"Three days." Thomas slammed his fist on the ironwood table. "Three days we have debated this Stonebrook treaty, and we are no closer to the truth."

"The truth is obvious," Martha snapped, adjusting her dark shawl. "She compromised our borders. Griffin Locke is a warlord. He does not send troops to aid a rival pack unless he gets something highly valuable in return."

"I gave him the eastern trade route," I repeated for the hundredth time.

"You gave him access to our vulnerabilities," Thomas argued.

I stood at the opposite end of the council room. I did not raise my voice. I let them argue in circles. The air in the chamber felt thick, suffocating.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

A stranger walked in. He did not ask for permission. He bypassed the perimeter guards and strode straight into the center of the room.

He possessed a sharp jaw, dark hair, and a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. It was a practiced smile. Too warm. Too perfect.

"Forgive the interruption," the man said. He stopped before the Alpha's chair and executed a flawless, theatrical bow. "The roads from the southern valleys proved difficult. The mud slowed my horse."

Damian frowned. "Who are you?"

"I am Colt," he announced, turning to include the elders in his bright gaze. "Selene's brother."

Martha immediately softened. "You traveled a long way to check on your sister."

"I traveled to protect my new nephew," Colt corrected smoothly. He reached inside his heavy wool cloak. "And to aid this council. I heard you lacked proof of the Luna's treason."

Thomas leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "You have something?"

"I have evidence."

Colt tossed a thick stack of folded parchment onto the table. They hit the wood with a heavy thud.

Red wax seals stamped with the Stonebrook crest glared up at the ceiling. A pale blue silk ribbon bound the letters together.

My stomach dropped. That ribbon belonged to me. I kept it in the cedar chest at the foot of my bed.

Everyone stared at the pile.

Damian's face hardened into granite. The muscles in his neck strained against his collar. He stared at the blue silk as if it were a venomous snake.

I walked forward and pulled the top letter from the stack. I broke the wax. I scanned the messy, hurried ink.

*My dearest Griffin. The western gate will be unguarded by midnight. Take the valley. I will ensure the Alpha's guard is distracted.*

I dropped the paper back onto the table.

"This is fake."

Colt smiled. "Of course you'd say that."

"The handwriting is a poor imitation," I pointed out, tapping the parchment. "The loops on the letters are too wide. And Griffin Locke does not use messenger pigeons for military strategy. He uses riders."

"The maids identified the ribbon," Martha countered quickly. "They saw you tying those letters just last week."

"The maids lie to please you, Martha."

"They have no reason to lie!"

"Enough," Damian growled. He snatched the second letter from the pile. His eyes scanned the forged words. His jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack.

I stepped toward Colt. I wanted to see the liar up close.

He held his ground, radiating arrogant confidence. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at me with mocking pity.

Then the torchlight caught a flash of black near his waist.

I stopped moving. My eyes locked onto the small object hanging from his leather belt.

A piece of carved obsidian. A wolf's head. Three jagged, horizontal scratches marred the snout.

The air left my lungs.

The Black Forest patrol. Third Company. Every soldier in that unit carried one of those stones. They were the men assigned to guard the northern ridge the night Damian's caravan was attacked.

None of them came back.

My mind raced. The pieces slammed together. The ambush. The missing Alpha. The convenient rescue by a lone healer in the woods. Selene hadn't just found him. Her family had been involved in his disappearance.

Colt noticed my stare.

His charming smile vanished instantly. A flicker of real panic crossed his features. He subtly shifted his weight, letting his heavy cloak fall forward to cover his hip.

I raised my hand and pointed directly at his waist.

"Where did you get that?"

Colt's expression hardened. The friendly brother routine disappeared. "Mind your own business."

"Answer the question."

"You are on trial here, Elara, not me."

"Take off your cloak," I demanded.

"You are out of line!"

Damian shifted in his chair. "Enough."

I turned toward him, ignoring the warning in his tone. "Damian, look at his belt. Make him move his cloak."

"Why?" Damian asked, his voice dripping with exhaustion.

"That token belongs to the Black Forest patrol."

Damian's eyes narrowed. The golden irises flashed in the dim light. He looked at Colt, then back to me.

"My disappearance happened there," Damian said slowly.

"Yes," I urged. "Third Company died defending your carriage. Their bodies were stripped of weapons and identifying markers. Ask him how he got it."

Colt stepped forward quickly, blocking Damian's view of his belt.

"She is trying to distract you!" Colt shouted, gesturing wildly at the table. "She sold your secrets to Stonebrook! She gave your enemy the keys to your fortress, and now she spins fairy tales about a piece of carved rock!"

"Merchants don't sell blood-stained military tokens," I fired back.

"I bought it in a tavern!"

"You looted it from a corpse!"

"Alpha, read the letters!" Colt demanded, slamming his fist onto the table. "She promises Griffin Locke your head!"

Damian looked at me.

The room went dead silent.

I stared back at the man I had loved for three years. I did not beg. I did not cry. I waited for his wolf to recognize the truth. I waited for him to see the obvious manipulation standing right in front of him.

He didn't.

The familiar, sickening scent of orchids and moonflower oil rolled off his skin. It clouded his eyes. It buried his instincts.

Damian grabbed the entire stack of forged letters. He hurled them at my face.

The heavy parchment struck me hard. A sharp edge of cracked wax sliced directly across my left cheekbone.

The letters scattered across the stone floor like dead leaves.

A warm drop of blood ran down my skin.

"Elara," Damian said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I gave you a chance."

I stood perfectly still.

"I offered you a quiet exit," he continued. "I offered to let you leave this pack with your life. You chose to stay and spread poison."

"You gave me nothing."

Damian's expression flickered. A tiny muscle jumped near his jaw. He expected me to shatter. He expected me to fall to my knees and plead for mercy.

I raised my right hand. I touched my fingertips to my cheek.

I looked at the bright red blood smearing my skin.

A strange, hollow laugh escaped my throat. It was quiet, but it echoed off the ironwood table.

Martha flinched. Thomas took a step back.

I lowered my hand and looked straight into Damian's clouded golden eyes.

"You will regret this."

My voice held no pleading. It held no heartbreak. It carried only the terrifying, absolute certainty of a woman who had finally stopped fighting for a ghost.

I turned my back on the Alpha of Blackthorn. I walked toward the heavy oak doors, my boots echoing against the stone. I had Griffin Locke's message burning a hole in my pocket, and I was finally ready to give him an answer.