One

Moonlight spilled through shattered skylights, cutting silver bars across concrete and steel. It caught in her hair — a long fall of strawberry blonde that reached the curve of her waist, almost glowing against the dark.

She was smaller than most of the wolves in the room. She was also the only one sitting casually on a steel table while the others stood.

Compact. Lean. Built like someone who trained because she enjoyed it, not because she needed to prove anything. Muscle moved cleanly under fitted black sleeves when she pushed herself off. She strolled towards the dead rogue on the ground.

Her blue eyes were startling in low light — sharp, assessing, almost too bright.

“Alright,” she said, kneeling down “Tell me something good. Like the rogues collectively decided to take up carpentry.”

A few low chuckles.

Lou, her lead Enforcer, cleared his throat. “Sector three breached. Took care of this one. But patterned movement. They’re scouting.”

Morgan tilted her head slightly. “Well that’s inconsiderate of them.”

She crossed to the floor in long, easy strides. Her hair swung down her back like a banner, catching on the back of her belt before she flicked it free.

She didn’t loom over anyone.

She didn’t need to.

When she stopped moving, the room adjusted around her.

“Humans?” she asked flicking her gaze to her eyes and ears.

“Seems to be this way” one mumbled. "Their resources look new. Invested in"

Morgan exhaled through her nose. “I hate when they get organised. It ruins my week.”

She studied the corridor markings, bright eyes scanning angles and choke points. Her expression shifted subtly — humour receding, something colder sliding into place.

“Tighten the network,” she said briskly. “Redirect. Make rogues suspicious of their little… human friends.”

One of the younger enforcers frowned. “That’ll make them unpredictable.”

Morgan flashed him a quick grin.

“They’re already unpredictable. At least this way they’ll be unpredictable away from me,” she said with a shoo gesture of her hands.

Another ripple of quiet amusement. That was the thing about Morgan — she made strategic warfare sound like a mild inconvenience.

But everyone was aware of the struggles and trauma their Alpha had faced, that made her this way.

The night she came back to camp covered in blood that wasn’t hers. The night her childhood friend — her Beta before titles ever meant anything — didn’t.

Something in those eyes had sharpened permanently. She hadn’t spoken about it. Not in the ten years since. Instead, she jokes. She plans. She builds systems so no one under her protection has to watch their best friend die in the snow.

Her humour keeps things light. Her structure keeps them alive. That’s what kept her respected.

A faint shift in the air drew her attention.

Wind… and something else.

Scent. Like petrichor… freshly fallen rain on natural ground.

Not rogue. Not hers.

Morgan’s posture didn’t change. She simply turned her head slightly toward the open loading bay with a soft tilt. Blue eyes glinting.

“If you’re going to lurk darling,” she called mildly, “at least pretend you’re impressed.”

Silence.

Then, from the shadows, a low, controlled voice.

“I’m considering it love”