I returned to the pack house at dawn to retrieve my files.
Five years of documentation lived in the small office adjacent to Nicolas's study—territorial boundary agreements, tribunal precedents, correspondence logs I had organized when he was too proud to admit he needed help. I needed them for the tribunal. The law was specific about evidence presentation, and I had every citation memorized, but the physical records would carry more weight before witnesses.
The corridor was empty when I entered. The morning shift had not yet begun, and the night sentries were changing posts. I moved quickly, pulling folders from the cabinet and stacking them in the canvas bag I had brought. My hands were steady. The bond-withdrawal nausea had faded to a dull ache I could breathe through.
I was reaching for the last folder when her scent hit me.
Fresh roses and citrus, threaded now with pine and iron. Nicolas's claim, woven through her like a signature. Eva stepped into the doorway and released it deliberately—a wave that filled the small office, calibrated to saturate the air between us. She wanted me to smell what she had taken.
I kept my face blank and continued packing.
"Adeline," she said. Her voice was warm, almost friendly. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I'm collecting my files," I said without looking up. "I'll be gone in a moment."
She moved further into the room. I could feel her watching me, cataloging my posture, my breathing, the steadiness of my hands. She was looking for the flinch. The collapse. The visible proof that the rejection had broken something inside me that would stay broken.
I gave her nothing.
"You should know," she said, louder now, "my uncle will be visiting Ironridge within the month. He holds a senior advisory position in the Lycan King's inner court. He's very eager to formalize our alliance."
I zipped the bag closed and straightened. Two other wolves had appeared in the corridor behind her—a Beta and a young Gamma, both pretending they were not listening. Eva had positioned herself so they would hear every word.
"That's wonderful," I said evenly. "I'm sure the pack will benefit."
Her smile tightened. She had expected something else. Anger, maybe. Or desperation. The composure seemed to irritate her more than tears would have.
"You're still here," she said. The warmth in her voice had cooled. "I would have thought you'd leave by now. It must be uncomfortable, staying in a pack where you're no longer wanted."
I slung the bag over my shoulder and met her gaze directly. "I invoked tribunal rights," I said. "I'll leave when the law says I leave."
I walked past her. She did not move out of the way. I had to angle my shoulder to avoid contact, and she let me, her smile returning as I stepped into the corridor. Behind me, I heard her release her scent again—a final wave, deliberate and thick. The Beta and Gamma dropped their eyes as I passed.
I kept walking.
By afternoon, Eva had moved into the Luna quarters.
I heard about it from the kitchen staff when I stopped at the edge of pack house territory to fill my water canteen. The Omegas were clustered near the service entrance, voices low and tense. They went quiet when they saw me, but one of them—an older woman named Mara—held my gaze and gave a small, grim nod.
"She's issuing orders already," Mara said quietly. "Reassignments. New protocols. She wants everyone to know she's in charge."
I filled the canteen without responding. There was nothing I could say that would help them.
Then I heard Dara's name.
I found her an hour later in the common room, scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. Her face was blotchy and red, her hands shaking as she worked the brush across the stone. A dozen wolves lingered at the edges of the room—some eating, some pretending to read, all of them watching her.
Eva stood near the hearth, arms crossed, her expression serene.
"Disloyalty," Eva was saying, her voice carrying easily across the room, "is not tolerated in this pack. Anyone who shows kindness to the former mate demonstrates a lack of respect for their Alpha's chosen Luna. Dara brought water to someone who no longer holds standing here. That was a choice. Choices have consequences."
Dara kept scrubbing. Her shoulders were hunched, her head down. She did not look up.
"She's been reassigned," Eva continued. "Kitchen duty is a privilege. Latrine duty is where she belongs now. Let this be a lesson."
I felt my wolf stir. Not a scream this time. Something sharper. Something that wanted to surface and sink teeth into soft flesh. I pressed two fingers to the dead mark on my neck and breathed slowly until the urge passed.
A figure moved in the doorway. The Delta warrior—Lena—stood watching, her jaw tight, her hand resting on the hilt of the blade at her belt. Our eyes met across the room. She gave a single, deliberate nod, then turned and left.
I waited until Eva had gone before approaching Dara. The girl looked up, her eyes wide and frightened.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to—"
"You did nothing wrong," I said quietly. "Keep your head down. This won't last."
She nodded, but I could see she did not believe me.
Lena came to the cabin that evening.
She did not knock. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, a leather journal in her hand. She set it on the table between us without preamble.
"I've been keeping records," she said. "Since Eva arrived. Every incident. Dates, locations, witnesses. She's been using her supposed Lycan connections to threaten anyone who questions her. She thinks she's untouchable."
I opened the journal. Page after page of entries, written in Lena's precise hand. Names I recognized. Incidents I had heard whispers about but never seen documented. The humiliation of Dara was already recorded, dated this afternoon, witnesses listed.
"I have three others willing to testify," Lena continued. "Wolves who watched Nicolas assign you Omega labor while keeping your bond secret. Wolves who heard Eva's threats. They're afraid, but they'll speak if you invoke them at tribunal."
I looked up at her. "Why are you doing this?"
Her jaw tightened. "Because someone should," she said. "And because I'm coming to that tribunal regardless. This isn't a request."
She left the journal on the table and walked out.
I sat alone in the cabin as the light faded, the journal open in front of me, and felt my wolf stir again. Not rage this time. Something colder. Something that felt like strategy.
The tribunal was five days away.
