The lab was silent except for the hum of refrigeration units. I locked the door behind me and checked twice. Old habit. Melanie had a key—Luna clearance gave her access to everything—but she rarely came this late. She preferred daylight for her performances.

I sat at my terminal and stared at the screen without seeing it. My hands rested on the keyboard, fingers motionless. The physical injuries from the ravine were nearly healed. Ribs knitted. Bruises faded. But the other wound—the one that lived behind my sternum where new life had flickered and gone dark—that one wasn't closing.

My wolf was still silent. Three days of silence. It felt like living in a house where someone used to be.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger together. The small pressure grounded me. Kept me present.

Then I opened the mind-link channel I'd kept blocked for years.

It was buried deep in my consciousness, a connection I'd maintained without using. I'd never been entirely sure why I kept it. Maybe because closing it completely felt like giving up on something I couldn't name. Maybe because some part of me had always known I'd need it.

The channel was fragile at first. Weakened by distance and disuse. I reached through it carefully, testing the connection the way I'd test a compound's stability. Tentative. Precise.

Greyson's presence flooded through before I'd finished forming his name.

It wasn't like Maxwell's voice in my head—sharp and commanding, always carrying the edge of Alpha tone even when he wasn't using it deliberately. Greyson's presence was warm. Unhurried. It settled into the space around my thoughts without pressing down on them.

*Alice.* His voice in my mind was quiet. Steady. *What do you need?*

Not *why now*. Not *what happened*. Just that single question, offered without conditions.

I didn't cry. I'd learned not to. But something in my chest loosened slightly, enough to let words through.

*Everything is wrong,* I sent back. *It's all wrong and I can't—I don't know how to fix it from inside anymore.*

*Tell me,* he said simply.

So I did.

I told him about the ravine. The fall. The way my wolf had tried to protect what we were carrying and failed. The blood. Maxwell's face when I told him, clinical and cold, like I'd reported a minor equipment malfunction. *You should have been faster.* I told him about the pack ceremony two days ago, reading lies about Evan while Maxwell's Alpha tone held my voice hostage. I told him about Melanie's pendant and the research she'd present under her name at the Summit in three weeks. I told him about the files I'd been copying, the evidence I'd been gathering, the plan forming in my mind that I hadn't fully articulated yet but could feel taking shape.

Greyson listened without interrupting. His presence stayed steady in my mind, a constant warmth that didn't flinch or pull back no matter what I said.

When I finished, the silence stretched for several seconds. Not empty. Just thoughtful.

*The Silvercrest lab has been ready for two years,* he said finally. *State-of-the-art equipment. Your own research wing. No one looking over your shoulder.*

I blinked at the screen in front of me. "Two years?"

*I built it after the rumors from Ironvale started reaching me. I didn't know if you'd ever need it. I hoped you wouldn't.* A pause. *But I wanted it there. Just in case.*

Something twisted in my chest. Not pain exactly. Something adjacent to it.

*My royal Beta and Lycan guard can reach Ironvale's borders within six hours of your signal,* Greyson continued. *Extraction protocols are already in place. You just have to say the word.*

I stared at my hands on the keyboard. They were steady. They'd been steady through everything.

"I need three weeks," I said aloud, then sent it through the link. *Three weeks to finish gathering evidence. To make sure when I leave, I take everything that matters and leave nothing they can use.*

*Three weeks,* Greyson agreed. *I'll be ready when you are.*

*Why?* The question slipped out before I could stop it. *Why would you do this for me?*

His answer came without hesitation. *Because you stepped between me and a pack of bullies when we were kids and you had no reason to. Because you're brilliant and kind and you deserve to work somewhere that doesn't steal your name off your own research. Because the only thing I've ever needed from you is your word that you want this. Everything else—the resources, the protection, the lab—that's already yours. It's been yours since the day I built it.*

I closed my eyes. Pressed my thumb and forefinger together hard enough to hurt.

*Three weeks,* I sent back. *Then I'm gone.*

*I'll be waiting,* Greyson said.

The connection didn't close. It stayed open, a warm steady presence at the edge of my consciousness. Not intrusive. Just there. Like he was sitting in the same room, close enough to reach if I needed him but not hovering.

I turned back to my terminal and opened the encrypted files. Started organizing the evidence into categories. Financial crimes. Research fraud. Communications proving Maxwell's complicity in Evan's destruction. I worked methodically, the way I always worked, but something had shifted.

I wasn't just surviving anymore.

I was counting down.

---

Melanie came to the lab the next afternoon. I was running stability tests on a reagent batch when I heard her key in the lock. She didn't knock. She never did.

"Alice." She set her bag on the counter near the door. "I need the preliminary Summit presentation files by tomorrow morning."

I didn't look up from the centrifuge. "They're not ready."

"Make them ready." Her tone sharpened. "This is important."

*Important for you,* I thought. But I just nodded. "I'll have something by morning."

She studied me for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then she crossed to the supply cabinet and opened it. Her hand hovered over the reagent shelf.

"These need to be restocked," she said. "The labels are fading."

The labels weren't fading. I'd printed them two weeks ago. But I watched as she pulled three vials from the shelf and slipped them into her bag.

Contamination by handling. Improper storage. If she used those in any experiment, the results would be worthless.

