14. Malachi
MALACHI
Control isn’t just something I enforce. It’s something I maintain. And right now?—
It’s slipping.
I stand in the holding room, arms crossed, watching the three pride members seated across from me. None of them meet my eyes. That alone is enough to tell me this isn’t simple insubordination or embarrassment.
It’s something else. Something wrong.
“Start from the beginning,” I say, my voice calm, even, carrying the weight of command without needing to rise.
Martin, a fellow pride member, exhales sharply. “I already told Dominic. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You’ll say it again,” I reply.
Because repetition matters. People reveal things the second time they didn’t the first.
He shifts in his seat, jaw tight. “It just… happened.”
“It doesn’t ‘just happen,’” I say.
My lion stirs beneath my skin, restless, agitated—not at Martin, but at the wrongness coiled through the room. It presses against my control, reacting to something I can’t physically see but can absolutely feel.
Martin swallows. “I didn’t mean to lose control.”
“I’m not asking about intent,” I say. “I’m asking about sensation.”
That gets his attention. His eyes flick up briefly, then away again.
“It felt like…” He hesitates. “Like I was already angry. Before anything actually happened.”
My focus sharpens.
“Explain.”
He exhales again, slower this time. “Like the reaction was already there. Like something just pushed it the rest of the way.”
My jaw tightens. That aligns too well with what Juniper described. Not force. Influence.
Subtle. Layered. Dangerous.
I glance toward the second shifter. “You?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Same. Not anger exactly, but… everything felt closer. Like it wouldn’t take much to snap.”
My lion growls low in my chest. Because that’s exactly how instincts are supposed to work—just not like this. Not amplified. Not manipulated.
“Did you notice anything unusual before it happened?” I ask.
Martin shakes his head. The second shifter hesitates.
“Yes,” he says finally.
I focus on him. “Talk.”
“There was something in the area,” he says slowly. “Didn’t feel like a threat. Just… off.”
Juniper moves then. I feel her before I fully register the movement—my awareness snapping toward her as she steps closer, drawn by something only she can sense clearly.
“What kind of off?” she asks.
Her voice is calm, but I can hear the precision in it. She’s not guessing. She’s confirming.
The shifter frowns. “Like pressure. Like the air was heavier.”
Juniper nods slightly, more to herself than to him.
“That tracks,” she murmurs.
I watch her carefully as she crouches beside Martin, her movements deliberate, measured. She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t hesitate. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“I need to check something,” she says. “Don’t react.”
Martin looks uncertain, but he nods. Juniper lifts her hand slowly, not touching him at first—just hovering near his shoulder. I feel it immediately. Magic. Not aggressive. Not invasive. Precise.
It threads outward from her like something alive, attention snapping toward it like a predator tracking movement.
Juniper closes her eyes briefly. The room stills. Even the others feel it. Then?—
“There,” she says quietly.
I step forward. “What is it?”
She opens her eyes, her gaze locking onto mine.
“Lingering spell fragments,” she says.
My jaw tightens. “Define lingering.”
“It’s not active,” she explains. “But it hasn’t dissipated either. It’s embedded in their auras.”
Embedded. That word lands hard. I glance at Martin.
“You’ve been on regular patrol?”
“Yes.”
“Same routes?”
“As far as I know.”
“Dominic,” I say.
He’s already moving.
“I’ll pull patrol logs.”
“Do it.”
He leaves immediately.
I turn back to Juniper. “If it’s embedded, how long does it last?”
“Depends on exposure,” she says. “And proximity to the source.”
Which means this isn’t random. It’s repeated. Deliberate. My chest tightens—not from uncertainty now, but from something sharper. Anger. Focused.
Juniper stands, brushing her hands together lightly as she steps back. “This isn’t a one-time influence,” she adds. “It builds over time.”
“I figured,” I mutter.
Because that’s the only way you destabilize an entire group without them realizing it. The door opens again. Dominic steps back in, tablet already in hand, his expression telling me everything before he speaks.
“You’re going to want to see this.”
I take the tablet from him, scanning quickly. Then slower. Because it doesn’t make sense.
“These aren’t our standard routes,” I say.
“No,” Dominic replies. “They’re updated.”
“By who?”
A pause. Then?—
“Council requests.”
Silence drops into the room like a weight. I look up slowly.
“Explain.”
“They came through official channels,” Dominic says. “Framed as coordination efforts. Efficiency. Cross-territory alignment.”
Juniper exhales quietly.
“They moved your people,” she says.
I don’t take my eyes off the tablet.
“Yes.”
And not randomly. I can see the pattern immediately now that I’m looking for it. Routes shifted. Coverage adjusted. Positions moved?—
Not for defense. For exposure.
“They aligned patrol paths with influence zones,” I say.
Dominic frowns. “Meaning?”
“Meaning my people were repeatedly exposed to these spell fragments,” I reply. “Long enough for it to embed.”
Juniper nods. “That’s how you normalize the effect.”
My grip tightens on the tablet.
“The council doesn’t get to move my people like that,” I say.
“They already did,” Dominic points out.
He’s right. And that’s the problem. I set the tablet down slowly.
“This wasn’t accidental.”
“No,” Juniper agrees. “It wasn’t.”
“You think the council is behind this.”
“I think someone within the council is,” she says. “There’s a pattern in their policy shifts—oversight increases, control structures. It’s been building for years.”
“Names?” I ask.
She hesitates. Then?—
“Cassandra Vale.”
The name settles into place. Another piece of the structure. Another point of connection.
My jaw tightens.
“This just escalated,” Dominic mutters.
“No,” I say quietly.
“It clarified.”
Because now we know where to look.
Juniper studies me carefully. “This could be someone or something else. Unlikely at this point, but that’s still a slight possibility. So my mind is still open. But, if the council is involved, then whatever’s in their archives?—”
“Isn’t meant to be found,” I finish.
“Yes.”
Silence stretches. Then she says it.
“We need access.”
I already know what she means.
“Officially?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“No.”
Of course not. My instincts push back immediately—against risk, against exposure, against losing control of a situation that is already shifting faster than I like.
My lion, however, reacts very differently. Not to the archives. To her. To the way she stands there, completely certain, completely unwilling to bend even now.
Mine.
I shut that down hard. Focus. This isn’t about instinct. It’s about threat. I step closer before I realize I’m doing it. Juniper doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. The space between us tightens instantly.
“You’re asking me to break into a council archive,” I say.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No doubt. My gaze locks onto hers.
“You understand?”
“Yes.”
Still no hesitation. That should make this easier. It doesn’t. Because she’s right. And I know she’s right. I exhale slowly. Then nod. Once. Sharp. Decisive.
“Then we do it right,” I say.
Her gaze sharpens. “Meaning?”
“We don’t get caught.”
A flicker of something passes through her expression. Not relief. Something closer to anticipation. Good. Because whatever we’re about to step into?—
There’s no coming back from it. And, now, I’m not sure I want to.