(Victor)The Warden's office wants ten years of incident records before the crowning.Standard, apparently.Visiting Alphas, consecrated blood, everyone's history on the table.Cole's been hauling file boxes past my study door all morning like it's nothing.Because to him it is nothing."Last of them."He sets the box on my desk."Levi Knox's clerk wants them scanned by Friday.""Leave it. I'll go through them.""You're meant to be resting.""I'll rest when this circus is over."He goes.Decent man, Cole. Doesn't ask why an old wolf wants to sort paper personally.The folder's third from the top.PRUITT, T. — FATALITY — ROGUE INCURSION.Ten years, and my hands still remember the weight of that night better than they remember my own son's crowning suit.I’m fine.Open it.Read it like a stranger would.That's the job now. Read it like a stranger, find anything a stranger shouldn't find.Photos. The east ravine. Theodore on his back.You knew him forty years, the wolf says. You carried
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