I started the surveillance on day three.

Lucas had sent me here to distract Sylas Armstrong. Keep him occupied. Make sure he wasn't thinking about Soleil. Fine. I would do exactly that, but on my terms.

I arrived at the briefing room twenty minutes early. Sylas held morning strategy sessions with his senior wolves—Declan Hurst, his Beta, and a rotating cast of Gammas and territory coordinators. The room had a long table, windows facing east, and a coffee station I'd identified as tactically useful. I set up the presentation materials, adjusted the blinds to cut the glare, and positioned myself near the far end of the table where I could watch without seeming to.

Sylas entered at exactly seven. He paused in the doorway—not obviously, just a beat longer than necessary—and his gaze tracked directly to me. Not a sweep of the room. A target acquisition.

"Good morning," he said.

I nodded. "Alpha."

He moved to the head of the table. I stayed where I was, organizing documents I'd already organized twice. When the other wolves filed in, Declan gestured me toward a chair near the back—staff seating, appropriate for my rank. I started to move.

"Closer," Sylas said.

I stopped.

He pulled out the chair two seats from his own. "You prepared the briefing materials. You should be able to reference them."

Declan's eyebrow twitched. I could read the thought as clearly as if he'd said it aloud: *That's not protocol.* But he said nothing. Neither did I. I took the seat.

The meeting ran ninety minutes. Sylas never looked directly at me, but halfway through, when I reached for my water glass, I found it already full. I hadn't refilled it. I glanced at him. He was reviewing a territory map, expression neutral, like he hadn't just crossed half the table to top off my glass before I'd consciously registered the thirst.

I pressed my thumbnail into my palm. Once. Hard.

The pattern repeated. I started arriving earlier, positioning myself in places he would pass—filing rooms, the corridor outside his office, the pack library where senior wolves reviewed archives. I made eye contact a beat longer than deference required. Not aggressive. Just… present. Visible. The kind of boldness that should have earned me a dismissal or at least a cold correction.

Instead, Sylas ended a budget meeting forty minutes early because I developed a tension headache I had not mentioned aloud. He simply looked at me, said "We'll resume tomorrow," and dismissed the room. I stayed in my seat, frozen, while the other wolves filed out. He walked past me and paused.

"There's a healer on the second floor," he said quietly. "Dr. Wells. He's discreet."

Then he left.

I sat there, staring at the empty doorway, and tried to recalibrate. This was not the cold Lycan Prince Lucas's intelligence had described. This was something else. Something I hadn't accounted for.

I increased my surveillance.

The first time I saw Shadow, I was working late in the filing room. It was past midnight. The pack house had gone quiet except for the distant sounds of perimeter patrols changing shifts. I heard the soft pad of paws in the corridor and looked up.

An enormous black wolf filled the doorway. He was massive—easily seven feet at the shoulder, fur so dark it looked like he'd been cut from the night itself. His eyes were amber, steady, and fixed on me with an expression I could only describe as expectant.

I set down my pen. "Can I help you?"

Shadow—I knew it was Sylas's wolf from the briefing descriptions I'd catalogued—tilted his head. Then he walked into the room, turned in a slow circle, and curled up across the entire threshold. Blocking the exit.

I stared at him. He stared back.

"I need to leave eventually," I said.

His tail thumped once against the floor. He did not move.

I finished my filing. When I stood and approached the door, Shadow rose, stepped aside just enough to let me pass, and then followed me down the corridor. All the way to the staff quarters. He sat outside my door, that same composed expectancy in his posture, and was still there when I checked through the peephole at three in the morning.

The next day, I found Sylas in his office. I knocked once and entered without waiting for permission—a small test of how much latitude I actually had.

He looked up from his documents. "Kiara."

"Is your wolf a problem I should report to your Beta?"

Sylas set down his pen. For the first time since I'd arrived, I saw something that might have been amusement in his expression. It was subtle—a slight softening at the corner of his mouth, barely visible.

"He has excellent taste," Sylas said.

Then he returned to his documents.

I stood in the doorway for three full seconds. Something I was not expecting happened: I almost laughed. The sound caught in my throat before it could escape, and I turned and walked out before he could see my face.

Two days later, administration informed me I was scheduled for a routine health screening. "New policy," the coordinator said. "All recent hires. Dr. Brendan Wells, second floor, tomorrow at ten."

I attended with the composed disinterest of someone who had been told, for years, that she had no medical issues worth investigating. Dr. Wells was older, with kind eyes and the careful economy of movement that marked experienced healers. He ran standard bloodwork, took my vitals, asked perfunctory questions about my health history.

"Results in two days," he said.

When I returned, he was waiting with a printed report on the table between us. He sat across from me and placed it there with the deliberate care of someone handling something fragile.

"The wolfsbane metabolites in your bloodstream," he said, without softening, "are not residual. They are consistent with deliberate, sustained administration over a minimum of ten years."

