A Rat on a Leash.

The Delta's scream slowly dissolved into ragged, uneven breaths.

No one in the chamber moved.

Not the guards stationed at the perimeter.

Not the elders gathered around the perimeter.

Not Rowan.

Not even Sabrina.

The only sound left echoing off the high stone walls was the old wolf's labored breathing as he cradled his ruined shoulder tightly against his chest, blood seeping through his fingers.

Derrick remained standing directly over him, his pupils still narrowed into thin, predatory slits. Dark fur covered the backs of his broad hands before slowly, reluctantly retreating beneath his skin once more as his wolf yielded control back to his human mind.

"...Enough."

My voice carried quietly through the cavernous chamber, flat and heavy.

Derrick didn't look at me immediately. For one long, agonizing heartbeat, the entire room remained suspended in the space between violent execution and forced restraint.

Then, without a word, my brother took one measured step backward.

The crushing pressure of his dominant energy eased.

Only slightly.

I walked forward, stopping on the polished stone where Derrick had stood just moments before.

The Delta wouldn't meet my eyes. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the black granite, his body trembling from the shock of his injury.

"...Look at me," I commanded softly.

Nothing.

"I said..." I crouched until we were nearly level, forcing him into my field of vision. "...look at me."

Slowly, painfully, his gaze lifted to meet mine. His eyes were slick with tears—not from the physical agony radiating from his shattered collarbone, but from sheer, unadulterated fear.

I knew that look. I had seen it on young, untested warriors after their first brutal skirmish along the border. I had seen it on servants caught in the crossfire of political storms far beyond their comprehension.

This wasn't the face of a master strategist or a calculated traitor.

It was the face of a man who had survived by making an increasingly terrible chain of desperate decisions.

"You don't look like someone who wanted Winter dead," I noted quietly, my eyes searching his weathered face for any sign of deception.

His lips parted, a sharp gasp escaping him. "You look like someone who's terrified."

His remaining composure finally shattered completely. "I am," he whispered, the words barely carrying across the small distance between us. "Gods help me, I am."

Before I could continue the line of questioning, a soft rustle of fabric sounded from the edge of the table.

Sabrina pushed herself up from her chair. Even injured, her shoulder tightly bound beneath her tunic, she carried herself with an unmistakable, formidable confidence that commanded the room.

She ignored the empty chair beside mine and crossed the open floor until she stopped directly opposite me. She lowered herself carefully onto one knee, favoring her injured side, until the kneeling Delta found himself trapped looking between the two of us.

Good. Derrick had been the blunt force hammer to crack his defense.

Now we needed the scalpel to dissect the truth.

Sabrina folded her hands over her uninjured knee, her amber eyes sharp and analytical. "When?"

The Delta blinked, his brows furrowing through the pain. "When... what?"

"When did they first contact you?" she asked, her tone even and clinical.

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically between us as he processed the question. "...Six months ago."

Rowan's head lifted sharply from where he stood near the broken floorboards.

"Where?" I pressed.

"...The eastern market," the old man replied, his breathing steadying slightly as the act of recalling memories replaced the immediate wave of panic.

"I was buying herbal medicine for my wife's joint pain."

He swallowed, his throat making a dry clicking sound.

"A man bumped into me near the apothecary stall."

"Did you see his face?" Rowan called out from across the room.

"No."

"What did he look like? Give us a frame, an approximate height, a build," Rowan demanded.

"I... I couldn't tell you," the Delta admitted, shaking his head weakly. "He was entirely unmemorable. Plain clothes, average height, no distinct scent. It was like he was designed to disappear into a crowd."

That, somehow, was infinitely worse than a recognized enemy.

"He apologized politely," the old wolf continued, "and we went our separate ways. I thought nothing of it."

"And?" Sabrina prompted.

"I got home an hour later," his breathing hitched again, his chest heaving. "I took off my heavy cloak, and there was a sealed parchment envelope tucked inside the inner pocket."

No one interrupted him. The silence in the council chamber was absolute.

"I thought someone had made a mistake," he let out a bitter, hollow laugh that died quickly in his throat. "I opened it."

His uninjured hand began to tremble violently against the cold stone floor. "It was my file. Everything. My thirty-year service record. My personal schedules. My children's names and locations. My wife's medical history. My grandchildren."

He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear carving a path through the grime on his cheek. "They had the exact route my youngest granddaughter walks to her academy every single morning. The specific dosage of medicine my wife takes to sleep. The lingering financial debt my eldest son still owes to the southern merchant guilds."

Even Rowan's stern, I yielding expression hardened into something cold and dangerous.

