Chapter 11

 RONAN'S POV

I finally opened the letter and it reads:

Make an appointment with my husband. Tomorrow. Soon.

Tell him whatever you want. Progress. Hope. Something to keep him satisfied. I don't know how you do it. That's your job.

Let the location be in my pack. In my house.

When you're done, I'll find you. We need to talk.

—E

I read it twice.

Then I just stood there for longer. Holding it. Staring at nothing. Again!

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

I should have fought to not accept this job. Tooth and nail. Refused without care of what I would lose. Wouldn’t that have been easier? Losing some damn connection then instead of whatever this is now?

What am I doing to myself?

What plan does she have?

What plan do I even have?

I thought i had one. Find the killer. Use them. Destroy Kael. Simple. Clean.

But she's not simple. She's not clean. She's standing over bodies with her hands inside them, packing organs like she's fulfilling prophecy. She's leaving me letters in alleys like some damned gangster.

She seems more dangerous than I can explain.

I'm scared. Actually scared. Not of dying—of her. Of what she's become. Of what loving her might cost me.

But I am still going to do it. Still going to show up. Still going to see this through.

We'll see what happens.

I fold the letter. Put it in my pocket. Walk back the way I came. 

I walk slowly. Thinking. Not thinking. Both.

I finally got to Simon West's house and stopped.

The kids are nowhere to be found, the house is dead silent.

But I remember the bodies that are in pieces , the eyes that hold the last memories of anguish, I remember…

Her hands. The way she worked. No hesitation. No tremor. Just... ease. Like she was born for it. Like killing and cutting and packing was as natural as breathing.

A shiver runs through me. Deep. Cold.

I don't even know what she is anymore.

I got into my car. Didn't start it right away. Just sits there, hands on the wheel, staring ahead.

Then I drove home.

---

I heat up food I don't taste. Eat because I should. Cleans my plate because it's something to do.

Then I laid down, seeking the comfort of my bed.

The ceiling is white. Boring. Normal.

My mind is not.

I close my eyes.

And sleep.

……

I woke up.

Same ceiling. Same thoughts. Same weight in my chest.

I shower. Dresses. I go through the motions until I look like a person who has his life together.

I don't feel like one.

---

The office building is normal. Boring. People coming and going, coffees in hand, conversations about nothing. I walk through it all like a ghost.

Get to my floor. My door. My name on the glass.

I am barely inside when my assistant appears.

"Sir. Good to see you.", his voice came out way too happy for the way I feel.

You have really nothing to worry about,right?

I don't respond. Just moved inside my office.

My assistant follows. "You've not been in for three days. Hope everything's fine?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Good. Good. Do you need anything?"

"No."

A pause. He hovers.

"Why?" I turned. Look at him. "What else?"

He blinks. "I just... wanted to check on you. That's all."

"You've checked. What else do you want from me?"

"Nothing, sir. I just—"

“Is there anything I forgot to communicate about? Any missed messages? Meetings?

“No sir, just—

“Just what?”

“Nothing sir”, he replied, his voice low.

"Then leave."

His mouth opens. Closes. "Sorry, sir."

He leaves.

I watched him go. Feels bad for exactly one second. Then it doesn't.

---

I pull off my blazer. Throw it somewhere. I don't know where. I don't care.

Walk to my desk. Away from my desk. To the window. Back to the desk.

What do I tell him?

I picked up the phone. Stare at it. Put it down.

Walk to the window again. Looks out at nothing.

Picks up the phone again.

This time I dial.

A voice answers. Gruff. Impatient.

"I want to speak to Alpha Kael?"

A pause. Muffled voices in the background. Then: "Give me a minute."

I wait.. Drums my fingers on the desk. Wait some more.

"Yes. Go ahead”, the alpha's voice came through, loud and clear.

"There's something I need to tell you. Important. But I can't do it over the phone."

Another pause. Shorter this time.

"Today?"

"No. Tomorrow. If that works for you."

"Tomorrow when?"

"Three o'clock. Same place as the last time."

Silence. Then: "This better be important. I hate wasting my time."

"It is. Trust me."

The line goes dead.

I put the phone down. Lowers my head into my hands.

What the hell am I going to tell him tomorrow?

I stay like that for a long time. Then sit up. Rolled my shoulders. Feels a little lighter. The call is made. The meeting is set. No going back now.

I pull some papers toward me. Stare at them. Doesn't see a word.

But I am sitting, still reeling . I am at my desk. I am trying.

That's enough for now.

…..

The monotony continues 

I go home.

The apartment is quiet. Dark. Exactly how I want it.

I sit on the couch. Don't turn on the TV. Don't make food. Just sit.

For the first time in days, my mind feels... calm. Not peaceful—that's not the word. But calm. Like the storm passed and left me here, still standing, still breathing.

I pick up my phone. Call Kendrick.

He answers on the second ring. "Boss."

"You got anything for me?"

A pause. "Concerning which case?"

"The killer. The one I told you to back off."

"Yeah. I backed off. Like you said."

