Chapter 27 Cassidy
CASSIDY
The scent of damp wood and old gun oil linger in the air at the cabin. Ciaran pulls the tarp back from the remaining ammunition crates while I crouch beside him and work through the documentation I started the last time I was here, before Kieran's shoulder interrupted the process.
"These are the same crates," I say, photographing the stenciling on the nearest one. "Same military surplus markings. Same bungee cord fastening."
"I see them," Ciaran says.
"I'm narrating for the record," I tell him. "If this ends up in front of Brynn, I want a documented chain of evidence."
He grunts in agreement and moves to check the second crate while I work the first.
The stenciling runs along the upper left corner—lot numbers, shipping codes, a supplier designation I've seen before. I photograph it three times from different angles, then hold the camera still and read it.
The supplier stamp reads *Vantage Ridge Supply Co.* followed by a distributor code.
I sit back on my heels. "Ciaran."
"I see it," he says, from the second crate. He's crouching over it, ice-blue eyes moving across the same stamp. "Vantage Ridge is a licensed outfitter supplier. I've seen that name in Gideon's financial correspondence—he's had dealings with them for at least two years."
"That's a direct link," I say. "Physical goods from a supplier he has a documented relationship with, found in a cabin being used to stage an operation against the pack."
"It's a link," he says carefully. "It's not proof of direction."
I look at him. "How much more do you need?"
"Enough that Gideon can't call it circumstantial and walk away from it." He straightens and looks at the crates for a moment. "That's why I'm here. To make sure whatever we bring back is airtight enough that nobody in that council can question the handling."
I hold his gaze. "You thought I might fabricate something."
"No, but the council won’t trust it coming from just you," he says.
"Right. I’m the untrustworthy outsider," I say with an eye roll.
"Exactly." He nods toward the crates, but grins to take the sting from his words. "Photograph everything. We take both crates back intact."
I finish the documentation—all four sides of each crate, the fastening, the tarp, the position relative to the cabin walls and the maps still pinned above the space where they sat.
By the time I'm done, I have forty-three photographs and a timestamp record that runs from entry to departure without a single gap.
Ciaran hauls the first crate toward the cabin door, and I take the second, and we load both into the truck he parked a quarter mile down the access road.
I'm stowing my camera when my phone buzzes. I check it, then look at Ciaran.
"I need twenty minutes," I say. "There's something I need to do before we go back."
He crosses his arms. "Define ‘something.’"
"The hunters are regrouping on the lower forest roads.
" I pull up the image folder on my phone and show him.
"I have photographic evidence of collusion to trespass on private posted property.
If I get it to Sheriff Graves before tonight, he can deploy deputies to the boundary roads and shut down the hunter threat without the pack engaging directly. "
Ciaran is quiet for a moment. "You want to meet with the county sheriff?"
"Graves is reasonable. He was cooperative when the rogue attacks first started. He's not going to like armed civilians trespassing on private land any more than Alden does, and he'll like the liability of something going wrong out there even less."
"And if he asks questions about the pack?"
"All he needs to know is about the trespassing. I can give him some scientific lingo to satisfy his curiosity about my investigation." I hold his gaze. "Twenty minutes, Ciaran. I'll be at the south boundary marker."
He looks at me for a long, drawn out moment. "Fifteen," he says.
Graves is a compact man in his fifties, weathered by his twenty years doing outdoor work in mountain counties, and he meets me at the boundary marker with his hands in his jacket pockets and the expression of a law enforcement officer who would rather be anywhere else.
"Dr. Ellis," he says. "You look like you've had a week."
"It’s been eventful," I say. "Thank you for meeting me."
"What've you got?"
I hand him the printed stills—eight of them, each one showing groups of armed men at access points along the lower forest roads, the posted boundary signs visible in frame, timestamps running along the bottom edge. He takes them and flips through the stack, his lips twitch.
"These are from your motion cameras?" he asks.
"I repositioned them on the access roads."
"Where exactly were these access points?" He taps the third photo.
"The south boundary access road, lower logging road junction, and the fire trail off County Route 9." I pull up the GPS coordinates on my phone and show him the map. "All three are within clearly posted no-trespass zones. The signs are visible in the photos."
Graves studies the coordinates. "Armed individuals on private posted land." He looks up. "With weapons?"
"Long rifles in most frames. One vehicle with a mounted spotlight rig." I meet his narrowed eyes. "This isn't a few individuals going too far on a hunt. It's organized."
"Organized coordinated trespass."
"Yeah, and they are armed. This is a disaster waiting to happen," I say.
Graves tucks the photos into his jacket. "I'll get two deputies on the boundary roads before dark. If we find armed individuals past the posted markers, we detain and process." He gives me a direct look. "You understand I can't act on anything unless they cross the property line.”
"That's all I'm asking," I say. "Keep the roads clear tonight."
He nods once, the decisive nod of someone who has already decided and is confirming it out loud. "Stay out of the way while we work the roads. We don’t want any mistakes."
"Understood," I say. "Thank you, Sheriff."
He heads back to his cruiser without ceremony, and I turn and walk back to where Ciaran is waiting at the truck. He's leaning against the driver's side with his arms folded, watching the road.
