Chapter 9 Cassidy #2
Alden does not look away first. His fingers curl, knuckles pale where the wood of the desk meets skin. The office feels smaller now, the air thick with cedar and smoke and the weight of something neither of them wanted confirmed.
“I started to suspect an inside job,” he says at last. His voice is controlled, but there is steel beneath it.
Ciaran stills beside the filing cabinet, eyes sharpening as if the word itself has teeth.
He crosses to the locked cabinet along the back wall and retrieves a brass key from his pocket.
He unlocks it without hesitation and pulls open the drawer.
Inside are thick folders labeled with names instead of patrol routes.
“Council oversight files,” he says. “Assignment histories. Rotation authority. Disciplinary records.”
He lays several of them on the desk, spreading them beside my map. The paper edges brush against my hand as I steady the stack, and Alden’s fingers briefly touch mine when he adjusts one of the folders.
The contact is accidental. It still sends heat up my arm, and I wish he didn’t have that affect on me.
Ciaran flips open the first file and scans the assignment history. “Only a council member has the authority to adjust quadrant oversight without raising immediate questions.”
Alden’s jaw tightens slightly. “You are narrowing quickly.”
“I am narrowing logically,” Ciaran replies. “Lower ranks do not touch rotation timing. That requires influence.”
I lean against the wooden desk and look at the names. Some are repeated across quadrants. Some have consistent oversight in the eastern boundary where the gap formed.
“You think this sits at council level,” I say. I still don’t understand the inner workings of Alden’s pack, or really what he is, but I heard them talk about a council before.
Ciaran glances at me. “If someone is bold enough to manipulate patrol timing repeatedly, they are confident they will not be challenged.”
Alden’s gaze shifts to him. “You will monitor quietly.”
Ciaran nods once. “I will begin tracking routine adjustments and cross-referencing who signs off on them.”
“No accusations,” Alden says.
“Not without proof,” Ciaran answers.
I tap the corridor zone on the tablet. “We can force movement.”
Both men look at me.
“If the rogue uses this gap consistently, we close it and watch what shifts,” I continue. “But we also set bait.”
Alden’s brows draw slightly together. “Explain.”
“I can requisition additional trail cameras from the agency,” I say. “Not mounted low like before. High canopy placements. Angled lenses. Out of easy reach.”
Ciaran studies the map again. “If the rogue approaches the corridor after adjustment, we capture it.”
“And if someone adjusts patrol timing in response,” I add, “we capture that too.”
Alden’s eyes remain on mine. “You would be placing equipment inside pack territory,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. “Under supervision.”
His hesitation is visible in the slight tightening of his mouth.
“I lost six cameras last time,” I continue. “This time I place them differently. Concealed mounts. Redundant angles. Encrypted storage.”
“You would not upload externally,” Alden says.
“I can store footage locally,” I answer. “Air-gapped drives. No cloud access.”
Ciaran shifts his weight, considering. “Placement would require access beyond the lower boundary.”
“It would,” I agree.
Alden moves around the desk slowly, closing the space between us until I can feel the heat of him at my side. He studies the map over my shoulder, close enough that his breath brushes my hair.
“You are asking for trust,” he says quietly.
“I am asking for data,” I reply.
His shoulder brushes mine as he leans in, and the contact lingers a fraction too long to be purely incidental. My pulse jumps, which irritates me, because I am knee deep in a conspiracy discussion and my body has decided now is the time to be aware of him.
“You will not roam freely,” he says. “Two guards minimum, and Ciaran oversees placement.”
Ciaran nods once. “I will select the team personally.”
Alden’s gaze never leaves my face. “You place them at dusk. Reduced visibility from town.”
“That works,” I say.
“And you report directly here,” he adds. “No external disclosure.”
I hold his gaze. “Agreed.”
The approval does not come easily.
He studies me for another long moment, as if measuring risk against necessity, and something else that feels less clinical and more personal.
“Very well,” he says finally. “You place your cameras.”
Relief mixes with adrenaline, dangerously close to satisfaction.
“I will need access to the east ridge line,” I say. “Specifically the corridor zone.”
“You will have it,” he replies. “Under guard.”
Ciaran gathers the council files into a tighter stack. “I will begin discreet monitoring immediately. If a council member is adjusting rotations, we will see the pattern.”
Alden nods once. “Quietly.”
The room falls into a brief silence that hums with contained tension.
I gather my tablet and slide it into my bag. As I turn toward the door, Alden’s hand closes lightly around my wrist. The contact is firm but not forceful.
“Do not underestimate what you are stepping into,” he says.
His thumb rests against my pulse point, and the sensation is both grounding and distracting.
“I am not fragile,” I reply.
His eyes darken slightly. “That is not what concerns me.” The implication hangs there, layered and deliberate.
Ciaran clears his throat softly.
Alden releases me, though the warmth of his hand lingers on my skin longer than it should.
I step into the hallway, adjusting the strap of my bag as I go. The estate corridor feels different now, charged with awareness. Conversations that were muted earlier grow quieter as I pass.
“She influences him,” a voice whispers near the staircase.
“A human in council matters,” another replies.
“That is not tradition.”
I keep walking, posture straight, expression neutral.
“If he bends for her, he bends for more,” someone mutters.
I note the tone more than the words. Jealousy. Suspicion. Fear.
The foyer is already full when I arrive, and the whispers shift into something softer but no less pointed.
“Temporary protection becomes permanent weakness.”
“Or permanent change.”
I step out into the afternoon light without reacting.
The stone steps are warm beneath my boots, and the forest beyond the estate looks deceptively calm. Behind me, the murmurs continue in low currents, threading through the walls like a warning.
I do not look back. I file the complaints away for later.
Tonight, we set the bait.
And someone inside that house will feel the trap tighten.