She didn't faint, which she would be proud of later, but she came close enough that her knees buckled and the only thing that kept her upright was the steel door digging into her spine.

"Stand down."

The voice cracked through the room like a physical thing, and both wolves, because that was what they were, there was no other word for eyes like that and hands like that, dropped their heads and their shoulders in the same instant, some instinct older than choice folding them in half.

Rhys stood in the doorway they'd come through, and she understood in one glance why the room had reacted to him the way it had. He wasn't shifted, not the way they were, but something about him filled the space differently, heavier, like gravity worked harder around him.

"She's Hale's daughter," one of the wolves said, human-voiced again now, apologetic. "She wandered down, we didn't know how much she'd already seen-"

"Enough," Rhys said, and it wasn't loud, but it landed like a slammed door. "Both of you, out. We'll talk later."

They went without another word, folding past him into the stairwell, and then it was just the two of them in a room with claw-scored walls and a domed skylight built for the moon, and Marlowe's legs finally gave out entirely. She slid down the steel door until she was sitting on cold concrete, and she was distantly aware that she should probably be more afraid than she was, except mostly what she felt was a strange, furious clarity, like a lens finally clicking into focus.

"You're wolves," she said. "All of you. The whole team."

Rhys crossed the room slowly, the way you'd approach something you didn't want to startle, and crouched down so they were closer to eye level. This close, she could see his eyes weren't fully human right now either, banked gold at the center, controlled but present.

"Yes," he said.

No hedging, no gaslighting her about what she'd seen, and something in her chest loosened slightly at that, the relief of not being told she'd imagined it. "The whole roster?"

"Most of it. Some are human, brought in for skill we can't fake. But the core of this franchise has been wolves for four generations." He said it like a fact he'd recited before, tired around the edges. "This building was built for us before it was built for hockey. The ice came second."

"And my father knew that."

Something shifted in his face, guarded again. "Your father found the edge of it. I don't know how much more."

"And that's why he's dead." She hadn't meant to say it that flatly, but once it was out she couldn't take it back, and she watched it land on him like a physical blow.

"I don't know that," Rhys said, low. "I've spent eight years not knowing that, one way or the other, and I'd like to keep it that way, because the alternative is that this pack killed a good man for getting too close to the truth, and I have to look my brother in the eye every day already knowing what this place has cost him."

"Wes." The name on the vault door. "What happened to him?"

Rhys's jaw worked once. "Not tonight," he said, and there was something almost pleading under the flat authority of it. "You've had enough for one night. Let me get you out of here before the rest of the pack finishes their circuit, and we'll talk. Properly. Not in a room built for containment."

He held out a hand to help her up, and she took it before she could think better of it, and his skin was too warm, fever warm, the way it had been yesterday, except now she understood why.

He walked her out through a different stairwell, one that came up inside a maintenance closet off the main concourse instead of the tunnel she'd come down through, and he didn't let go of her hand until they were standing under ordinary fluorescent light with ordinary human noise drifting in from the concourse beyond, popcorn machines and cleaning crews, the whole mundane world still turning like nothing had happened.

"You can't tell anyone," he said, and for the first time since she'd met him there was something almost desperate in it. "Not because I don't trust you. Because if the Council decides you're a liability instead of an accident, there's nothing I can do to stop what happens next."

"The Council."

"Later," he said again, and this time it sounded like a promise instead of a dodge. "Go home. Lock your door. I'll have someone drive by tonight, not to watch you, to keep anyone else from getting the idea."

She should have argued. She should have demanded answers right there in the concourse, should have marched straight to her car and never come back, should have done a dozen things that weren't standing in a hallway memorizing the exact shade of gold banked in a stranger's eyes and feeling, underneath all the fear, something that felt uncomfortably close to being drawn toward it instead of away.

She went home. She locked her door.

At eleven that night, a folded piece of paper slid under it, no sound of footsteps before or after, like whoever left it had simply appeared and vanished.

She unfolded it with shaking hands.

Leave Blackwood Harbor before the next full moon. This is the only warning you get.

There was no signature. She didn't need one to know it hadn't come from Rhys Callahan, and that whatever protection he thought he could offer her, somebody else in this town had already decided she was already too far in to walk away clean.