Chapter 18 Alden #2
Two deer carcasses, killed and left within forty yards of the county highway on the southern border. Positioned, not dragged bodies oriented toward the road with the deliberate staging I've come to recognize as the rogue's signature.
A driver already filmed one before patrol could respond, and within two hours Ciaran confirmed the footage was spreading across local news feeds and social media accounts from three counties over.
By midday the calls started coming into the Briar Ridge sheriff's station.
By late afternoon, trucks with out-of-county plates had begun appearing at the lower forest trailheads, rifle cases visible through rear windows, orange vests, trail cameras in hand.
Men who'd watched a video on their phones and decided proximity to something dangerous was preferable to sitting at home.
I stand at the war room window and watch the treeline.
"Six vehicles confirmed at the southern access," Ciaran says from the doorway behind me. "Two more at the old logging road. They're staying outside the marked boundary for now, but they're moving closer each time patrol checks."
"Shadow them." I don't turn from the window.
"Two-person teams, human form, full distance.
No engagement unless they cross the boundary line with weapons raised.
" I pause. "Keep the younger wolves off this rotation.
Anyone still learning to hold their shift under pressure stays inside the mansion perimeter. "
"Done." Ciaran hesitates. "Gideon's been talking to the patrol leads."
"Saying what?"
"That you're letting a threat sit on our doorstep. That the hunters could solve the rogue problem faster than we can." He lets that land. "A few of the younger enforcers are listening."
I don't answer immediately. I'm watching a figure cross the courtyard below. Gideon, moving with the unhurried purposefulness of a man who knows he's being watched and doesn't mind. He disappears toward the east wing.
Twenty minutes later he's in my doorway.
He doesn't knock, but he does stop at the threshold rather than walking in, a bold statement.
His deep-set eyes move across the patrol maps pinned to the wall before they settle on me, and his expression carries the particular patience of someone who believes the conversation is already going his way.
"The hunters solve your problem," he says.
"Let them in. Let them work the southern corridor, draw out the rogue, and pull back once it's done.
The town quiets, the media attention dies, the council pressure eases.
" He spreads one hand slightly. "You come out of this looking like a leader who made a practical call. "
"The hunters aren't looking for one rogue," I say. "They're looking for wolves."
"They’re looking for whatever killed those deer on the highway."
"Which is a wolf. So, they'll take whatever wolf they can find and call it a success.
" I turn from the window to face him directly.
"If one of ours is in wolf form when they come through that corridor, we don't get a retraction.
We get a mounted head and a story that brings federal wildlife officers into these mountains for the next decade. "
Gideon's expression doesn't shift. "Our people are disciplined enough to stay in human form."
"Our people are disciplined under normal conditions.
Not under active provocation with armed strangers in their territory.
" I step toward the desk, keeping the distance between us deliberate.
"One juvenile. One enforcer who shifts before he thinks because a rifle goes off too close. That's all it takes."
"You're manufacturing worst-case scenarios."
"I'm accounting for them." I hold his gaze.
"The rogue's kills are staged near highways and town borders with consistent visibility.
He's not escalating out of instinct, he's escalating to be seen.
To draw exactly the kind of attention that's now sitting at our tree line.
" I watch his face carefully as I continue.
"Someone is guiding that behavior. Inviting hunters inside the forest is not a solution.
It's the next step in a sequence someone else planned. "
Something moves behind his eyes. It's there for half a second and then it's gone, replaced by the same composed skepticism he's worn since he walked in.
"You're reaching," he says.
"I'm leading." The patrol map draws my gaze. "The patrols shadow the hunters and hold the line. That's the decision."
Gideon stays in the doorway for a moment longer than he needs to.
The silence carries weight, though neither of us fills it.
Then he turns to leave, and he's nearly through the door when Ciaran appears at the other end of the corridor, moving with the particular pace that means he has information that won't wait.
Gideon stops.
Ciaran looks between us. "The archive keeper confirmed the Blood Moon timing this morning." His ice-blue eyes settle on me, then slide briefly to Gideon and back. "Seven nights."
The three of us stand in a corridor that suddenly feels very small.
Gideon gives me a blank look, giving nothing away, appearing somewhere between calculation and satisfaction, like a man watching a clock he set himself finally reach the hour.
"Seven nights," he says quietly, and leaves without another word.
I look at the patrol map on my desk. The red marks. The blue gaps. The careful, systematic shape of something built long before any of us were ready for it.
"Silent investigation," I say to Ciaran. "Move faster."