"Fourteen minutes," he says.
"Graves is deploying deputies to the boundary roads before dark," I tell him. "Armed trespass on posted private land. He'll detain anyone who crosses."
Ciaran's nods with a huff. "That handles the hunter threat without pack engagement."
"That was the point." I open the truck door. "Now let's get those crates to the clearing before anyone decides to move them."
The ritual clearing is already filling when we arrive.
Torches lined the outer ring, the council assembled under the stone arch, wolves in the full crescent formation getting ready for the main event. Ciaran and I carry the ammunition crates to the center of the space without stopping, and I set mine down in front of Brynn.
"Ammunition crates recovered from the hunting cabin," I say.
"Stenciled with a supplier designation—Vantage Ridge Supply Co.
—that appears in Gideon Rourke's documented financial dealings going back two years.
" I hand her the camera. "Forty-three photographs, timestamped, complete chain of custody from recovery to transport. "
Brynn takes the camera and examines the first several images with the careful attention she gives everything.
She passes it to Marek, who examines it and passes it down the council arc.
Gideon, standing at the far end, accepts the camera when it reaches him and looks at the screen for a moment before returning it to Ciaran.
"A supplier I've used for outfitting equipment," Gideon says. "That's not unusual."
"The crates were recovered from a cache used to stage armed trespass on Blackmoore land," I say.
"Allegedly," he replies.
Brynn holds up one hand to stop us. "We will examine the physical evidence.
" She nods to two council members, who move to inspect the crates directly—reading the stamps, examining the contents, making notes.
Brynn watches without rushing them. Then she looks toward the holding room door, and two guards bring Kieran forward.
He looks worse than he did when I hit him with the dart. The grogginess still hasn't fully cleared, and he stumbles over his own feet, bags under his eyes. Evidence of what an elephant tranquilizer feels like hours later.
The guards position him under the council arch, and Brynn faces him with the same steady authority she gives everything.
"Kieran Rourke," she says. "You have been told the terms of your testimony. Do you understand them?"
"Yes," he says. His voice is quiet.
"Speak up," she says. "Did Gideon Rourke instruct you to alter patrol route assignments?"
Kieran looks at his father across the clearing. Gideon looks back at him with an empty expression that indicates Kieran has become a liability.
Whatever Kieran was looking for in that look, he doesn't find it, and bows his head.
"Yes," he says louder. "He authorized the changes and told me which corridors to open and when."
Murmurs move through the outer ring. Brynn lets them talk, then her staff comes down with a loud clack.
"Did he tell you why?" she asks.
"He said it was to expose weaknesses in the current patrol structure." Kieran pauses. "He didn't tell me it was to route the rogue through them."
"Did he instruct you to abduct Dr. Ellis?"
"Yes."
Gideon steps forward. "The boy is confused and poorly recovered from a chemical sedative." His voice is controlled. "His account is a product of suggestion and a compromised state, not reliable testimony."
"He answered direct questions," I say.
"He answered them after hours in a holding cell with access only to people who have a stake in his answers." Gideon turns to Brynn. "Matriarch. A son testifying against a father, after detention, without independent corroboration. The council cannot accept that as sufficient."
Brynn doesn't respond immediately. She looks at the crates, at the camera Ciaran holds, at Kieran's face, at Gideon's composed and patient expression. The clearing waits.
"The physical evidence establishes a supplier connection," she says finally, "not a chain of command.
Kieran's testimony establishes direction on patrol alterations, but without documented instruction it remains circumstantial.
" She looks at me directly, and something flickers in her amber eyes that is not indifference.
"The council cannot bar the duel on this basis.
The evidence is significant but not dispositive. "
I stare at her mouth agape.
She holds my gaze steadily, and in that steadiness is the thing she can't say out loud: that she believes me, and she can't act on belief alone, and she's sorry this is the answer she has to give. She’s bound by pack law.
"Understood," I say.
I find Alden at the outer edge of the clearing afterward, and he takes my hand, squeezing my fingers warmly.
"It wasn't enough," I say.
"No." He looks deeply into my eyes. "But you found what there was to find, Cassidy. And it's on record now."
"I wanted to stop this before it started, to prevent this duel.” I look at the cleared ground in the middle of the ritual ring, the space that in two hours will be a fight to the death. "I couldn't."
"You handled the hunters," he says. "The perimeter is clear, the council has the crates, Kieran's testimony is recorded." He steps closer. "You did everything you could, and more than anyone asked you to."
"That's not as comforting as you think," I say.
The corner of his mouth quirks. "I know." His hand comes to the side of my face for a moment, warm and certain, and then drops. "I'm going to win this."
"I know you think that..."
"I know it," he says. "Stay at the outer ring. Don't come inside the stones."
Midnight tolls from the estate bell tower, one slow strike after another, and the sound moves through the clearing like a tide coming in.
The pack stills. The torches burn but flicker in the rising wind.
Gideon steps to his side of the ritual ring and faces Alden across the cleared ground, and the expression he wears is the one I've been watching him prepare for weeks.
Alden steps into the ring.
He doesn't look back.
I press my hands together in front of my mouth and watch him go.