I started working at night.
After Jude went to bed, after the pack house settled into its evening quiet, I would slip into the administrative office and pull files. Travel logs. Healer visit records. Treasury transfers. All of it within my Luna clearance—nothing I was doing was technically forbidden. I was just looking at things I'd never had reason to question before.
I told myself I was being thorough. Responsible. A good Luna keeps track of pack resources.
But my wolf knew better. She paced restlessly every time I opened a new file, her attention fixed and sharp in a way it hadn't been in years. She wasn't just watching. She was hunting.
The first night, I found the travel discrepancy I'd already confirmed—Malcolm in Europe while I hemorrhaged in the birthing room. I documented it anyway, taking photos with my phone, the blue light harsh against the dark office.
The second night, I cross-referenced healer visit logs with pack medical expenses. Arthur Vance's name appeared with unusual frequency in the months following my daughter's birth. Private consultations. Specialized treatments. All billed to the pack treasury, all marked "confidential Luna care."
I didn't remember half of those visits.
The third night, I found the transfers.
They started exactly one month after my daughter's death—or what I'd been told was her death. Monthly wire transfers to an account registered in Arthur Vance's name, categorized as "medical discretionary." The amounts were consistent. Substantial. Twelve transfers per year for three years.
I sat back in the chair, phone in hand, staring at the numbers on the screen.
Medical discretionary for what? The birth was over. I'd been cleared by the healer within six weeks. There was no ongoing treatment, no follow-up care that required this kind of sustained expense.
My wolf released a low growl.
I photographed every record. Every transfer date, every amount, every authorization signature. Malcolm's name appeared on most of them. His Beta had signed the rest.
I didn't understand what I was looking at yet. But I knew it was wrong. The same way I'd known the bond was wrong, the same cellular-level alarm that had been whispering to me for three years.
I closed the files, cleared my search history, and went back to the bedroom I no longer shared with my mate.
---
Eliana started spending time with Jude.
It began casually—she'd appear at the pack house in the afternoons, always with some small gift. A book about legendary Alphas. A training knife with a carved handle. Things that made Jude's face light up in a way I recognized, because I'd been the one making his face light up for three years.
She told him stories. About when he was a baby, before she left for Europe. About his first shift, his first words, moments Malcolm had never shared with me. She had a way of speaking to him that was warm and conspiratorial, like they were sharing secrets the rest of the world wasn't invited to hear.
I watched from the kitchen doorway one afternoon as she sat beside him on the couch, their heads bent close over a photo album I'd never seen before.
"Your father and I used to take you to the northern border every full moon," she said softly. "You loved watching the older wolves shift. You'd howl along with them, even though you were too young to understand what you were doing."
Jude laughed. It was a bright, unguarded sound.
"Sabrina never told me that," he said.
Eliana's smile didn't falter. "Well, she wouldn't know, would she? She wasn't there."
Something in her tone made my wolf's ears flatten.
I stepped into the room. "Jude, it's time for your homework."
He looked up, and for just a second, I saw something I'd never seen before—reluctance. Like I was interrupting something important.
"Can I finish looking at the pictures first?"
"Homework first," I said gently. "You can look at pictures later."
Eliana closed the album with a soft snap. "Of course. We don't want to interfere with Sabrina's schedule."
The words were perfectly polite. The tone underneath was not.
Jude gathered his things and headed upstairs. I stayed in the doorway, watching Eliana tuck the album into her bag.
"He's a wonderful boy," she said without looking at me. "Malcolm and I are very proud of him."
Malcolm and I.
Not we. Not the pack. Malcolm and I, like a unit I was not part of.
I pressed my fingertips to my mark. Still nothing.
"He is wonderful," I agreed quietly. "I've enjoyed raising him."
Eliana stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She met my eyes for the first time since I'd entered the room.
"Raising him," she repeated. "That's a very Luna word, isn't it? So administrative. So... temporary."
She walked past me, her shoulder brushing mine just enough to make the contact deliberate.
I stood in the empty living room, surrounded by the toys I'd organized and the books I'd read to Jude every night for three years, and my wolf growled low in my chest.
Something was happening. Something I couldn't name yet, couldn't see the full shape of.
But I was documenting it. Every file. Every transfer. Every shift in Jude's eyes when he looked at me.
And when I finally understood what I was looking at, I would be ready.
