Chapter 14
title: "The Double Edge" wordCount: 2242
The phone in Sloane's hand is still glowing with Mira's betrayal when Mira slams on the brakes and the car skids sideways into silence.
My head cracks against the window. The syringe—I dropped it. Somewhere on the floor. My fingers are numb where I grabbed Mira's wrist, twisted it away from my neck. The needle caught fabric, not skin. Close. Too close.
"Get out." Mira's voice is flat. She's not looking at me. "Get out of the car, Sloane."
"Yeah, no." I press my palm against the door, brace myself. The mate bond is a dull throb in my chest—Declan's still unconscious in the back, his breathing shallow. "You are going to explain what the hell—"
"I said get out." She turns. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. "Please."
The please does it. Not because I trust her. Because she sounds like someone who's been holding her breath for three days and finally broke the surface.
I open the door. Step onto cracked asphalt. We're in the industrial district, surrounded by warehouses with broken windows and graffiti tags. The kind of place where screaming does not bring help.
Mira gets out too. Leaves the engine running. She walks around the hood, stops five feet away. Far enough that I could run. Close enough that I could reach her if I wanted to break something.
"The text," I say. "The one Chen saw. Explain."
"It was my cover." She pulls out a cigarette, lights it with shaking hands. "I have been feeding Garrett information for three days. Small things. Useless things. Enough to keep him thinking I am his."
"And the part where you just tried to drug me?"
"I did not try." She takes a drag, exhales smoke into the cold air. "If I wanted you unconscious, you would be unconscious. I am very good at my job."
My nails dig into my palms. The scar through my eyebrow itches. "What job?"
"The one I have been doing since the night your family died." She meets my eyes. "I was there, Sloane. In the woods. I saw what they did."
The world tilts. I lock my knees, force myself to stay upright. "You were—"
"I was seventeen. New to Garrett's pack. He brought a dozen of us that night, said we were going to send a message to the Carrigans about territory disputes." She laughs, bitter and sharp. "We did not know it was a massacre until we got there. By then it was too late to stop it."
"But not too late to run."
"No." She drops the cigarette, grinds it under her heel. "Not too late to run. I stayed. I watched. I memorized every face, every name. And then I went back to Garrett's pack and I smiled and I waited."
"For what?"
"For you." She pulls her phone out again, scrolls through the messages. "These are real. The threats about Cara, the demands—all real. But the delivery instructions? Those were for the resistance. Not for Garrett."
I grab the phone. Read the messages again. The timestamps still show three days of conversation, but now I see the pattern. The threats are always vague, always about Cara's safety. Never specific locations. Never concrete demands. And the final message—the one about delivering the package—it is addressed to someone named T.L., not Garrett.
"Who is T.L.?"
"Tobias Lao. Conclave arbiter. He has been investigating Garrett for two years." She takes the phone back. "I have been his inside source. Feeding him evidence. Building a case."
"And Declan?" My throat is tight. "Did you know about him?"
"I knew he was there that night. I knew he worked for Garrett. I knew he left the pack three years ago and has been trying to—" She stops. "It was not my story to tell."
"Yeah, no, you do not get to decide what I need to know about the man who—"
"Who what?" She steps closer. "Who killed your family? He did not. I was there. I saw who gave the orders, who struck the killing blows. Declan Thorne was not one of them."
"But he was there."
"Yes." She does not look away. "He was there. And he has been trying to atone for three years. And you needed him."
The words hit like a slap. "You do not get to decide what I need."
"Then decide." Mira's voice is steel. "Right now. Trust me or get out. Because we are five minutes from the safe house and if you are not coming, I need to know."
I look back at the car. Declan's still slumped in the backseat, his face pale against the dark leather. The mate bond pulls at my ribs, insistent. He is dying. Slowly, but dying. The silver is still in his system, still burning.
"Where is this safe house?"
"Two miles east. Converted warehouse. Tobias is waiting."
"And if this is a trap?"
"Then I just wasted three years of my life for nothing." She opens the driver's door. "And Cara dies anyway. So. Are you coming or not?"
I get in the car.
The warehouse looks abandoned from the outside. Rusted metal siding, broken windows covered with plywood, weeds growing through cracks in the parking lot. But when Mira pulls around back, there is a reinforced steel door with a keypad lock and a camera above it.
She punches in a code. The door opens.
Inside is not what I expected. The main floor has been converted into living quarters—mattresses on pallets, a makeshift kitchen, clothes hanging on lines strung between support beams. A dozen people, maybe more. All of them packless. I can tell by the way they move, the way they watch us. No hierarchy. No alpha to orient toward.
They are all looking at me.
"This way." Mira leads us past the living area to a metal staircase. "Tobias is upstairs."
I help Declan out of the car. He is barely conscious, his weight heavy against my side. The mate bond is a constant ache now, his pain bleeding into mine. Silver poisoning feels like fire ants under the skin, like every nerve ending is exposed.
"How much farther?" His voice is rough.
"Not far." I adjust my grip on his waist. "Can you walk?"
"I am walking."
"You are leaning."
"Semantics."
We make it up the stairs. Mira opens another door, this one leading to what used to be an office. Now it is furnished with mismatched furniture and a desk covered in papers. And behind the desk, a man in traditional Conclave robes—deep blue silk with silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs.
Tobias Lao. He is older than I expected, maybe sixty, with gray hair pulled back in a neat bun and wire-rimmed glasses. He stands when we enter, bows slightly.
"Sloane Carrigan." His voice is formal, measured. "This one is honored to meet you."
I lower Declan into a chair. He slumps forward, breathing hard. "You talk like that all the time?"
