14. Trust me, please
I'm surprised to wake up to muffled noises outside my room. I can't believe I actually slept, somehow without the nightmares I usually have. Apparently my brain was too exhausted to even manufacture its usual lineup of childhood trauma highlights for my nighttime entertainment.
I lift myself slowly from my bed, wondering for a second why my legs feel so strained—until I remember the walk. I haven't had to walk or run like that in a long time, and my body is sore. Just as I start to reach for my shoes on the ground, a woman's voice drifts through the wall.
"We absolutely can't trust her, especially after reading this."
"We need her," another voice responds—deeper, familiar.
"We don't. We can just end it here." She emphasizes the word end, and I freeze. What exactly am I listening to right now?
"End it? Okay. Let's play this through—deaths on both sides—"
"We are stronger," she cuts him off.
"NOW we are," he responds, clearly annoyed. "But I promise you they will come for us, and—"
"We could still win. We could form an alliance with the other packs."
"Yes, we possibly would win—" he concedes, though I can tell he wants to make another point, but she doesn't let him finish.
"So let's—"
"NO." His voice cuts through hers, and I hear the woman take a sharp breath. Silence stretches between them. "We would lose our own too. I will not sacrifice them." She doesn't respond.
"We have to be strategic, and we need to use her," he continues.
"And how will you make sure we can trust her? She knows too much. What if we can't? We can never send her back if she turns out to be untrustworthy."
That doesn't sound good. What if they decide they can't trust me? What if they keep me captive here?
I glance around the small room, considering other escape routes. The window maybe? I put on my shoes as quietly as possible, trying to tiptoe toward it.
"Well, Communicator, why don't you come out and tell us if we can trust you?" The voice comes from directly behind the door.
Damn wolf hearing.
I turn around and take a deep breath. Then another.
"Coming," I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
When I open the door, the Leader stands there with a woman I recognize from yesterday's meeting at the border—one of the pack representatives. This is the woman who wanted a life for a life. She looks even less pleased to see me now, if that's possible.
"Sleep well?" he asks, though it sounds more rhetorical than like a genuine question.
I answer anyway. "Well enough." I step out. "I heard you discussing my trustworthiness."
"Among other things," the woman states coldly.
"And what conclusion did you reach?" I ask.
"That remains to be seen," she replies sharply.
He gestures to the table. "Sit down."
Slowly, I make my way over and settle into a chair. He pulls up the seat next to me, positioning himself to face me directly.
"You're not gonna get on your knees this time?" The words slip out before I can stop them. Wonderful. Because what this situation really needs is my mouth making things worse.
He tilts his head slightly, and something that might be amusement flickers across his face before settling into that serious expression again.
"If you want me to, you should've just asked," he says, his voice carrying an undertone that makes my cheeks burn.
"I was being sarcastic," I manage to say, though my voice sounds less steady than I'd like.
"Were you?" He leans back in his chair, studying me with his eyes. "Good to know."
I open my mouth to respond, then close it again. This conversation has somehow gotten away from me entirely.
He straightens up, turning to the woman. "Sit," he gestures to the woman. "Our Communicator likes to speak at eye level."
Our Communicator.
The woman immediately sits down, hands planted on the table. "She is not our Communicator," she declares sharply.
"Well, she might become one," he remarks, "if she stops trying to escape out the window the moment she wakes up. She might actually be of use."
Oh, he heard that.
"Use?" The woman's voice drips with skepticism. "And why would she help us?" She leans forward. "What's in it for her?"
"Maybe she actually cares about justice," he replies, his eyes never leaving mine.
The woman laughs bitterly. I notice a file sitting on the table between us. She follows my gaze and picks it up, opening it deliberately.
"Speaking of justice," she begins, scanning the pages, "this makes for interesting reading."
My stomach drops. It's my file. How did they get my file?
"Would you like to summarize what it says?" the Leader asks her, though his tone suggests he already knows.
The woman's eyes find mine. "It says our Communicator has quite the personal history with wolves."
"What kind of history do you mean?" I ask, though I already know where this is heading.
"The kind that ends with dead mothers," she states bluntly.
The room goes silent. I can feel the Leader's eyes on me, watching my reaction carefully. His expression is unreadable, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rest motionless on the table.
"So you see," the woman continues, "forgive us if we're not entirely convinced of your objectivity."
"That was twenty years ago," I say quietly.
"And you think that makes it irrelevant?"
"I think it makes me understand loss," I reply, meeting her gaze. "Same as you do now."
"Loss?" She slams her hands down on the table. "Wolves killed your mother, and now you expect us to believe you don't want revenge? Isn't that why you became a Communicator? Admit it!"
The accusation hits like a slap. "Admit what?"
"That you blame wolves. Don't pretend you don't."
I feel something hot building in my chest. "You want to know what I blame?
I blame the fact that no one—human or wolf—seemed to care enough to prevent it.
I blame the system that let fear and hatred build.
I blame everyone who thought killing before talking was the only solution. That's who I blame."
"Pretty words," she dismisses.
"They're not just words." My voice is getting louder now, but I don't care. "You think I came here for revenge? You think I'd waste my life for something meaningless like that?"
"Why else would you be here?"
"Because maybe I don't want other kids to grow up without their mothers." I lean forward, matching her intensity. "Because maybe I actually believe we can do better than this cycle of violence." I pause, breathing deeply. "A cycle you seem so eager to continue."
"You don't know what you're talking about—"
"Don't I?" I cut her off. "You're sitting here, ready to judge me, but I'm not doing the same to you, am I? I'm not holding every wolf accountable for what happened to my family."
The woman's eyes narrow. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because we're not the aggressors here. We're defending ourselves."
"And my mother wasn't defending herself when she was killed?"
The question hangs in the air. I can see the woman struggling with it.
The Leader, who has been watching this exchange, finally steps in.
"That's enough," he says quietly. "We're not here to relive the past."
"Doesn't seem that way," I challenge, looking directly at him. I don't even care if they're stronger right now—I'm too angry about this whole conversation.
He meets my gaze directly. "The question is simple: Will you help us freely or not?"
I look between them, feeling the weight of everything that's led to this moment. "What exactly are you asking me to do?"
"What we discussed last night. Go back to town. Find proof of Miller's involvement."
"And if I can't find any proof?"
"Then we explore other options."
The woman shifts uncomfortably. "Other options that might require more... permanent solutions."
"You mean killing him," I state flatly.
"I mean stopping him," the Leader corrects. Whatever that means.
I stare at the file on the table, at my own history laid bare.
"If I do this," I say slowly, "I need your word that you won't act until I've had a chance to find the truth."
"You have it," he responds immediately.
The woman looks like she wants to object, but one glance from him silences her.
"And if I find evidence that Miller is behind this, what then?"
"Then we present it to the Central Authority. Let them handle it."
"And if they won't listen?"
"Then we handle it ourselves."
I nod slowly, "When do I leave?"
"Now," he says, standing up. "John is already looking for you."