I looked at the report. At the numbers. At the clinical language that named what I had known, in the abstract, for years. *Deliberate.* *Sustained.* *Ten years.*

My hands were steady when I picked up the paper.

"I need three copies," I said.

Brendan printed them without question. I gave one back to him for his records, folded one into my jacket pocket, and took the third to my room. I photographed it, uploaded the image to a secure server, and sent it to Maren Cole with a single instruction: *Archive.*

Then I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the copy in my hands. Proof. Not suspicion. Not inference. Proof.

Regina had been poisoning me for a decade.

Soleil arrived on a Thursday.

I was refiling territorial contracts in the archive room when I heard the commotion—voices in the main hall, the particular pitch of excitement that meant someone important had entered. I kept working. Whatever was happening out there had nothing to do with me.

Ten minutes later, administration summoned all available staff to the diplomatic gathering. Cross-pack event. Silverfang and two allied territories. Attendance mandatory.

I changed into neutral formal wear—charcoal slacks, a simple blouse, nothing that would draw attention—and joined the other low-ranking wolves filing into the great hall. The room was enormous, all stone and timber, with long tables arranged in a horseshoe formation. Alphas and their senior wolves occupied the head positions. Staff like me lined the perimeter, ready to serve or fetch documents as needed.

Soleil stood near the center, beside Lucas.

She looked exactly as I remembered. Polished. Perfect. Her dress was European, expensive, the kind of thing that whispered wealth without shouting it. Her hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder. She smiled at something Lucas said, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

I positioned myself at the far end of the hall, near the document station, and kept my face neutral. Lucas looked tired. His hand kept going to the back of his neck—once, twice, three times in the span of a minute. His Beta leaned in and said something quietly. Lucas waved him off.

Sylas entered from the opposite side of the hall.

The room didn't go silent—it was too controlled for that—but the energy shifted. Conversations continued, but everyone was aware of him now. He moved to the head table with Declan at his side, nodded once to the assembled Alphas, and took his seat.

Soleil's gaze tracked to him immediately. She smoothed the front of her jacket. A small gesture, barely visible, but I'd grown up watching her recalibrate. She was surprised. Not by his presence—she'd expected him—but by something else. His indifference, maybe. He hadn't looked at her once.

He was looking at me.

Not obviously. Sylas didn't do anything obviously. But I felt his attention the way you feel a weight shift in a room. I kept my eyes on the documents in front of me and did not look back.

The gathering proceeded. Territorial agreements were discussed. Alliance terms were reviewed. I delivered water glasses, retrieved files, and stayed at the periphery where I belonged. Every time I crossed the room, I felt Sylas's gaze follow. Every time I returned to my station, Soleil's eyes were on me too.

She hadn't said a word to me. She wouldn't. Not here, not in public, not where it could be witnessed. But I knew that look. I'd seen it a hundred times growing up. She was cataloging. Calculating. Deciding what to do about the fact that I was still here, still visible, still in her way.

Halfway through the session, Lucas stood abruptly. He was mid-conversation with a Beta from the allied pack—something about border patrols—and he just stopped talking. His hand went to the back of his neck again. His nostrils flared.

The Beta paused. "Alpha Foster?"

Lucas didn't answer. He turned, slowly, and his gaze swept the room until it landed on me.

I was holding a stack of contract revisions, standing perfectly still near the document table. I had not moved. I had not done anything. But Lucas was staring at me like I'd called his name from across the hall.

His expression was wrong. Confused. Almost pained.

I turned away first. I set the contracts down, walked to the far corner of the room, and focused on reorganizing a filing cabinet that did not need reorganizing. My hands were steady. My breathing was controlled. But my heart was pounding hard enough that I pressed my thumbnail into my palm to ground myself.

When I glanced back, Lucas was still standing. His Beta had a hand on his shoulder now, speaking quietly. Lucas shook his head once, sat down, and did not look at me again for the rest of the gathering.

But his hand kept going to his neck.

The session ended two hours later. I stayed to help clear the tables. Soleil left with Lucas and the Silverfang delegation. She did not acknowledge me. As they passed, I caught a fragment of her voice, pitched low and sweet.

"You seem distracted, Lucas."

His response was too quiet to hear.

I finished my work, returned to the staff quarters, and locked the door behind me. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands.

Lucas had smelled something. I knew it. The way he'd turned, the way his wolf had reacted—he'd caught a scent that shouldn't exist. Our bond was dead. Severed. There was nothing left to smell.

Except the wolfsbane was leaving my system. And whatever it had been suppressing was starting to surface.

I pulled out my phone and opened the secure message thread with Maren Cole. Typed three words: *Things are moving.*

Her reply came within a minute: *Ready when you are.*

I set the phone down and lay back on the narrow bed. Outside my window, the Nighthowl forest stretched into darkness. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a wolf howl. Not Shadow this time. Someone else.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

I didn't.