Reid brought the files himself.

He arrived at the Alpha quarters just after dawn, three leather-bound ledgers stacked in his arms. I opened the door before he could knock—I'd been awake for hours, sitting at the kitchen table with my journal open, waiting.

He didn't say anything. Just set the ledgers on the table and stepped back.

I looked at them. Then at him. "Thank you."

His jaw worked. "You're entitled to review them. As Luna." His voice was careful. Neutral. But his eyes weren't. "The allocation records go back three years. Everything's documented."

I nodded once. He left.

I opened the first ledger and began to read.

---

Two nights.

That's how long it took me to go through three years of Ironvale's resource allocation. Food stores. Medical supplies. Warrior assignments. Guest quarter provisions.

Every entry where pack resources were diverted to Giselle or Caspian, I marked with a small notation in pencil. Then I cross-referenced with my journal—dates, amounts, Holden's justifications when questioned.

The pattern was systematic. Documented. Irrefutable.

Holden's own meticulous record-keeping had given me everything I needed.

I started a second file.

---

Giselle began appearing at the training grounds.

I noticed it first on a Tuesday morning. I was walking Ellie to the Healer's wing for her follow-up examination when I saw her standing at the edge of the sparring circle, watching the warriors run drills. She wore a soft blue dress that moved in the wind. Her hair was loose. She smiled and waved when one of the Deltas landed a clean hit.

By Thursday, she was bringing refreshments. Small packages of dried fruit and nuts, distributed to the warriors after training. "From my personal stores," she said warmly. "You all work so hard."

I recognized the packaging. Ironvale commissary.

She was always near Holden during these visits. A hand on his arm when she laughed. Standing close enough that their shoulders brushed. Never quite crossing a line that would trigger formal confrontation, but always visible to the pack.

She also started asking my opinion on things.

Small things. Trivial things. Always in front of others.

"Sloane, what do you think about the new training schedule? Oh, you haven't reviewed it yet? That's all right, I know you're so devoted to little Ellie."

"Sloane, should we use the blue banners or the silver ones for the Banquet? Oh, you'd rather I decide? Of course, you have so much on your plate."

Each question made me smaller. Each deferral positioned her as the one making decisions.

I observed all of it.

I documented all of it.

My expression gave nothing away.

---

Maren filed a formal medical notation on Friday.

I was sitting with Ellie in the recovery den when she brought me the copy. Her face was professionally blank, but her eyes held something sharp.

"Ellie's immune response is weaker than expected," she said quietly. "The ceremony injuries compromised her system. She needs to remain in the sterile environment for a minimum of fourteen more days."

She handed me the document. Official pack Healer letterhead. Detailed medical reasoning. Maren's signature at the bottom.

"I've sent copies to the Alpha and to the Lycan Council's administrative record system," she added. Her voice was perfectly neutral. "Standard protocol for serious pup medical events."

I looked at her. She looked back.

"Thank you," I said.

She nodded once and left.

I read the notation three times. Then I added it to my second file.

---

Caspian appeared in the doorway that afternoon.

I was reading to Ellie—a story about a wolf who found her way home—when I looked up and saw him standing there. Too thin in his too-small jacket. Arms crossed. Staring at Ellie with an expression I couldn't immediately read.

Ellie saw him and went very still. Then she said, simply: "You can come in if you want."

He came in.

He sat in the chair furthest from the cot. Didn't speak. Just sat there with his arms wrapped around himself, watching Ellie hold Greystone.

I kept reading. My voice steady. Giving him space to be there without demanding anything.

After a while, Ellie set the book down and looked at him.

"Your mama makes you do things that hurt, doesn't she."

It wasn't a question.

Caspian's face did something complicated. His jaw tightened. His eyes went bright and hard.

Then he stood and walked out.

I watched him go. Watched the way his shoulders hunched as he disappeared down the hallway.

I turned back to Ellie. "How did you know that?"

She looked at me with those too-knowing eyes. "He smells like he's been in cold water for a long time."

I felt the warmth in my chest pulse. Hot and insistent.

I pressed my thumb into my palm. Counted to ten.

Then I reached for my journal and wrote the date, the time, and every word Ellie had said.

---

That night, I sat at the kitchen table with both files open in front of me.

The allocation records on my left. My journal on my right. Maren's medical notation in the center.

Three years of systematic resource diversion. Five documented Alpha-tone command violations. One critically injured pup whose recovery required sterile conditions that could be overridden by a single Alpha order.

I thought about Caspian's face. About Ellie's words. About the ice baths I couldn't prove but knew in my bones were real.

I thought about the Pack Banquet in two and a half weeks. About Lycan Prince Dominic Ashford and the scheduled inspection that came with him.

I thought about the mate bond wrapped around my consciousness like a fist.

Then I opened my journal to a blank page.

I wrote: *Tribunal evidence summary—draft one.*

And I began.

---

The knock came at 11 p.m.

I looked up from the files. Listened.

Another knock. Soft. Deliberate.

I crossed to the door and opened it.

Reid stood in the hallway. His face was tight. In his hand was a single folded piece of paper.

He held it out to me.

"The Alpha issued a new order this evening," he said quietly. "Effective immediately."

I took the paper. Unfolded it.

Read the first line.

Then the second.

My hands went cold.

*By Alpha authority: the private recovery den in the Healer's wing is to be reassigned to guest quarters for Caspian Fox, effective dawn tomorrow. Patient Ellie Carr will be relocated to the communal omega recovery area to accommodate this change.*

I looked up at Reid.

His jaw was tight. His eyes held something that looked like apology and fury in equal measure.

"I raised a medical objection," he said. "Cited the Healer's notation. He used Alpha tone."

The warmth in my chest detonated.

Not heat anymore.

Fire.

"When?" My voice came out steady. Flat.

"Dawn," Reid repeated. "The order goes into effect at dawn."

I stood in the doorway holding the paper.

Holden was going to move my critically injured daughter out of the sterile den—the only thing keeping her immune system stable—to give that space to Giselle's son for a minor scratch.

He was going to relocate her to the omega quarters.

Where old rogue-defense supplies were stored.

Where residual wolfsbane contamination had never been fully cleared.

I felt something crack wider in my chest.

Not break.

Crack.

"Thank you for telling me," I said.

Reid nodded once. Then he left.

I closed the door.

Stood in the silent kitchen with the order in my hands and the files spread across the table.

Dawn was six hours away.

I pressed my thumb into my palm.

Counted to ten.

Then I reached for my phone and opened the mind-link to Maren.

*I need you to document everything that happens tomorrow. Every detail. Time-stamped.*

Her response came immediately.

*Already planning to.*

I closed the link.

Picked up my journal.

And wrote: *Day of reckoning—hour one.*