"There was only one sentence written at the bottom of the page," the old man's voice cracked under the weight of the memory. "We know yours. Now you'll help us learn theirs."

Silence settled over the room once more. Not because anyone lacked questions, but because every single file spread across that ancient granite compass suddenly felt exponentially heavier. The breach was far wider, far deeper, and far older than any of us had dared to anticipate.

Sabrina was the first to recover her footing. "What did they ask you to do initially?"

"Nothing major... at first," he looked up, his bloodshot eyes pleading for a shred of understanding. "They wanted routine inspection reports. Maintenance schedules for the lower levels. Guard rotation shift changes. Equipment repair requests."

He shook his head desperately. "It was nothing dangerous! It didn't seem dangerous at the time. They'd ask me to delay a minor stonework repair on the western wall by two days. Approve specific outside contractors for the plumbing. Sign off on routine structural inspections without walking the grounds myself. Nothing more."

Rowan spoke up, his voice dangerously quiet. "Small, systemic changes that created blind spots."

The Delta nodded frantically. "So small I convinced myself they couldn't possibly matter to the security of the pack!"

"They mattered," Rowan said plainly.

"...Yes," the old wolf choked out.

Sabrina leaned forward another inch, her eyes narrowing. "When did Winter's name first appear in your instructions?"

The old wolf froze entirely. He clearly hadn't expected the question to pivot so directly to her. His eyes darted nervously toward Derrick, who stood like a silent shadow behind us, and then back to me.

"...Forty-three days ago," he admitted softly.

The exact day before Winter had arrived at the palace for the mating ceremony.

A knot tied itself tightly in my stomach, cold and heavy.

"What changed forty-three days ago?" I asked.

"They..." He hesitated, flinching as Derrick shifted his weight behind me. "They became impatient."

"Impatient with what?"

"I don't know!" he insisted desperately. "I swear on the Moon Goddess, I don't know! They didn't share their motives with me!"

"What did they tell you?" I demanded, leaning closer.

His breathing grew uneven again, sweat glistening on his forehead. "They said..." He licked his dry, cracked lips. "...they said that a woman would be arriving with the witch delegation."

Silence fell over the room.

"They said she had something that belonged to them."

The chamber went perfectly, terrifyingly still.

That choice of words.

Not wanted.

Not needed.

Belonged.

Rowan caught my eye from across the table, his expression grim. He had caught the precise wording too. Whatever was happening, it wasn't a standard political assassination or a simple display of power between rival factions.

Sabrina frowned, her analytical mind whirring behind her amber eyes. "What was it? What were they trying to recover from her?"

"I don't know!" the Delta wept softly. "They never specified!"

"Did they ever use a title? A name? Anything?"

"No," he whispered, looking directly into my eyes with stark terror. "They only ever referred to her as... the girl."

A cold, agonizing chill crawled slowly down my spine, settling into my bones.

Derrick finally stepped forward, breaking his silence. His voice was entirely calm again, but it carried a terrifyingly sharp edge. "If they wanted what she had..." He looked over at me, his dark eyes hollow. "...why order a strike to stab her?"

No one answered immediately.

Then Rowan spoke from beside the broken masonry, his voice cutting through the heavy air with absolute clarity. "They didn't."

Every eye in the room turned toward him.

"They stabbed Sabrina," Rowan pointed out, tracing the sequence of events aloud. "They poisoned her systematically over forty-three days to ensure her reflexes were dull. They staged the vampire ambush to draw our primary forces away. They isolated Winter in the confusion."

His gaze moved from Sabrina back to the kneeling Delta. "The objective was never murder. It was never an assassination."

The terrifying realization settled over the room like a heavy funeral shroud.

The Delta nodded weakly, his head hanging low. "I... I never once heard anyone in their messages say they wanted her dead." He closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper that vibrated against the cold stone floor. "They only ever said... bring her to us."

No one breathed.

Because somehow, in the dark history of our kingdoms, that simple truth was infinitely worse.

oward him.

"They stabbed Sabrina," Rowan pointed out, tracing the sequence of events aloud. "They poisoned her systematically over forty-three days to ensure her reflexes were dull. They staged the vampire ambush to draw our primary forces away. They isolated Winter in the confusion."

His gaze moved from Sabrina back to the kneeling Delta. "The objective was never murder. It was never an assassination."

The terrifying realization settled over the room like a heavy funeral shroud.

The Delta nodded weakly, his head hanging low. "I... I never once heard anyone in their messages say they wanted her dead." He closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper that vibrated against the cold stone floor. "They only ever said... weaken her for us."

No one breathed.

Because somehow, in the dark history of our kingdoms, that simple truth was infinitely worse.