South Bound.

Keon's POV:

The torch fell back into place with a heavy, metallic thud as the massive oak doors slammed shut behind us.

This room, its history ran deep into the very bedrock of our territory. It was a space built on ancient foundations, a chamber designed for a past that our ancestors had tried to bury.

Four Clans.

One table.

Some clans had stood the test of time, adapting and surviving the turning of the ages, while others had vanished completely into ash and memory. Yet, through the rise and fall of regimes, one thing had remained completely constant.

The table remained.

Carved from a single, gargantuan slab of black granite, its polished surface formed an enormous, intricate compass.

North.

East.

West.

South.

Time and centuries of heavy use had weathered the edges smooth, but not even the turning of the world had managed to shift its direction.

Legend claimed that before the Great Wolf-Witch War, the stone compass had turned freely, spinning on a mystical axis to reflect the shifting alliances of the territory. No one alive today knew whether that old folklore was true.

But everyone knew what came next.

When the war finally ended with blood and broken treaties, the compass stopped. No craftsman, no matter how skilled, and no alpha, no matter how physically dominant, had ever managed to move it again.

Not an inch.

It pointed south.

Always.

The elders said the stone itself remembered the slaughter and froze in place as a perpetual monument.

Others believed the Moon Goddess herself had fixed it there as a warning against future pride. Either way, the superstition was absolute. No Alpha had ever dared sit anywhere except where the stone compass chose for them.

North, obviously.

Derrick occupied the southern seat. Naturally.

Sabrina sat attentively at my left side, her posture straight despite her recent injuries, while the space directly to my right reserved for Rowan stood empty.

The remaining royals of old, the traditional representation of the gamma and delta lineages, my father’s most trusted veteran guard, and the current head of palace security stood spaced out in strict ranking formation behind our heavy chairs.

Rowan himself stood a few paces away, positioned beside an opened, jagged section of the ancient stone floor. There, broken masonry and crumbled mortar revealed a hidden compartment that had been discovered beneath the foundation only a few hours earlier.

The concealed space was narrow and dark, barely large enough for a grown person to crawl inside.

But it was large enough for twelve files.

I remained standing at the head of the table, resting my knuckles lightly against the cold granite edge.

"I have served as your Alpha and leader for several years," I began, my voice carrying clearly through the vaulted acoustics of the room. "If you are not yet aware, yesterday there was a failed, targeted attack on Winter and by extension me, within the very walls of this palace.

"As Rowan commenced his investigation into the security breach, this compartment was discovered during his thorough inspection of the chamber layout."

Every eye around the table shifted instantly toward the open floor.

Rowan inclined his head once, his expression unreadable. "The structural collapse from the old architecture exposed something beneath the main foundation line. I investigated."

Simple. Matter-of-fact. Exactly like Rowan.

I reached down and opened the first heavy folder. A fine layer of grey dust drifted from its aged parchment pages, caught in the dim torchlight.

"Myself," I said quietly, laying the document flat upon the northern point of the compass.

I reached for another. "Derrick."

Another. "Rowan."

Another. "Winter."

One after another, twelve names spread across the ancient black stone until every single seat at the table had a matching file resting directly before it. No one reached out to touch theirs.

No one wanted to.

The implications were already suffocating the room.

Sabrina looked between the folders, breaking the rising tension by raising her hand with a touch of her characteristic, exaggerated politeness. "I have one question."

Silence settled over the table.

She looked directly at me. "...Please tell me I was considered too boring to stalk."

For half a second, absolute silence reigned. Then, I slid the final, heavy folder across the polished granite. It slid smoothly over the compass lines and stopped neatly against her fingertips.

The label read: Sabrina Parks.

"...Afraid not," I murmured.

She stared down at the handwriting on the tab. "...Well." A long, theatrical sigh escaped her lips. "There goes my right to privacy."

A few restrained, tense smiles appeared around the perimeter of the table. Even Rowan's stern expression threatened to soften for a brief fraction of a second.

"They documented my patrol routes?" Sabrina asked, her tone shifting back to business as she opened the cover.

"Among other things."

"My shifting schedule?"

"Yes."

"My internal reports and statistics?"

"Yes."

She hesitated, her eyes scanning the meticulous logs before she looked up again. "...Please don't say bathing habits."

I closed the folder in front of me with a deliberate snap. "I won't."

"...Keon."

"I won't," I repeated smoothly.

"...That means yes."

The brief smiles disappeared almost as quickly as they had arrived, swallowed instantly by the grim reality of the breach.

. Because if an operative knew that much detailed, intimate information about the palace's top security asset, they knew everything. The chamber settled into a thick, suffocating silence.

Only then did Derrick move.

