chapter 7

Wren didn't sleep.

The evidence from the archive was spread across Kirill's desk—photographs, letters, financial records, surveillance images. He'd been staring at them for hours, his eyes burning, his mind refusing to quiet.

The Council had sanctioned the massacre.

His uncle had carried out the orders.

Mira had been manipulating everyone for sixteen years.

And someone else—someone who wasn't Mira—had been using Anatoly's credentials to cover it all up.

Wren picked up the surveillance photographs of Mira. She was everywhere in the images—entering buildings, meeting with men in dark suits, handing over documents in shadowed alleyways. His uncle had been watching her, gathering evidence, building a case.

But his uncle had died before he could use it.

Or had he?

Wren's jaw tightened. Anatoly's death was officially reported, but the details were suspicious. A car accident. No witnesses. A personal physician who later died under similar circumstances.

Someone had been cleaning up loose ends.

Someone had been using Anatoly's credentials for sixteen years.

Someone who knew the truth about the Ilvaren massacre.

Wren set the photographs aside and reached for the financial records. The payments to Council officials. The payments to witnesses who had testified against Dmitri Voronov. The payments to the man who had falsified the casualty reports.

It was a conspiracy. Not just his uncle. The entire Council.

But someone had kept it hidden.

Someone had protected the perpetrators.

Someone had let Wren live.

He pressed his palms against his eyes. The bond hummed, warm and insistent, a constant reminder of Kirill's presence. The Alpha was in the adjacent room, giving Wren space, waiting for him to process what they'd discovered.

Wren didn't know if he was grateful or resentful.

He stood, crossed to the window, and stared out at the darkened estate. The gardens were quiet, the guards silent, the night still. It looked peaceful. It looked like a cage.

A cage had bars you could break. A grave was just dirt.

He was still standing there when the door opened.

Kirill entered without knocking. His grey eyes swept the room, cataloguing the evidence spread across the desk, then settled on Wren.

"You haven't slept," Kirill observed.

"Neither have you."

Kirill didn't deny it. He crossed to the desk, picked up one of the surveillance photographs, and studied it.

"The access logs," Kirill said. "I had my people run them again. Someone used Elena's credentials fourteen years after her death."

Wren turned to face him. "Fourteen years."

"Not sixteen. Fourteen." Kirill set the photograph down. "Someone accessed the Ilvaren records two years after the fire. Then again at the five-year mark. Then again at ten. Then again eleven days ago."

Wren's pulse quickened. "They've been monitoring the records. Tracking the investigation."

"Tracking you."

Wren's throat tightened. "Someone knew I was alive. Someone has been watching me for sixteen years."

"Someone who had access to Anatoly's credentials and Elena's credentials." Kirill's grey eyes met his. "Someone high enough in the Council to authorize both."

Wren's mind raced. "Mira had access. She's the Chief Archivist."

"She denies accessing Elena's files."

"You believe her?"

Kirill was silent for a long moment. "I believe she's been protecting you. I don't believe she's the only one."

Wren stared at him. "You think someone else has been involved this whole time."

"I think someone wanted you alive." Kirill's voice was flat. "Someone made sure you survived the massacre. Someone made sure your records were forged. Someone made sure your suppressants were replaced when they started to fail."

Wren's heart stopped. "The suppressants."

"Eleven days ago, someone accessed your mother's medical records. The same day, your suppressants were tampered with." Kirill's grey eyes were sharp. "That wasn't Mira. She admitted to accelerating the failure, but she didn't initiate it."

Wren's hands were shaking. "Someone else tampered with them."

"Someone who wanted you to awaken."

"Someone who wanted me to be found."

Kirill nodded. "The question is why."

Wren turned away, pressing his palm against the window. The glass was cold beneath his fingers. The bond hummed, warm and insistent, a current of something that felt almost like fear.

"Sixteen years," Wren said quietly. "Someone has been waiting sixteen years for me to emerge."

"Yes."

"And now that I have..."

"Now that you have, the real game begins." Kirill stepped closer, his presence filling the space behind Wren. "Someone has been manipulating events from the shadows. Someone who wanted you to survive. Someone who wanted you to bond with me. Someone who wanted you to discover the truth."

Wren turned to face him. "You think this was all planned."

"I think we're still missing pieces." Kirill's grey eyes held his. "And I think the person who's been using Anatoly's credentials is the person who has the answers."

Wren's pulse hammered. "Then we need to find them."

"We will." Kirill's voice was quiet. "But first, we need to understand what they want."

