s Greta’s gift. She hears everything and acts like she hears nothing.
“Sit down,” Brenna says.
I sit in the chair across from her. The sun through the window makes a bright square on the pine table between us. I watch a fly cross it.
“You went after Garrett Forrester.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He’s been dealt with.”
“Dealt with how?”
“He has a better understanding of what his corridor produced.”
Brenna sets down her coffee. Folds her hands. The look she gives me is the one she uses on wolves who are telling her the truth but not enough of it: patient, sharp, waiting for the rest.
“Briar. I need more than that.”
“He’s alive,” I concede. “He’s at his compound.”
Her eyes narrow. She doesn’t push. Brenna knows when pushing will shut me down, and she’s too smart to waste the leverage.
Behind her, Greta moves the skillet to the drying rack. A plate clinks against another plate. The fly crosses the bright square on the table again.
“I’m building a case that depends on political credibility,” Brenna says when the silence drags on too long. “If the Forrester alpha shows up at the council hearing with injuries he can pin on Ravenclaw wolves—”
“He won’t.”
“You’re sure.”
“He won’t report what happened. Trust me.”
Something in my tone makes her pause. I watch her recalculate — turning over the words, the certainty, looking for the angle that explains why I’m so sure Garrett Forrester will keep his mouth shut.
She won’t find it. Not today.
“All right,” she says. “Full debrief tomorrow. Everything you saw at the compound. Security posture. All of it. If they’re gearing for something, I want to know about it.”
“Fine.”
She catches my arm as I stand. Not tight. A pause, two fingers on my sleeve.
“And Briar. Don’t go back. Whatever you did, it’s done. We handle the Forresters through the council now.”
I nod.
The nod is a lie, because this thing that’s happening to me is not going to go away on its own. I’d be a fool to believe that. She lets go of my sleeve. I walk out.