Chapter 12 In His Own Hand
Ilse sent word two days later.
The message came through one of the council clerks — a folded note, delivered to my study with the kind of discretion that suggested Ilse had been careful about who else knew it was being sent. The record has been verified. No further alterations found. It's ready whenever you are.
I'd spent those two days in a strange suspended state — present for the check-ins, present for the small, growing warmth of whatever was developing between Marlowe and me, present for council business that still needed running despite everything else happening underneath it.
But underneath all of that presence, a part of me had been waiting.
Bracing. The way you brace before stepping into cold water, knowing it's coming, knowing it's going to be unpleasant, and still somehow never quite ready for the actual moment of impact.
I went to Ilse's office that evening, after the day's business was done, after the check-in with Marlowe — which had ended, that day, with her hand lingering in mine a moment longer than necessary, and a look on her face that I recognized, now, as the particular expression of someone working up the courage to say something difficult.
She hadn't said it yet. I hadn't pushed.
There would be time, I'd told myself. There would be time for both of us to say the things we were each, apparently, working up to.
Ilse's office was lit by a single lamp when I arrived, the same careful, dim lighting I'd used in the records office two nights before, and on her desk, the sealed envelope sat waiting — no longer sealed, I noticed, the wax broken, the contents already removed and laid out in a neat stack beside it.
"I read it," Ilse said quietly, before I could ask. "I needed to, Alpha — to verify the contents, to make sure nothing had been damaged or removed. I'm sorry. I know it's not mine to read. But I needed to be certain."
"I understand." I sat down across from her, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. "How bad is it?"
Ilse's expression didn't shift, but something in her eyes did — a kind of careful sorrow, the look of someone who'd spent two days carrying something heavy and hadn't yet found a way to set it down.
"I think you should read it yourself, Alpha.
I don't think my summary would do it justice, in either direction.
" She slid the stack of papers across the desk toward me — more than I'd expected, several pages, dense with the careful, formal handwriting of a council scribe taking detailed notes in real time.
"I'll leave you to it, if you'd like. Or I can stay. Whatever you need."
"Stay," I said, after a moment. "If that's all right. I think I'd rather not be alone with this."
Ilse nodded, and moved to a chair near the window, giving me space but not leaving the room, and I picked up the first page and began to read.
Transcript of Council Session — Full Proceedings Subject: Termination Review, Luna Candidacy — W. Calloway Recorded by: H. Sorne, Council Scribe
Present: Alpha R. Voss; Candidate W. Calloway; Council members [six names follow]; Acting Enforcer D. Voss
Session opened at the request of Acting Enforcer D. Voss, citing "urgent matters requiring immediate Alpha attention."
[D. Voss]: Alpha, before we proceed with the evening's other business, there's a matter that requires your immediate ruling. The candidate has made a disclosure that the council believes warrants formal review.
[Alpha R. Voss]: What disclosure?
[D. Voss]: Perhaps it would be best if the candidate spoke for herself.
[Candidate W. Calloway]: Roman — I need to tell you something. I'm pregnant. I found out three days ago. I wanted to tell you privately, but—
[D. Voss]: With respect, candidate, matters affecting Luna succession are not private matters. The council has a right to be informed.
[Candidate W. Calloway]: This isn't a "matter affecting Luna succession," this is — Roman, are you all right? You look—
[Note from scribe: At this point, the Alpha's demeanor changed noticeably. Subject's posture became rigid, eyes lost focus, expression went notably blank. This shift was sudden — occurring within the span of several seconds — and was remarked upon by multiple council members present.]
[Council member, name redacted in transcript]: Alpha? Are you well?
[Alpha R. Voss]: I'm fine.
[Note from scribe: Subject's voice during this exchange and for the remainder of the session was notably flat, lacking the inflection typical of the Alpha's normal speech patterns. Several council members exchanged visibly concerned glances, though none interrupted further.]
[D. Voss]: Alpha, given the gravity of this disclosure, the council believes it falls to you to determine the candidacy's status.
A pregnancy occurring before formal confirmation of the Luna bond raises — complications.