"I know. But I'm asking if you have anything. Anything at all."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"There's nothing new. Like I said, I dropped it." He hesitates. "But..."

"But what?"

"It's probably nothing. I didn't even follow up. It's just—there was a case last year. Organ trafficking ring. Big one. They never found out who was running it."

I sit up straighter.

"And?"

"And I don't know. Maybe it's connected. Some of its supply was from these parts. Could be the same people. Could be they hired the killer. Could be they're working together. I don't know."

I let that sit.

They didn't hire a killer. The killer is running it. She's running it.

"Thanks, Kendrick. This helps."

"Sure, boss. You need anything else—"

"I'll call. Goodnight."

I ended the call.

Stare at the wall.

Organ trafficking case. Last year. Supply from here. 

She's been at this longer than I thought. Bigger than I thought.

I lean back on the couch. Close my eyes.

What else don't I know?

……..

The alpha's place sits on a hill like it owns everything it sees. Maybe it does.

I've been here before. Doesn't make it easier, the hate still has a strong hold on me.

I drove up the long road. Trees on both sides, planted perfectly, like even nature here has to follow rules. Guards at the first gate. More at the second. They check my ID. Check my face. Check under my car with one of those mirrors on a stick.

Same routine. Doesn't help their case.

By the time they wave me through, I've been inspected more thoroughly than cargo at the border.

I park where they tell me to park. Walk where they tell me to walk. A guy in a suit appears. Doesn't introduce himself. Just says "this way" and walks.

I follow.

He takes me to the study. Same books. Same leather chairs. The same fire crackling like it's trying too hard to feel cozy.

"Wait here. The Alpha will be with you shortly."

He leaves.

I stand there. Don't sit. Don't touch anything. Just wait.

A few minutes pass. Then the door opens.

Kael walks in. Bigger than I remember. Broader. Moves like a man who's never had to move out of anyone's way. Dressed casual—if you call a thousand-dollar sweater casual.

He nods at me. I nod back.

"Tracker."

"Alpha."

He walks to his desk. Sits. Gestures for me to do the same.

I sit.

He leans back. Study me for a second too long. Then:

"What is it you have for me? Must be important if you couldn't say it over the phone and make me clear my schedule for this."

I look at him. Hold his eyes.

"Do you have anyone you trust?

Kael's face doesn't change. "Not many. Why?"

"I think I'm getting tracked."

He stares at me for a beat. Then laughs. Actually laughs.

"The tracker is getting tracked?"

"Yes, sir."

The laughter stops. His eyes narrow.

"What makes you say that?"

I keep my voice steady. "Most of our conversations. I think they've been tapped. I can't discuss this case over the phone anymore. From now on, if I have something to ask or tell you, I need to do it in person."

He watches me. Reading me. Looking for the lie.

"Okay." He leans back. "So go on. You have a question for me? Or do you want to tell me who the killer is?"

I pause. Just long enough.

"Do you, by any chance, run an organ trafficking business?"

He stands up so fast the chair scrapes behind him.

"What sort of question is that?"

I hold up my hands. "Please. Calm down. It's just a question."

"It's not a question I like."

"I know. I'm sorry. But there's a reason I'm asking."

He doesn't sit back down. Just stands there, looming over his desk, fists clenched.

"This whole case," I say. "It's worse than it seems. Bigger. The people being killed—their organs are being harvested."

Nothing.

"I didn't hear any of the other organizations that investigated this case mention this."

He's still standing. Still staring.

"No one mentioned it because no one knew. After they take the organs, they tear the bodies apart. Makes it look like a wild animal attack. No one checks for missing parts when there's nothing left to check."

Silence.

I push forward. "So I'm asking—do you know anyone in the organ trade? Anyone who might have connections to something like this? Because I'm running out of leads, and if there's someone out there who deals in this, they might know something."

He stares at me for a long time.

Then he sits back down.

"I don't know anyone." His voice is quieter now. Controlled. "But I'll put my ears to the ground. See what I hear."

I nod. "That's all I'm asking."

He looks at me. Hard.

"Anything else?"

"No. That's it."

He waves a hand. "Then get out. And next time you have a question like that, warn me before you ask it."

I stand. Walk to the door,  step out of the study. Close the door behind me.

The hallway is empty. Quiet. Too quiet.

I start walking. No direction. Just... walking.

How slow should I go? How long do I have to wander before someone notices? Before she finds me?

I pass a window. Then another. A painting of someone's ancestor staring down at me like I don't belong here.

I don't.

Is she watching? Does she know I'm here? How does she even get to me without everyone seeing?

I keep walking. Turn a corner. Another hallway. More paintings. More windows. More nothing.

I passed guards that watched me suspiciously but I disregarded all of them, putting more confidence into my steps .

Minutes pass. Five. Ten. I don't know. I just walk.

Then—

The wall moves.

Before I can process it, before I can think, a hand grabs me. Yanks me sideways. I stumble through space that wasn't there a second ago. My heart stops. My mouth opens—

The door slides shut behind me. Silent. Perfect.