By My Authority

Knox

"Why did you do it.”

Levana looks up. Blinks. "Good morning to you too, Knox."

"Last night." I hold her gaze. "Why."

She stares at me. Then she frowns — slow, genuine — like she's actually working out what I mean. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The east grounds." I push off the window ledge. "The wolves. You intervened."

A pause. Something shifts behind her eyes. "How do you know about that."

"Answer the question."

"It wasn't—"

"Levana."

She exhales through her nose. "It wasn't a big deal. Someone needed help. I helped. That's the whole story."

"Someone," I repeat. "Who."

"A person."

"Who."

"Someone who wasn't doing anything wrong—"

"Who," I say, quieter.

Her jaw tightens. She turns her phone over once in her hands and in that half second I catch the screen. A photo. Two girls laughing at the camera — Levana with her ridiculous pink hair and that grin she gets when she's three seconds from causing a problem, and next to her—

I go still.

Dark hair. Brown eyes. Small and guarded even mid-laugh, like she never fully lets her shoulders down.

The cleaner.

I cross the room in four steps and point at the screen. "Why do you have that."

Levana pulls the phone back. "Because it's my phone?"

"That girl."

"She has a name."

"What's her name."

"Tessa." She says it like I should already know it. Like I should care. "She's my friend. My roommate. And before you say anything—"

"She's human," I say.

The room shifts.

Caius sits up slowly from the couch. Landon's book closes.

"She's half," Levana says, sharp. "There's a difference."

"There really isn't."

"She has Alpha blood—"

"She has no scent," I say. "No shift. Nothing. I had her in that room last night for ten minutes and she couldn't produce a single trace of wolf. She is human, Levana."

"She has a dormant—"

"Her father," I say slowly, because something is clicking into place and I need to hear it out loud. "You said her father. What's her last name."

A beat.

Levana looks at me for a moment. Something careful moves across her face.

"Levine," she says.

The word lands like a stone in still water.

Caius goes quiet. Actually quiet, which almost never happens.

Landon sets his book on the table.

"Levine," I repeat.

"Tessa Levine," Levana says, watching me now. Watching all of us.

"As in—" Caius starts.

"Aldric Levine," Landon says. His voice is flat and cold and completely certain. He's looking at Levana like she just tracked something inside on the bottom of her shoe. "She's Aldric Levine's daughter."

"Yes," Levana says.

"The Aldric Levine," Caius says. He sounds almost impressed, which is the wrong reaction. "Strongest Alpha of his generation. The one who—" He stops. "With a human."

"Clearly it worked," Levana says. "She exists, doesn't she."

"She shouldn't," Landon says.

Levana's eyes cut to him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He leans forward. "Half-blooded. Unshifted. An abomination by every law this academy runs on. And you're — what? Friends with it?" His voice drops into something flat and deliberate. "Your father would be disgusted."

"My father," Levana says, very softly, "can stay out of my friendships."

"This isn't about friendships—"

"No, apparently it's about you deciding who deserves to exist, which is a very large opinion for someone who's third in ranking and should maybe remember that—"

"At least I have a ranking," Landon says. "At least everything I am is real. What is she, Levana? What exactly are you protecting? Something that shouldn't be breathing academy air, let alone living inside these walls—"

"She is Aldric Levine's daughter—"

"Aldric Levine is dead—"

"Enough."

One word. Both of them stop.

Caius, who has been watching this with the focused attention of someone at a very good match, straightens up and looks elsewhere.

I look at Levana. "She was telling the truth. Last night. About who she is."

She holds my gaze. "Yes."

"You knew."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think that was worth mentioning to anyone."

"To who?" she says. "To you? So you could do exactly what you're doing right now?" She laughs once, short and sharp. "I'll pass."

I look at her for a moment longer. Then I turn and walk toward the door.

"Knox." Landon's voice. "Where are you going?"

I don't answer.

.....

Alaric's office is at the top of the east tower, and he's already at the window when I walk in, hands behind his back, looking out over the grounds like he was expecting me.

He probably was.

I close the door.

"I expected many things from you," I say. "Twelve years as headmaster. You've run this school well. You've followed the law." I pause. "Mostly."

He doesn't turn. "Knox—"

"But this." I walk further into the room. "Taking in a half-blood. Letting it live inside these walls. Inside my father's academy, under his name, under his law." I stop behind him. "That I didn't expect."

He turns.

His face is what it always is. Calm. Unreadable. The kind of still that isn't peace, it's just very well maintained.

"She is not a half-blood," he says. "She is Aldric Levine's daughter."

"She's half human," I say. "Which makes her—"

"Extraordinary," he says simply. "Which you would know, if you'd—"

"It makes her forbidden," I say. "Which you know. Which you've known since the moment you brought her here." I tilt my head. "How old was she?"

A pause. "Six."

Something cold moves through me. "You brought a six year old half-blood into a werewolf academy and hid her here for fifteen years."

"I protected her."

"You hid her. There's a difference." I take a step forward. "She had no idea what she was walking into every single day, did she? The risk she was in. What would have happened if anyone found out."

"I kept her safe—"

"You kept her useful," I say. "You made her a cleaner. You kept her invisible. You made sure no one looked too closely." I watch his face. "That's not protection, Alaric. That's management."

Something flickers in his eyes. The first real crack.

He doesn't answer.

"The necklace," I say.

He goes still.

"The one around her neck." I hold his gaze. "I saw it last night. I know that symbol. I know what it means when someone carries your mark." My eyes narrow. "Why does she have it."

"Knox—"

"What does it do."

"I can't—"

"What does it do."

"I'm afraid," he says, very quietly, very steadily, "that I can't tell you that."

The room goes completely still.

He just — refused. Directly. Looked me in the eye and refused an order and didn't even flinch.

"Say that again," I say softly.

"I can't discuss the necklace." His voice doesn't shake. Doesn't waver. "There are things surrounding that girl that are far beyond what you currently understand, and until you do, I am not in a position to—"

"You're not in a position," I repeat. "You're not in a position." I look at him. "Do you understand who you're talking to?"

"I do."

"Then you understand that refusing me isn't a position you get to take."

"Nevertheless," he says, "I'm taking it."

I stare at him.

Twelve years. Twelve years of running this academy, following orders, standing in this office while I and my father and everyone above him made decisions and handed them down. And now he's standing here looking at me like a man who has decided, very deliberately, that this is the hill.

"She is Aldric Levine's daughter," he says, quieter now. "Whatever you think she is, whatever the law says she is — she is his. And he asked me to protect her. And I will do that." A pause. "Even now."

"Even now," I say.

"Yes."

I look at him for a long moment.

When I speak again, my voice is very calm. Very even. The register I use when I've moved past anger into something that doesn't need heat to function.

"You have until the end of the week," I say, "to put your affairs in order."

His expression doesn't change. "I see."

"The council will be notified. Charges filed." I turn toward the door. "Harbouring a forbidden half-blood. Violation of pack law. Direct refusal of Alpha authority." I pause at the door. "You've served this academy well, Alaric. I'll make sure that's on record."

I reach for the handle.

"Knox."

I stop.

"You don't know what she is yet," he says behind me. Steady. Certain. The voice of someone carrying something enormous and choosing, even now, not to put it down. "When you find out—"

"It won't change anything," I say.

"It will change everything,"