Chapter Nine

Lila's pov

The knock on my door comes just after lunch.

I’m still in the borrowed sweatpants and T-shirt Maya lent me, hair damp from the quick rinse I took after patrol. When I open it, it’s not Maya or Jace or even Darius.

It’s Kade.

He stands there in the hallway, arms loose at his sides, black shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. No expression I can read—only that steady, unblinking focus that makes everything else in the room feel smaller.

“Kade,” I say, surprised. “Everything okay?”

“I need to speak with you.” His voice is calm, low. “In my office. Now.”

It’s not a request.

I nod once, grab the thin jacket someone left on the chair, and follow him down the corridor. My bare feet pad quietly against the worn wood. He doesn’t look back, but I can feel the weight of his awareness—like he knows exactly where I am without turning.

His office is at the far end of the lodge, past the war room. Smaller than I expected. A heavy desk, two chairs, shelves crammed with maps and old ledgers, a single window letting in pale afternoon light. It smells like ink, cedar, and him—cool stone and something sharper, like winter air before snow.

He closes the door behind us. The click is soft but final.

“Sit,” he says.

I take the chair across from the desk. He doesn’t sit. He leans against the edge of the wood, arms folded, looking down at me. Not intimidating on purpose. Just… present. Completely.

“I need to know everything about Silver Moon,” he says. “Structure. Alliances. Weaknesses. Anything you remember.”

I exhale slowly. “You’re preparing for them.”

“We’re preparing for whatever comes. Start with leadership.”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “My father, Thomas Thorne, is alpha. He’s been in power since before I was born. He’s not the strongest fighter anymore, but he’s smart, ruthless when he needs to be. He rules through alliances more than force. The Greythorne family is his biggest one right now. Marcus’s father controls the eastern timber trade—lumber routes, sawmills, contracts with human companies. Silver Moon gets a cut in exchange for protection and… me.”

Kade’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Who else?”

“West border is allied with the Riverstone pack, smaller, but they control the waterways. Good for smuggling if they ever need it. North is neutral territory, but there’s an old agreement with the Crescent Moon pack. They’re isolationist, but they’ll honor blood debts if pressed. South is open, mostly rogue land, which is why scouts can slip through so easily.”

He nods once. “Weaknesses?”

I hesitate. Talking about my father’s pack like this feels like betrayal. But they’re the ones coming for me. Not the other way around.

“Thomas is aging,” I say quietly. “His wolf is slower. He relies on enforcers—mostly Marcus’s men now. The younger generation is restless. A lot of them don’t like how traditional he is—arranged matings, strict hierarchy. There’s quiet resentment. If you hit the leadership hard and fast, the pack might fracture instead of rallying.”

Kade’s gaze sharpens. “You’ve thought about this.”

“I’ve had years to think about it.”

He studies me for a long moment. Then: “Why were you really running, Lila?”

The question is quiet. Not accusing. Just… searching.

I look at my hands. They’re still rough from training, nails bitten short. “I told you about Marcus.”

“You told me he hit you. You told me your father dismissed it. But there’s more. You didn’t just run from a bad mating. You ran from the whole system.”

My throat tightens. “I was never a person to them. I was an omega. A bargaining chip. A womb with a last name. My mother died when I was twelve, and after that… it was like I stopped existing as anything except what I could be used for. The suppressants started when I was twenty. They didn’t want my heat messing up the timeline. They wanted me docile. Ready. When Marcus pushed too far and my father told me it was my fault for not yielding… I realized if I stayed, I’d disappear. Completely.”

Silence fills the room.

Kade doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

When I finally look up, his expression has shifted. Not pity, something harder, deeper. Understanding, maybe. Or anger held carefully in check.

“You’re safe here,” he says. The words are simple. Certain. “No one will trade you. No one will force you. No one will tell you your place is to yield.”

I swallow. “I want to believe that.”

“Then believe it.” He straightens, steps around the desk until he’s standing in front of me. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “But you have to trust us. All the way. No more holding back information because you’re afraid we’ll use it against you. We don’t work like that.”

I nod slowly.

He reaches down. His hand covers mine on the arm of the chair, large, warm, steady. Not gripping. Just resting there. Palm to knuckles. The contact is light, but it burns through me like a live wire.

My breath catches.

His thumb brushes once—barely—across the back of my hand. A single, deliberate stroke. Not comforting in the soft way. Controlled. Intentional. Like he’s testing something. Like he’s letting me feel exactly how much restraint he’s using.

Heat climbs up my arm, slow and inevitable. My pulse jumps under his touch. I don’t pull away.

Neither does he.

For a long second we stay like that—his hand on mine, his eyes locked on my face, the air between us thick with something unspoken. I can feel it in my chest, in my stomach, lower. A pull. Not just physical. Something deeper. Like a thread tightening.

Then he exhales, quiet, controlled, and lifts his hand.

The absence is colder than the room.

He steps back. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Rest tonight. You’ve given us what we need.”

I stand on unsteady legs. “Kade…”

He pauses at the door.

“Thank you,” I say. “For listening.”

His gaze softens, just a fraction. “You don’t have to thank me for treating you like a person.”

He opens the door.

I walk past him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body. Close enough to catch the faint shift in his scent, cool stone warming, like ice melting under fire.

The hallway feels too bright after the dim office.

I don’t look back.

But I feel his eyes on me the whole way to my room.

And when I close my door behind me, I lean against it, heart racing, hand still tingling where he touched me.

I’m safe here.

He said so.

But safe doesn’t mean simple.

And whatever this is, whatever thread just pulled taut between us, it’s anything but simple.