Chapter 19 #2
“I found something,” I told him simply. Seeing that I had his attention, I stepped back further.
Wolfe watched me, curious, not suspicious. “Found what?”
“This is the room my dad and his elders used for pack business,” I said, walking toward the long table.
I opened the hidden catch, pulling out the hidden drawer, easier with him helping me.
“Ten-year council rotations, duty assignments. You know, the stuff no one looks at unless someone dies or the territory map needs redrawing.”
Wolfe’s brow lifted. “And you decided to go digging?”
I met his stare. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that the rogue attacks weren’t random. The timing, the location shifts—they were too perfect. Coordinated. I thought maybe someone had set the pattern long before it started.”
He motioned for me to continue, looking over the contents and picking up a random file. I placed the file in my jacket down in front of him and smoothed it flat. He glanced at me once, then took it.
“Rogue border oversight,” I told him, tapping the line where Corrin’s name was.
“For years. He was in charge of maintaining diplomatic distance with rogue dens, monitoring movement, and deciding whether to engage or ignore. He had access to every inch of the outer perimeter—and every shifter who patrolled it.”
Wolfe held it like it would burn his hands, his eyes scanning over the reports. “How long have you known?”
“About five minutes ago,” I confirmed. “I came back here when the search in my father’s office turned up empty.”
Wolfe looked between the report and me. “You’re not accusing him. Not outright.”
“No,” I admitted softly. “But I think Corrin knew exactly how to get information to the right rogue packs without leaving blood on his hands. And I think the pattern of these attacks starts with him.”
He blew out a low breath. Slow. Controlled. Not angry. Not surprised, either. “Corrin’s been in my ear since the first night I stepped foot back in this place.”
I didn’t flinch. “And now he’s in your sights.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Now he is.” He flicked through it and placed it on the table. “How many others would know about this?” he asked as his hand ran over the smooth tabletop. “This hidden drawer?”
“Only those closest to my father. The elders, the druid, maybe.”
“Lewis?”
I nodded. “Any of Dad’s betas, really.” I hesitated. “Only his inner circle.”
He didn’t speak. Just walked up and down the table, seeing how much he’d missed. How much was hidden right under his nose. Wolfe turned, his attention on me, scanning my face. “You went looking for this because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“I went looking,” I said, my voice low but firm, “because someone in this Hollow had to. No one else who knows about them was showing you.”
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was honest.
Wolfe said nothing; he looked at me and extended his hand. I took it. No sparks. No fire. Just quiet understanding—and a storm brewing between us.
“We’re in this together,” I said. “Right?”
Wolfe nodded. “Right.” He didn’t say anything else. We both felt it—that shift in the air, that solid click of two pieces falling into place. Not romance. Not even peace. Just alignment.
For the first time since Wolfe came back to the Hollow, we were no longer reacting. We were ready.
I stood by the desk, watching him fold the parchment. His movements were precise. Methodical. Exact. But the rage was there, behind his eyes, coiled and waiting.
He’d hold it. Wolfe always held it—until the moment he didn’t. And when that moment came? There would be no warning.
A door opened in the corridor, and then we heard footsteps. Boots approaching. The door swung open.
“Alpha.” Corrin did his best to hide his surprise as he stepped into the room. He looked from Wolfe to me, and the flicker of fear—just a moment—told me everything.
His eyes landed on the parchment in Wolfe’s hand. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. Interesting.
“Rowen,” he said, inclining his head. “Didn’t realize you were back in the Hollow.”
“I imagine there’s a lot you don’t realize,” I replied coolly. Had Wolfe known he hadn’t been at last night’s ceremony?
Wolfe didn’t say a word.
Corrin’s gaze darted between us. “Is this a bad time?” That was another mistake—pretending it wasn’t.
I stepped forward slowly, arms crossed, posture loose but watching. “You spent five years overseeing rogue territory, didn’t you?”
Corrin blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You were in charge of border relations. Rogue movement tracking. Negotiation assignments. Surveillance. Five years, according to council records.”
His face stayed still. But I watched his throat bob in a slow, tight swallow. “I was appointed by your father,” he said. “You can check the records.”
“I have,” I said. “And I’m not questioning the appointment. I’m questioning the legacy.”
Wolfe still hadn’t moved. His silence was measured now. Weighty. He was letting me lead, and Corrin could see it.
Corrin shifted his weight. “That was over a decade ago. What exactly are you implying?”
“Nothing yet,” I said, smiling thinly. “But the pattern of recent rogue attacks lines up suspiciously well with patrol rotations. And only a handful of shifters have access to that information.”
“And you think I’m—what? Communicating with rogue dens for what purpose?”
Wolfe finally spoke then. His voice low and lethal. “I think if you’re innocent, you won’t mind answering some questions. Under my Will.”
Corrin’s face went pale. He recovered quickly—but not quickly enough.
“Malric would never submit someone to that without cause,” he said sharply. “It’s an insult.”
I stepped beside Wolfe. “My father is gone. Wolfe is the alpha of this pack,” I told him coldly. “And my father would have used his Will on those who betrayed him. You’re not above suspicion anymore, Corrin. None of us is.”
The older wolf looked between us. Wolfe. Me. The parchment on the desk. And he realized—too late—that whatever game he’d been playing?
It was over.