The harsh, heavy scrape of his chair across the ancient stone floor echoed loudly through the vaulted chamber. He rose slowly, too slowly, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the black granite. His hand came down to rest against the southern point of the compass, his thumb slowly tracing the deep, weathered grooves carved into the stone by rulers long dead.

"My father used to bring us here when we were boys," his voice was incredibly quiet. Calm. Almost nostalgic. "He'd tell us this chamber ceased to function properly because one ancient Alpha trusted the wrong people at the wrong time."

No one interrupted him. The room held its collective breath.

"He was wrong," Derrick said, his tone dropping a fraction.

Several brows lifted around the table.

Derrick looked up, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. "This room is the way it is because everyone else trusted him. Silence is a dangerous thing, gentlemen. One man's mistake doesn't destroy a kingdom." His eyes traveled deliberately around the table, locking onto each high-ranking official one by one. "A room full of powerful people refusing to question him does."

The words settled over the council like lead weights.

"My father believed loyalty was earned through blind, unchallenged years of service," Derrick continued, his jaw tightening as his grip on the edge of the table grew firmer. "I watched exactly where that philosophy buried him."

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Derrick's sharp gaze finally settled on the oldest Delta seated opposite him; an old, battle-hardened wolf with silver hair and a deep, jagged scar running beneath his left eye.

"You served beside my father for thirty-two years, did you not?"

The old wolf nodded carefully, keeping his voice neutral. "I did, Prince Derrick."

"You were one of the last people to see him alive before the fallback."

"...Yes."

"You also lied in yesterday's official security report."

The room froze completely. The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop instantly.

The old Delta blinked, a flash of defensive panic crossing his weathered features. "...Prince Derrick—"

"No."

The single word cracked through the chamber like a whip. It wasn't shouted. It wasn't raised in anger. It was simply absolute.

"You don't get to answer the question I haven't asked yet," Derrick said softly.

The old wolf's mouth snapped closed.

Derrick took one measured step forward, moving away from his designated seat. Then another. His movements were slow, controlled, and infinitely worse than any outburst of rage.

"I've buried one Alpha already in my lifetime," his voice never wavered, remaining steady and conversational. "I have absolutely no intention of burying another because someone at this table believes their advanced age makes them untouchable to the law."

The old Delta swallowed hard, his throat moving convulsively. "I would never betray this kingdom, sir. My loyalty is to the pack."

"No?" Derrick tilted his head, a cold, humorless expression touching his eyes. "Good."

He stopped directly beside the sitting man, leaning slightly over his shoulder.

"Then you won't mind explaining why three separate independent witnesses place you in this exact chamber six hours before Rowan discovered those hidden files."

No one spoke. No one dared to even shift their weight. Because suddenly, every person seated around that black stone compass understood exactly why the grim rumors surrounding Derrick Blackbird had survived for so many years. He didn't need to bared his fangs or unsheathe his claws; his questions drew blood all on their own.

"Your Majesty, I—"

"You'll speak when I ask you to," Derrick interrupted smoothly.

The old Delta straightened his spine immediately, his shoulders locking into a rigid military stance.

Derrick took another slow step, circling the chair. He stopped close enough that the old veteran instinctively stiffened, visibly uncomfortable with the proximity.

"You reported leaving the western wall guard post at exactly seven in the morning, just before breakfast was served to the vanguard," Derrick noted.

"Yes, your—"

"You didn't."

Silence.

"I have the logs, and I have the witnesses," Derrick said, his tone almost pleasant.

"I—"

"I said..." Derrick’s voice dropped to a low, quiet whisper, "...you'll speak when I ask."

The old wolf's jaw snapped shut so hard his teeth clicked. Nobody moved a muscle. Not even Sabrina, who usually had a witty retort for any situation, and not even Rowan, who remained a silent specter by the broken floorboards. Because this was the dangerous, calculating Derrick that outsiders whispered about in dark taverns. The one rumored to smile during interrogations. The one enemies feared more than a whole army. He wasn't shouting or making wild threats; he was dismantling a veteran warrior one precise sentence at a time.

"You know what's truly interesting about these files?" Derrick continued, reaching out to pick up one of the dusty folders from the table. "The contents. They contain specific internal details that no outsider could possibly know. Patrol rotations, specific guard blind spots, even down to food preferences."

He closed the folder with a quiet thud.

"So whoever compiled them..." He looked directly into the old Delta's fading eyes, "...didn't have to break into the palace to get their information."

A heavy, agonizing pause hung in the air.

"They were welcomed inside," Derrick said.

The words landed with the finality of an axe splitting wood. Derrick took one final step forward, leaning down until he was face-to-face with the old man.

"So," his voice dropped almost to an inaudible whisper that carried through the silent room. "Let's start from the beginning again. Where were you yesterday?"