I said nothing. Just made a note on my tablet after she left. Date. Time. Which vials. The security camera in the corner had captured it all.

Let her take them. Let her ruin whatever she touched.

Every mistake she made was another piece of evidence I didn't have to fabricate.

Maxwell's office smelled like leather and old wood. I'd been summoned an hour ago—a formal mind-link command that left no room for refusal. The kind that made my wolf flinch even though she was still too quiet to protest.

I stood in front of his desk and waited. He didn't look up immediately. Just kept reading whatever document was spread across the polished surface, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the edge.

When he finally met my eyes, his expression was carefully neutral. The kind of neutral that meant he'd already decided something and was just going through the motions of telling me.

"We have a problem," he said.

I said nothing. Pressed my thumb and forefinger together where my hands hung at my sides.

He slid a folder across the desk toward me. "Intelligence came in yesterday. Communications between you and Alpha Brennan of the Ridgeway Pack. Detailed information about our patrol routes. Guard rotations. Vulnerabilities in our northern border defenses."

I stared at the folder without touching it. My mind went very still. Very clear.

"That's not possible," I said quietly.

"The evidence says otherwise." Maxwell's tone carried that particular edge now—not quite Alpha command, but close enough to make my wolf press flat inside my chest. "Seth verified the sources. The timestamps match periods when you had access to security briefings."

I looked at him. Really looked. Searched his face for any sign that he knew this was absurd. That his own mate wouldn't betray the pack. That the Luna who'd spent five years bleeding herself dry for Ironvale's benefit wouldn't suddenly start selling intelligence to rivals.

His expression didn't change.

"I've never communicated with Alpha Brennan," I said. Each word careful. Measured. "I don't have access to patrol schedules or guard rotations. That's warrior-level clearance, not Healer clearance."

"You're Luna." Maxwell leaned back in his chair. "You have access to everything."

Technically true. In practice, I'd never used it. Never needed to. My world was the lab and the infirmary and the small corners of pack life where healing happened.

But he wasn't interested in practice. He was interested in what could be made to look true.

"This is fabricated," I said flatly.

Maxwell's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you calling my Beta a liar?"

The trap was obvious. Visible. I could see every piece of it laid out in front of me like lab equipment on a sterile tray.

I said nothing.

He stood. Came around the desk. Stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The mate bond hummed faintly between us—a vestigial thing, weakened by grief and betrayal but still present enough to make my traitorous body want to lean toward him.

I held perfectly still.

"Here's what's going to happen," Maxwell said. His voice dropped into that register that wasn't quite command but carried all its weight. "You're going to sign over full rights to your wolf-blight research. Formulas. Protocols. Patient data. Everything. You'll transfer it to pack ownership under Melanie's administration."

I felt my face go cold. "No."

"Or," he continued as though I hadn't spoken, "this evidence gets broadcast pack-wide. Council review. Formal investigation. Your lab funding gets dissolved. Your reputation as Luna—" He paused. Let the silence stretch. "Well. You can imagine."

My hands were still steady. I noted that distantly. Noted the way my breathing stayed even. The way my wolf stayed silent.

"You have twenty-four hours," Maxwell said.

He returned to his desk. Sat down. Picked up another document as though I'd already left.

I stood there for three more seconds. Then I turned and walked out.

The hallway was empty. My footsteps echoed on polished stone. I made it to the stairwell before my knees went weak.

I sat on the bottom step and pressed both hands flat against the cold floor. Counted my breaths. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

The evidence was fake. Obviously fake. Seth had manufactured it on Maxwell's orders—I knew that with the same certainty I knew chemical formulas. The question wasn't whether it was real.

The question was whether anyone would care.

---

I didn't go to my quarters. I went to the lab.

The door was locked. My keycard didn't work.

I stood in the hallway staring at the access panel's red light. Tried again. Red.

Revoked.

I pulled out my phone. Opened the mind-link app. Reached for Greyson's channel.

Nothing. Static. The connection that had been warm and steady two days ago was just—gone.

I tried again. Same result.

Signal disruptors. Maxwell had activated the pack's communication dampeners. The ones meant for security emergencies. Rogue attacks. Not for silencing his own Luna.

I walked back toward my quarters. Slowly. Each step measured.

Two Delta warriors stood outside my door. Young. Maybe twenty. They wouldn't look at me.

"Luna," one of them said to the floor. "Alpha's orders. You're confined to quarters until—" He swallowed. "Until further notice."

I looked at them. Really looked. Saw the way their shoulders were tight. The way their wolves were pressed down under the weight of an Alpha command they couldn't refuse.

"I understand," I said quietly.

I went inside. The door closed behind me. I heard the lock engage.

My quarters were comfortable. Spacious. Well-appointed. A cage was still a cage even when it had nice furniture.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Pressed my thumb and forefinger together.

Three days, I thought. He'd give me three days of isolation before coming back. Three days to break me down. To make signing those papers feel like relief.

I pulled out my phone again. No signal. No mind-link. No way to reach anyone outside these walls.

I was alone.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. My hands stayed steady. My breathing stayed even.

But inside, in the cold sharp place where my plan had been taking shape, I felt something shift. Not panic. Not fear.

Certainty.

Maxwell had just made his last mistake. He'd given me exactly the evidence I needed—not of my disloyalty, but of his.

I just had to survive long enough to use it.