Fishy Situations.

Keon’s POV:

The report should not be bothering me this much.

And yet, it is.

The documents sit open across my desk, the morning light dancing over the ink like it is mocking me. I have read the same lines so many times that the words are starting to blur together, but the feeling in my chest refuses to settle.

Something is wrong.

I can feel it.

Ariana had left since dawn.

My fingers drum once against the wooden surface before I force them still. Restlessness is useless. I need clarity, not agitation. Every detail of Winter’s attack had already been documented, reviewed, and cross-examined. Guard positions. Patrol routes. Shift changes. Nothing had been left unchecked.

Nothing obvious, at least.

But obvious threats rarely worried me.

It was always the small things.

The quiet things.

The things others ignored.

My eyes return to the patrol log again, tracing the names written neatly down the page.

Richard.

The name appears once.

Then again.

My jaw tightens.

That alone would not normally mean much. Guards sometimes assisted outside their scheduled rotations. Emergencies happen. But I am the one who structured the duty roster myself. I know exactly how the shifts were arranged.

And Richard was not assigned twice that day, neither was there need for him too.

At least as far as these documents say.

Yet here he is.

First entry he partnered with Carter during the morning patrol.

Second entry he partnered with Logan later that evening.

Both signed.

Both recorded.

Both impossible.

A slow irritation crawls up my spine.

I lean back slightly, narrowing my eyes at the page as if it might suddenly confess its deception. The times do not overlap, but that is not the issue. The problem is if there was a reason for a guard to do a double shift it would've been written here. Yet nothing is said about it.

My wolves stir uneasily beneath my skin.

This is not a clerical mistake.

Not on the same day Winter was attacked.

I refuse to believe it.

I rise abruptly from my chair, the legs scraping faintly against the stone floor. The tension in my chest has sharpened into something colder now, something far more focused.

I do not like inconsistencies.

Especially not inside my own territory.

Especially not involving security.

“Guard,” I call, my voice cutting cleanly through the chamber.

The door opens almost immediately. The man steps inside, posture straight, eyes lowered in respect.

“My Alpha.”

“Bring Richard to me.”

There is no hesitation.

“Yes, my Alpha.”

The door shuts again, leaving me alone with the restless flicker of the pages as the wind lifts them slightly and the steady pulse of irritation tightening in my chest. I move back toward the desk, my gaze lingering on the offending lines.

Twice.

On duty twice.

Without authorization.

Without record.

Without explanation.

Minutes pass.

Then footsteps.

Measured. Slightly hurried.

The door opens once more, and Richard is escorted inside.

He bows instantly, though I do not miss the tension in his shoulders.

“My Alpha.”

I study him in silence.

Richard is not new nor inexperienced. He's a competent guard with a respectable record. Nothing about him has ever warranted concern before. Which is precisely why this detail unsettles me.

The unexpected is always the most dangerous.

“Step forward.”

He obeys.

I let the silence stretch deliberately. Let it press. Let it weigh. Interrogations are not always about questions. Sometimes they are about discomfort.

Richard shifts faintly.

Good.

“You were on patrol the day Winter was attacked.”

It is not a question.

“Yes, my Alpha.”

“With Carter.”

“Yes.”

I tilt my head slightly.

“And later that same day?”

A flicker crosses his expression.

Barely visible.

“With Logan,” he answers.

My gaze sharpens.

“Explain.”

Richard hesitates.

Only for a second.

But a second is more than enough.

“There was… an adjustment,” he says carefully.

“An adjustment.”

“Yes, my Alpha.”

My tone remains calm, but the air inside the room has subtly changed. I can feel it. He can feel it. Even the torches seem to burn quieter, like they are listening.

“Who authorized this adjustment?”

His throat bobs as he swallows.

“I was instructed.”

“By whom?”

Another pause.

Too long.

My wolves growl low inside me.

“Answer.”

“Logan, my Alpha.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I straighten slowly, folding my arms across my chest.

“Logan does not control shift rotations, does he?”

Richard’s gaze drops instantly.

“No, my Alpha.”

“Then why,” I ask quietly, “would you accept orders from him regarding patrol reassignment?”

His fingers twitch at his sides.

“I believed it was urgent.”

“Urgent.”

“Yes.”

“For what reason?”

“He said additional coverage was required.”

The explanation is neat.

Too neat.

My instincts bristle.

Because urgency always leaves traces.

Always leaves witnesses.

Always leaves records.

“And yet,” I say evenly, “no such coverage request was filed.”

Richard goes still.

Completely still.

The shift is subtle but unmistakable.

“Did you verify the instruction?”

Silence.

“Richard.”

“No, my Alpha.”

Of course not.

A dull anger coils in my chest.

Not explosive.

Not yet.

Just cold.

Controlled.

“You abandoned your assigned protocol based on verbal instruction alone.”

“I—”

“Do not speak when your Alpha is speaking.”

He clamps his mouth shut instantly.

I step closer, the space between us shrinking until tension practically hums in the air. Up close, I can see the faint sheen of unease across his face now.

Fear.

Good.

Fear produces honesty faster than comfort ever could.

“You understand,” I continue, voice low, “that unauthorized movement of guards compromises security.”

“Yes, my Alpha.”

“You understand that Winter nearly died that day.”

His breathing tightens.

“Yes.”

“And you understand,” I add, gaze hardening, “why I find this deeply suspicious.”

Richard’s composure fractures.

“My Alpha, I swear I meant no harm…”

“Harm does not require intent.”

The words land like stone.

He falters.

“I was following what I thought were valid orders.”

“From an invalid source.”

Silence crashes back into the room.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

I turn away from him slowly, my mind already racing ahead, assembling possibilities with sharp precision.

Logan.

Why Logan?

Why him?

A guard cannot simply reassign patrol presence without a reason, or permission from a Royal. Which means on a normal day, he would've come to me for permission to change the roster and if I gave it then it would happen.

So why would he do it without my permission then not document the changes or it's reason?

It's because of stupid things like this Winter was attacked during a window that should have been secure.

My jaw tightens.

“Send Logan to me.”

Richard’s head snaps up slightly.

“My Alpha?”

“Now.”

He bows quickly, relief and dread mixing visibly in his posture before he retreats from the chamber.

The door shuts.

And once again, I am left alone with the flickering torches and the growing certainty curling unpleasantly in my chest.

This was not random.

This was not a coincidence.

Something is moving beneath the surface.

Something deliberate.

And I intend to drag it into the light.