Wren stared at him. The bond hummed between them, warm and insistent, a current of something that went deeper than politics or bloodlines.

"What do you want?" Wren asked.

Kirill blinked. "What?"

"You. What do you want from this? From me?" Wren's voice was steady. "You've been protecting me. You've been investigating this conspiracy for five years. But I still don't know what you're hoping to find."

Kirill was silent for a long moment.

"I want the truth," he said finally. "I want to clear my father's name. I want to expose the people who destroyed your family and blamed mine." His grey eyes met Wren's. "And I want to protect you."

Wren's heart pounded. "Why?"

"Because I choose to." Kirill's voice was low. "Not because of politics. Not because of the bond. Because I see who you are, and I refuse to let you be destroyed."

The words hung in the air between them. Wren's throat tightened. The bond hummed, warm and insistent, a current of something that felt almost like trust.

"You don't know me," Wren said.

"I know enough."

"You know the parts I've shown you."

"Then show me the rest." Kirill stepped closer, close enough that Wren could feel the heat radiating from his body. "I'm not going anywhere."

Wren stared at him. The Alpha's grey eyes were unreadable, but his presence was steady, solid, unwavering.

"Promise?" Wren asked.

Kirill met his gaze. "I promise."

The words hung in the air between them. Wren's heart pounded. The bond hummed, warm and insistent, a current of something that went deeper than politics or bloodlines.

He still didn't trust Kirill. Not fully.

But he was beginning to believe that Kirill might be worth trusting.

And that was enough.

For now.

****

The next morning, Wren woke to the sound of rain against the window.

He'd fallen asleep at the desk, his head resting on his arms, the evidence still spread around him. A blanket had been draped over his shoulders—Kirill's work, no doubt.

He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. The bond hummed, warm and familiar, a constant reminder of Kirill's presence.

The door opened. Kirill entered, carrying two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Wren without comment.

"We found something," Kirill said.

Wren's pulse quickened. "What?"

"Another access log. Someone used Anatoly's credentials three years ago to request a sealed file." Kirill's grey eyes were sharp. "The file was the Ilvaren medical records."

Wren's blood went cold. "Someone accessed them before. Three years ago."

"Three years ago, someone was already investigating your survival." Kirill's voice was flat. "Someone knew you were alive. Someone was tracking your suppressants. Someone has been waiting for this moment."

Wren's hands tightened around the coffee cup. "Who?"

Kirill shook his head. "The log is incomplete. The request was made under Anatoly's credentials, but the authorization came from someone higher up."

"Higher than Anatoly."

"Higher than Anatoly." Kirill met his gaze. "Someone on the Council."

Wren's mind raced. "Mira is on the Council."

"Mira is the Chief Archivist. She has access, but she doesn't have the authority to authorize requests without approval." Kirill's voice was quiet. "Someone else approved it."

Wren stared at him. "Who?"

"We're working on that." Kirill set a photograph on the desk. "I had my people pull the Council's security footage from three years ago. This is who accessed the records."

Wren looked at the photograph. The image was grainy, but the figure was unmistakable—a tall man in a dark suit, his face partially obscured by shadow.

Wren's heart stopped.

He knew that silhouette. He'd seen it in his uncle's surveillance photographs. He'd seen it in the Council's archives.

He knew who it was.

"Anatoly," Wren breathed.

Kirill's expression didn't change. "Anatoly Ilvaren, officially dead for seven years at the time of this footage."

Wren's pulse hammered. "He's alive."

"We don't know that." Kirill's voice was careful. "It could be someone using his identity."

"It's him." Wren's hands were shaking. "It has to be him. He's the only one who would have access to both Anatoly's and Elena's credentials. He's the only one who would know about the suppressants. He's the only one who would have been watching me for sixteen years."

Kirill was silent for a long moment.

"If Anatoly is alive," Kirill said slowly, "then he's been hiding for ten years. He's been using his own credentials and his sister's. He's been tracking you. And he's been waiting."

Wren's throat tightened. "Waiting for what?"

"That's what we need to find out." Kirill's grey eyes met his. "We need to confirm whether Anatoly is alive. And if he is, we need to find him."

Wren stared at him. The bond hummed, warm and insistent, a current of something that felt almost like fear.

"Promise me," Wren said. "Promise me you'll help me find him."

Kirill met his gaze. "I promise."

The words hung in the air between them. Wren's heart pounded. The bond hummed, warm and insistent, a current of something that went deeper than politics or bloodlines.

He still didn't trust Kirill. Not fully.

But he was beginning to believe that Kirill might be worth trusting.

And that was enough.

For now.