7. Juniper
JUNIPER
By the time I reach what I’m guessing is pride headquarters, I’ve already rehearsed this argument three different ways. None of them end with me being polite.
The building itself is exactly what I expected and somehow worse—large, solid, deliberately unassuming.
I don’t knock. If he gets to make declarations about me in public, he can deal with me showing up uninvited.
The room inside goes quiet almost immediately. Good. Let them watch.
A handful of shifters are scattered through the space—talking, moving, working—but every single one of them goes still the second I step in. Their attention shifts. Locks. Tracks.
Not hostile. Not exactly. But aware. Very aware.
“Where is he?” I ask.
No one answers right away. Then?—
“Office,” someone says, jerking their chin toward a hallway.
I don’t thank them. I head straight for it.
I don’t bother knocking. I shove the door open and step inside. Malachi looks up from behind his desk like he’s been expecting this. Of course he has.
“You made an announcement,” I say.
No greeting. No preamble. He leans back slightly in his chair, expression calm.
“Yes.”
That’s it. That’s the response. I stare at him.
“You don’t even want to pretend that was a discussion?”
“There was nothing to discuss.”
“Right,” I say. “Because my autonomy isn’t relevant here.”
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“Your safety is.”
“I was handling my safety just fine before you decided to turn me into a public statement.”
“You triggered a magical trap designed to take you out,” he says evenly. “That changes the situation.”
“It doesn’t give you the right to make decisions for me.”
“It gives me the responsibility to respond to a threat in my territory.”
“There it is again,” I snap. “Your territory.”
“It’s not just a phrase.”
“And I’m not just a problem for you to manage.”
“You’re not a problem,” he says.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Silence stretches. Then?—
“You’re a target,” he corrects.
That stops me. I hate that it stops me.
“Explain,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“The trap you triggered wasn’t reactive,” he says. “It was designed. Placed. Waiting for interference.”
“I figured that out.”
“Which means whoever set it expected someone with your skillset to find it.”
I cross my arms, leaning back against the door.
“And?”
“And that makes you a priority.”
I don’t like the way he says that. Too certain. Too grounded in something I can’t easily argue with.
“Or,” I counter, “it means I’m the first person who’s gotten close enough to disrupt what they’re doing.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
No. They’re not. And that’s the problem. I exhale slowly, forcing my frustration into something more useful.
“You went public,” I say. “Why?”
“To make it clear you’re not alone.”
“That’s not how it reads.”
“It is to the people who matter.”
I study him for a second. He believes that. Not as a power move. As strategy. As protection. That doesn’t make it less infuriating.
“You just made me very visible,” I say. “If someone is targeting me, that doesn’t scare them off. It tells them I’m important.”
“It tells them there are consequences.”
“It tells them you care.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. His expression doesn’t change. But something in the air does. Tightens.
“Of course I care,” he says.
And there’s no hesitation in it. No calculation. Just fact. I look away first. Annoying.
Very annoying.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Let’s say you’re right.”
His brows lift slightly.
“That’s a first.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I snap. “I’m not agreeing with your methods. I’m acknowledging the situation.”
“Which is?”
“That someone set a trap for me,” I say. “Which means they’re aware of me. Which means they’re either watching… or they anticipated me before I even got here.”
“Both are possible.”
“Neither are comforting.”
“No.”
I push off the door and step further into the room.
“Your protection stays,” I say. “For now.”
His gaze sharpens again.
“Temporary,” I add.
“Understood.”
“Conditional.”
“On what?”
“You don’t interfere with my work,” I say. “You don’t assign me an escort like I’m incapable of handling myself, and you definitely don’t make any more public declarations about me without asking.”
A pause. Then?—
“No.”
I stare at him.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
I laugh.
“Wow. You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”
“And you’re not realistic if you think I’m stepping back after what happened out there.”
“I’m not asking you to step back. I’m telling you not to take over.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“So am I.”
“And you nearly got yourself killed doing it.”
“I handled it.”
“You survived it.”
“We’ve had this argument.”
“And we’re going to keep having it until you understand the difference.”
I step closer, closing the distance without thinking about it.
“Or,” I say, voice low, “you could understand that I don’t need you hovering over me every time I do my job.”
His gaze drops briefly—to the space between us, to the tension that seems to exist whether we acknowledge it or not—then lifts back to mine.
“That’s not what this is,” he says.
“Then what is it?”
A beat. Then?—
“You matter.”
The words land harder than they should. I hate that. I hate that my chest tightens before I can shut it down.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever that was.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s your version of it,” I correct. “And I’m not interested.”
Something flickers in his expression. Gone too fast to name. Good. Let him be unsettled for once.
“Fine,” I say, stepping back. “We work in parallel. You handle your people. I handle the magic.”
Silence. Measured. Evaluated. Then?—
“Dominic,” Malachi calls.
The door opens almost immediately. Efficient. A man steps in—broad, steady, eyes sharp.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Bring them in,” Malachi says.
Dominic’s gaze flicks to me briefly, something like recognition there, then he nods.
“On it.”
He disappears again just as quickly. I glance back at Malachi.
“‘Bring them in’?” I ask. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s practical.”
“For who?”
“For you,” he says.
I narrow my eyes slightly.
“I’m starting to think you don’t understand how reassuring you aren’t.”
“So I’ve been told.”
A few minutes later, Dominic returns with three people. All shifters. All watching me with varying levels of curiosity and caution.
“This is Juniper,” Dominic says. “She’s the one I told you about.”
“That’s comforting,” I mutter. “I love being discussed in rooms I’m not in.”
He ignores that.
“These are some of the ones I mentioned,” he says to me. “Behavior changes. Subtle, but consistent.”
I study them more closely. Now that I’m looking for it?—
Yeah. There. Faint..
“Can I?” I ask, gesturing toward them.
Dominic nods.
“Go ahead.”
I step closer, focusing, letting my senses shift just enough to read what’s beneath the surface. It’s the same pattern. Same structure. Same careful manipulation. Not strong enough to override them completely. Just enough to nudge. Influence. Guide.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s not natural.”
One of them stiffens. “What do you mean?”
“I mean someone’s been messing with your instincts,” I reply. “Subtly. Over time.”
“How many?” Malachi asks.
I glance at him. Then at the others. Then beyond them—past the walls, past the building, toward the town I mapped last night. The nodes. The connections. The pattern. My stomach drops.
“Not just them,” I say.
“How many, Juniper?”
I meet his gaze.
“All of them.”
Silence. Heavy. Immediate.
“Define ‘all,’” Dominic says carefully.
I exhale slowly.
“I think,” I say, “this entire town is being manipulated.”
No one speaks. No one moves. The problem feels exactly as big as it actually is.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Yeah.”
I look back at Malachi.
“This is bad.”
He doesn’t argue. Of course he doesn’t. He already knows.