Chapter 7
Justice Awaits, Or Does It?
Astrid Matheison
Thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, and I still can't stop staring at the photos. My fingers trace the image on the tablet screen, following the distinctive pattern—double canines. This is my chance. This is when I get justice for my father.
Ghost snores softly across the aisle, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle against the window of GUIDE's private jet. Sherlock sits two rows ahead, the glow of his screen illuminating his profile as he meticulously reviews case notes.
Neither speaks. We've been a team long enough to know when silence is better for all of us.
The closer we get to Rome, the more settled I feel, that strange electric restlessness from yesterday fading with each passing mile. Maybe it was just pre-mission jitters, though that's never been a problem before.
"ETA ninety minutes," the pilot announces over the intercom. "Weather in Rome is clear, 17 degrees Celsius. Local time will be 4:39pm."
My secure tablet pings with an incoming message. New intelligence briefing, priority level alpha. I enter my authentication code, fingerprint, and retinal scan in sequence.
The video loads instantly—shaky cell phone footage, dark forest, men's voices tinged with fear.
The camera pans wildly before settling on massive paw prints in disturbed forest soil.
Then a glimpse of something large and dark moving between trees.
A flash of eyes reflecting light. The footage stabilizes momentarily on what looks like the aftermath of a predator attack—a partially consumed bear carcass, throat torn out with devastating precision.
"What the hell did this?" A man's voice asks off-camera.
The footage jumps to a new angle—distant figures running toward water, too blurry to identify clearly. Then nothing but shaky shots of the forest floor as the men retreat.
I check the location data and my blood turns to ice. Branson, Missouri. Way to close to my mom for comfort.
"Control, this is Agent Mathieson." I move to the secure comms station at the front of the aircraft, keeping my voice level despite the panic rising in my chest. "Requesting clarification on the Missouri incident report."
The screen flickers, and a communications officer appears.
"Agent Mathieson, we've just filed the preliminary assessment.
Unknown creature, likely Class Three, possibly shapeshifter based on witness statements about 'men transforming into a giant wolf.
' Highly aggressive territorial behavior. Team Echo is mobilizing."
"Team Echo?" I dig my nails into the console. "This thing looks rough and Echo doesn't usually deal with animals. My team has more experience—"
"Your mission parameters remain unchanged, Agent. Rome is your priority."
For sixteen years I've hunted the creature that killed my father, followed every false lead and dead end. Now, with the first real match to those distinctive bite marks, I'm being sent across an ocean. Meanwhile, something dangerous lurks less than fifty miles from Mom's home.
"The Missouri incident is less than fifty miles from a populated area." I'm careful not to mention my mother specifically. Personal connections are viewed as liabilities at GUIDE. "Given our team's expertise—"
"Team Echo has already deployed, Agent Mathieson." The cool dismissal in his tone tells me everything. "Deputy Director Hayes specifically denied any reassignment requests."
I hesitate, torn between duty and family.
Rome means vengeance for my father—the mission that's defined my entire life.
But Missouri means protecting the only person who knows what I am and loves me anyway.
My fingers hover over the comm controls, almost ready to demand reassignment, to abandon the one lead I've had in over a decade.
"Put me through to Hayes," I demand, making my choice.
"Agent—"
"Now."
The screen blinks, then Hayes appears, his expression already set in that immovable mask I know too well. "Agent Mathieson, how can I help you?"
"Sir, with respect, my team should—"
"We've been tracking the Rome creature for months, Agent.
It's killed eleven people across three countries and two well-trained GUIDE teams. Your expertise is precisely why you're on that plane.
" His voice has that dangerous quiet that no agent with sense would challenge.
"Team Echo is more than capable of handling a feral wolf shifter. "
"But, sir—"
"Your focus is Rome. Period." His eyes narrow slightly. "Unless there's something specific about Missouri that concerns you beyond professional assessment?"
The trap is perfectly laid. Any personal interest I admit becomes a liability, a reason to keep me further away, not closer. The visceral worry for my mother's safety burns like acid in my throat, my instinct screaming that whatever killed that bear is more dangerous than Hayes realizes.
"No, sir. Just ensuring optimal resource allocation."
"Then I suggest you prepare for landing. You have a job to do." The connection terminates before I can respond.
Fucking asshat.
I stare at the blank screen, rage boiling beneath the surface of my carefully controlled expression. Years of loyal service, risking my life to hunt these creatures, and he dismisses my concerns like I'm some rookie fresh from training. My jaw aches from clenching it so hard.