"This one finds that traditional speech patterns encourage clarity of thought." He gestures to another chair. "Please. Sit."
I stay standing. "Mira says you have been investigating Garrett."
"For two years, yes. This one has gathered substantial evidence of his illegal activities. Territory violations. Unsanctioned kills. Corruption of Conclave officials." He removes his glasses, cleans them with a cloth from his pocket. "But evidence alone is not enough. The Conclave requires proper challenge protocol."
"Which means what?"
"Which means you must complete the three alpha trials and prove your bloodline claim." He replaces his glasses. "Without the trials, you are simply a rogue with a vendetta. The Conclave will not intervene."
"And with the trials?"
"With the trials, you have legal standing to challenge Garrett for pack leadership. This one can provide Conclave backing. Witnesses. Protection." He folds his hands on the desk. "This one offers justice, not revenge."
"What is the difference?"
"Justice leaves no orphans."
The words settle in my chest, heavy and cold. I think of Cara, of all the packless wolves downstairs, of everyone Garrett has destroyed. "What are the trials?"
"Three tests of worthiness. Strength. Wisdom. Sacrifice." He pulls a folder from his desk, opens it. "The first trial is combat. You must defeat three challengers chosen by the Conclave. The second is strategy—you must solve a territorial dispute without violence. The third—"
"Is classified until you complete the first two," Mira finishes. "No one knows what the third trial is until they face it."
I look at Declan. He is watching Tobias with an expression I cannot read. Not quite fear. Not quite recognition. Something else.
"How long do I have?"
"The trials must be completed within one lunar cycle." Tobias closes the folder. "The next full moon is in twenty-eight days."
Twenty-eight days. Four weeks to prove I am worthy of a pack I never wanted. Four weeks to become strong enough to face Garrett. Four weeks to—
"This one understands your hesitation," Tobias says. "But consider the alternative. Without Conclave backing, you face Garrett alone. He has forty wolves in his pack. You have—" He glances at Declan. "One wounded ally and a mate bond you did not choose."
"Do not." My voice comes out sharp. "Do not talk about him like he is not here."
"My apologies." Tobias inclines his head. "This one meant no disrespect."
Declan shifts in his chair. "Sloane. We should discuss—"
"Later." I do not look at him. Cannot look at him. Because if I do, I will see the man who was there the night my family died, and I will forget that he is also the man who pulled me out of the river, who took silver for me, who is dying because of the mate bond neither of us wanted.
"The trials," I say to Tobias. "When do they start?"
"As soon as you agree to the terms."
"What terms?"
"You must swear to abide by Conclave law. You must agree to accept their judgment, whatever it may be. And you must understand that if you fail—" He pauses. "If you fail, you forfeit your claim. Permanently. You will never be able to challenge Garrett again."
"And if I succeed?"
"If you succeed, this one will provide you with everything you need to destroy him. Legally. Completely." He opens a drawer, pulls out a thick envelope. "This one has been documenting Garrett's crimes for two years. Financial records. Witness statements. Proof of Conclave corruption. Enough to strip him of his pack and his title."
I stare at the envelope. Everything I need. Everything I have been fighting for. All I have to do is pass three trials I know nothing about, swear loyalty to a Conclave I do not trust, and hope that Tobias is not lying.
"I need time to think."
"Of course." Tobias stands. "This one will give you privacy. Mira, please show them to the recovery room. Declan Thorne requires medical attention."
Mira nods. Starts toward the door. I follow, helping Declan to his feet. He is heavier now, his legs barely supporting his weight. The mate bond is screaming at me to do something, fix this, make it stop.
We are halfway to the door when Declan stops. Goes rigid. His hand tightens on my shoulder, nails digging in.
"Sloane." His voice is barely a whisper. "We need to leave. Now."
"You can barely walk—"
"I do not care." He is staring at Tobias. "We need to leave."
Tobias tilts his head. "Is there a problem, Declan Thorne?"
"You know there is."
The air in the room changes. Mira's hand moves to her pocket. Tobias's expression does not change, but something in his posture shifts. Becomes more alert.
"I do not understand," I say.
Declan's breathing is ragged. "Three years ago. The night your family died. Someone gave Garrett the order. Someone told him where to find them, when to strike, how many wolves to bring." He is shaking now, his whole body trembling. "Someone in the Conclave wanted your family dead."
"That is a serious accusation," Tobias says quietly.
"It is the truth." Declan's eyes are fever-bright. "I was there. I heard the phone call. I heard Garrett say 'Yes, Arbiter Lao. It will be done.'"
The world stops. I turn to Tobias. He is still standing behind his desk, hands folded, expression calm. Too calm.
"No," I say. "He is delirious. The silver—"
"The silver is not making me lie." Declan's voice breaks. "Sloane, please. He is the one who gave the order."
Tobias sighs. Removes his glasses again. Cleans them slowly, methodically. When he speaks, his voice is still formal, still measured. Still using third person.
"This one regrets that you remember that detail, Declan Thorne. It would have been simpler if you did not."
Mira's hand comes out of her pocket. Not with a weapon. With her phone. She is already dialing.
"This one did what was necessary," Tobias continues. "The Carrigan pack was too powerful. Too influential. They were blocking essential Conclave reforms. Their removal was—"
I do not hear the rest. Because Declan's legs give out and he collapses against me and the mate bond is a knife in my chest and Tobias is still talking, still explaining, still justifying, and Mira is shouting into her phone, and somewhere downstairs the packless wolves are moving, responding to some signal I did not hear, and the door behind us opens and—