Questions of legitimacy. Questions of whether the candidate has been entirely forthcoming about the nature of her — relationships, prior to and during the candidacy period.
[Candidate W. Calloway]: What is he talking about? Roman, there's no "complications," there's no — I haven't been with anyone else, you know that, you KNOW that—
[D. Voss]: The candidate's protests are noted for the record.
Alpha, the question before you is simple: does the candidacy proceed, with all the complications a premature pregnancy introduces — complications that will follow this pack for a generation, that will raise questions about succession, about legitimacy, about whether this pack's next Luna was selected through proper process or through — circumstance.
Or does the candidacy terminate, cleanly, now, before those complications take root?
[Alpha R. Voss]: The candidacy terminates.
[Candidate W. Calloway]: Roman— what? What are you— Roman, look at me. Look at me, please—
[Note from scribe: The Alpha did not look at the candidate during this exchange. Subject's gaze remained fixed on a point above and beyond the candidate, eyes notably unfocused. Subject's hands, resting on the table, did not move throughout.]
[Alpha R. Voss]: I reject the bond. On personal grounds. The candidacy is terminated, effective immediately.
[Candidate W. Calloway]: No — no, that's not — Roman, you don't mean that, I know you don't mean that, please, just LOOK at me, please—
[D. Voss]: The Alpha has spoken. The candidacy is terminated. Candidate Calloway, you understand that per pack protocol, you'll need to vacate territory by morning. The council appreciates your service during the candidacy period and wishes you well in your future endeavors.
[Candidate W. Calloway]: This isn't— this is wrong, something's wrong, can't anyone else SEE that something's wrong with him—
[Council member, name redacted]: Acting Enforcer, perhaps we should adjourn — the candidate is understandably distressed, and the Alpha appears to require—
[D. Voss]: The Alpha has made his ruling.
The matter is concluded. I'll see to the candidate's departure arrangements personally — there's no need for further discussion tonight.
Alpha, perhaps you should retire. It's been a difficult evening, and you've borne the weight of a great deal these past months. The council understands.
[Note from scribe: The Alpha rose and exited the chamber without further comment, walking with the same unfocused affect noted throughout the session.
The candidate remained, visibly distressed, and was escorted from the chamber by D.
Voss approximately two minutes later. Session formally closed by D. Voss in the Alpha's absence.]
[End of transcript.]
I read it three times.
The first time, I read it the way you read something in shock — fast, the words barely registering as meaning, just shapes on a page that my mind kept trying and failing to connect to anything real.
The second time, I read it slower, and felt something cold settle into my chest with each line — subject's posture became rigid.
Eyes lost focus. Subject's voice... notably flat.
Subject's gaze remained fixed on a point above and beyond the candidate.
A scribe, sitting in that room, watching me — watching some version of me — go somewhere else entirely while my mouth kept moving, while words came out that ended a bond, ended a relationship, ended a life I hadn't even known I'd been living.
And Marlowe. Roman, are you all right? You look— and then, No — no, that's not — Roman, you don't mean that, I know you don't mean that, please, just LOOK at me, please—
She'd known. In the moment, in real time, she'd known something was wrong.
She'd asked if I was all right before any of the rest of it happened — before Desmond had even finished his question about complications and legitimacy.
And then she'd watched whatever was wrong with me get used, immediately, ruthlessly, to end everything between us, while she begged me to look at her and I — whatever was left of me, in that chamber — hadn't.
The third time I read it, I focused on Desmond.
With respect, candidate, matters affecting Luna succession are not private matters.
The very first thing out of his mouth, before anyone else had said a word — establishing, immediately, that this was council business, that Marlowe didn't get privacy, didn't get to tell me something this significant in private, the way any normal couple would have had the chance to do.
Questions of legitimacy. Questions of whether the candidate has been entirely forthcoming.
An accusation, dropped into the room with no evidence behind it at all, designed — I could see it now, with horrible clarity — not to be believed, exactly, but to create exactly enough doubt, exactly enough chaos, to make the next question land as reasonable .
Does the candidacy proceed, with all the complications...
or does the candidacy terminate, cleanly, now, before those complications take root?