The man's never been in the field, never waited for backup that arrived too late, never lost family to one of these monsters. And now he's standing between me and protecting my mother.
I return to my seat, hands clenched to hide their trembling. Ghost is awake now, watching me with those perceptive eyes that see too much.
"Problem?" he asks.
"New development stateside. Missouri." I slide my tablet across to him, letting him see the footage. "Less than fifty miles from my mother's house."
His expression softens at the mention of my mother. My team is one of the few people who knows where she lives, and who knows a creature killed my father. "Hayes won't reassign us?"
"Team Echo is already on it."
Ghost scrolls through the footage again, frowning. "That's not Echo's usual beat. Weyland doesn't have experience with shifters."
"That's what I said."
He hands the tablet back, studying my face. "We'll wrap Rome quickly, and if Echo hasn't contained the situation by then, we'll request a follow-up assignment."
It's the best he can offer, and we both know it. I nod, pulling out my personal phone to send a message to my mother: Possible situation near you. Stay indoors for a few days. I'm handling it.
Her reply comes quickly: I've been handling myself for years, sweetheart. Focus on your job.
I want to tell her it's different this time. That something about this creature feels off. Instead, I send a text to Mark Sanderson, an ex-GUIDE agent who retired to a cabin close to my mother's place. He still owes me for saving his team in Bucharest.
Need eyes on my mom. Potential feral wolf shifter nearby. Will owe you.
His response is immediate: No debt. I’ve got her. You stay focused.
"Ghost, can I talk to you?" I tilt my head toward the galley at the back of the plane.
His eyes open immediately and he follows without question, keeping his voice low once we're alone. "What's going on, Blades?"
"I need you to promise me something." I rarely ask for anything personal, and his expression tells me he understands the weight of this request. "If Rome goes south, if we're delayed coming back, I need you to make sure Sanderson stays with my mom until the situation with the wolf shifter is resolved. "
"Of course." He frowns. "But this seems like more than your usual protectiveness. What's wrong?"
I hesitate. Ghost understands family better than anyone on the team.
His daughter Emma means everything to him—her drawings decorate his tactical locker, her school schedule dictates which missions he'll fight Hayes on.
If anyone would understand this visceral need to protect my mother, it's him.
The fact that he's also senior enough to pull strings with Sanderson on my behalf if needed makes him my only real option.
"I've got a bad feeling about this one. I can't explain it."
"Your instincts have never steered us wrong before." He studies my face, concern evident in his eyes.
"It's just..." I run a hand through my hair, frustration bleeding through.
"Nothing about this feels right. We're chasing a creature across Europe that matches what killed my father—the one thing I've been hunting since I started at the academy.
But then something equally dangerous shows up practically in my mother's backyard right when we're halfway across the world?
" I lower my voice, leaning closer. "That's not coincidence, Ghost. And if I have to choose between finally getting vengeance for my father or making sure my mother stays alive. .."
The conflict tears at me—duty versus family, vengeance versus protection. My life's mission standing against my only living connection left. The irony isn't lost on me that I've spent years hunting monsters to avenge Dad, only to potentially lose Mom to one in the process.
"We'll finish Rome fast," Ghost promises. "In and out, clean kill, on a plane back before Echo has a chance to mess things up."
"And if they do?"
Images flash through my mind—Team Echo unprepared for what they're facing, the wolf tearing through them like tissue paper, then moving on to nearby towns. To Mom's street. To her front door. And me, thousands of miles away, unable to do anything but listen to the field reports come in.
My hands curl into fists. I've spent my career making impossible choices, but never one that could cost me everything that matters.
His hand lands on my shoulder, solid and reassuring. "Then we'll clean that up too. Your mom will be safe, Astrid. I promise."
"What are we promising?" Sherlock's voice breaks the moment. He stands in the galley doorway, expression neutral but eyes sharp, missing nothing.
I turn, keeping my face carefully composed. "That we'll finish this job quickly. I've got plans next week. Didn’t get a good visit with my mom."
Sherlock's gaze holds mine a beat too long. "You never have plans with your mom." It's not quite an accusation, but close.
"She’s having a hard time." I move past him, deliberately casual. "We're landing soon. Let's review the tactical approach."
Back at my seat, I feel Sherlock's eyes on me, but I just focus on the Rome intelligence with exaggerated intensity, ignoring both his scrutiny and the corrosive anxiety eating away at my composure.
My phone vibrates with another text from my mother: Everything's fine, stop worrying.
If only it were that simple.