Chapter 38
title: "The Seattle Trap" wordCount: 2900
The safety deposit box key is cold in my palm, and I cannot stop thinking about the last time I held something my father touched.
It was his watch. The one I wear now, the one that stopped at 11:47 PM. I had pried it off his wrist while his blood was still warm, while the house was still burning, while I could still hear screaming from somewhere in the woods. My hands had been shaking so badly I almost dropped it twice.
"Sloane." Declan's voice pulls me back. "We are here."
The bank is a gray monolith of concrete and glass, the kind of building designed to look both modern and impenetrable. It squats on a corner in downtown Seattle, surrounded by coffee shops and tech startups and people who have no idea that monsters walk among them. The morning fog has not quite burned off yet, and the streets are slick with rain that fell while we were driving.
Mira shifts in the backseat. "This feels too easy."
"Yeah, no." I unbuckle my seatbelt. "It is not easy. It is just not impossible yet."
Declan parks three blocks away, in a garage that charges twenty dollars for the first hour. He cuts the engine but does not move, his hands still on the wheel. "If Garrett Voss knows about this location—"
"He does." I open the door. "Lyra said he would. That is why Tobias is supposed to be running interference."
"And if Tobias has chosen a side that is not ours?"
I meet his eyes. They are dark, worried, and I can see the wolf in them, the predator that wants to drag me back to the car and drive until we hit the ocean. "Then we fight our way out. Not my circus if he wants to make this complicated."
Mira laughs, sharp and humorless. "Everything about this is complicated."
The bank lobby smells like air conditioning and money. A woman in a navy suit greets us with a smile that does not reach her eyes, and I hand her the key along with the identification documents Lyra forged. She studies them for longer than I would like, her gaze flicking between my face and the photo on the driver's license.
"Ms. Carrigan." She says my name like she is testing it, seeing if it fits. "Right this way."
We follow her through a door that requires a keycard, down a hallway lined with abstract art that probably cost more than my truck, into a room with walls made of safety deposit boxes. She uses her key and mine together, the double lock clicking open with a sound that makes my pulse spike.
"Take your time." She leaves, and the door closes behind her with a soft, final sound.
The box is smaller than I expected. I pull it out, set it on the table in the center of the room, and for a moment I cannot make myself open it. My hands are steady but my chest is tight, and I can feel Declan behind me, close enough that his body heat warms my back.
"Do you want me to—"
"No." I flip the lid open.
Papers. Photographs. A leather journal with my father's initials embossed on the cover. I lift the journal out first, my fingers tracing the letters—J.C., for James Carrigan—and when I open it to the first page, his handwriting hits me like a fist to the sternum.
If you are reading this, I am dead, and the Conclave has won. Do not let them win forever.
"Jesus." Mira leans over my shoulder. "He knew."
"He knew they would kill him." My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else. "He knew, and he did it anyway."
Declan picks up one of the photographs. It is my family, all of us, taken at some pack gathering I barely remember. My mother is laughing, her head thrown back, and my father has his arm around her waist. I am maybe ten, standing between them with a gap-toothed grin, and my brother—
I look away. Focus on the documents instead. Birth certificates. Pack registration papers with the Conclave seal. A marriage license. Proof of bloodline, proof of legitimacy, proof that I am exactly who I say I am.
And beneath it all, a thick folder bound with string.
I untie it, and the first page makes my breath catch. It is a formal proposal, typed and formatted like a legal document, addressed to the Conclave Council. The title reads: Restructuring Pack Hierarchy: A Proposal for Abolition of Omega Designation and Redistribution of Alpha Authority.
"Holy shit." Mira takes the folder from my hands, flipping through pages dense with text and citations and legal arguments. "This is not just reform. This is—"
"Revolution." Declan finishes. He is reading over her shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Your father wanted to dismantle the entire system."
I pick up the journal again, turning past the first page. My father's handwriting fills every line, neat and precise, documenting meetings and votes and conversations. Names I recognize—Councilor Brennan, Councilor Voss, Councilor Reyes. Dates and times and locations. And on the fifth page, underlined three times: Garrett Voss proposed elimination as alternative to reform. Motion seconded by Brennan. Vote scheduled for August 12th.
August 12th. Three days before the massacre.
"They voted on whether to kill us." My voice is flat. Empty. "They held a meeting and took a vote and decided that murdering my entire pack was easier than changing the rules."
Declan's hand finds my shoulder, and I do not pull away. "How many voted for it?"
I flip through more pages, scanning my father's notes. He documented everything, every conversation, every threat, every promise of support that evaporated when the vote came. And on the last page before the entries stop, he wrote: Final vote: 7 in favor of elimination, 6 opposed, 2 abstentions. Garrett will move within the week. I have sent the evidence to three separate locations. If you are reading this, find it. Finish what I started.
"Seven." I close the journal. "Seven Councilors voted to kill us. Six tried to stop it. And two did nothing."
Mira is staring at the proposal, her face pale. "If this gets out—if people know what he was trying to do—"
"It will not matter." I start gathering the documents, shoving them back into the box. "The Conclave will say he was a radical, a threat to pack stability. They will say the massacre was justified."
"Then we make sure they cannot say that." Declan takes the box from me. "We make sure everyone knows the truth."
The parking garage is dim and echoing, our footsteps too loud against the concrete. I have the box tucked under my arm, and every shadow looks like a threat. Declan is half a step ahead of me, his body angled to put himself between me and any danger, and Mira is watching our backs with her hand in her jacket pocket where I know she keeps a knife.
We are twenty feet from the car when they step out of the shadows.
Six wolves. I recognize two of them from Garrett's pack, the others are unfamiliar but they all have the same predatory stillness, the same cold calculation in their eyes. They spread out, blocking our path, and the one in front—a man with a scar that runs from his temple to his jaw—smiles.
"Sloane Carrigan." He says my name like it is a joke. "Garrett Voss sends his regards."
I set the box down carefully. "Yeah? Tell Garrett Voss he can deliver his own regards."
"He would, but he is busy preparing for your challenge." The man takes a step forward. "He wanted us to make sure you do not make it that far."
Declan moves, putting himself fully in front of me. "You are outnumbered."
"Are we?" The man's smile widens. "I count six of us and three of you. The math seems clear."
"The math," a new voice says from behind them, "is about to change."
Tobias steps out of the stairwell, and he is not alone. Four wolves in Conclave enforcer uniforms flank him, their expressions hard and professional. They move with military precision, surrounding Garrett's wolves in a loose circle that tightens with every step.
The scarred man's smile falters. "Councilor Thorne. This is not Conclave business."
"That is where you are incorrect." Tobias's voice is cold, formal, nothing like the careful neutrality he usually maintains. "You are acting without Conclave sanction, threatening a wolf under Conclave protection, and interfering with an official investigation. You are under arrest."
"Garrett Voss—"
"Garrett Voss does not speak for the Conclave." Tobias nods to his enforcers. "Take them."
For a moment, I think they will fight. The scarred man's hand twitches toward his weapon, and I can see the wolf rising in his eyes, the calculation of whether he can win. But then he looks at Tobias, at the enforcers, at the cold certainty in Tobias's expression, and he makes a different choice.
He runs.
All six of them scatter, disappearing into the garage's shadows and stairwells like smoke. The enforcers move to follow, but Tobias raises a hand. "Let them go. They will report back to Garrett, and he will know that the Conclave is watching."
He turns to me, and his expression shifts into something almost apologetic. "I am sorry for the theatrics. I needed them to believe I was here to arrest you, not protect you."
"You have been investigating." It is not a question.
"For two years." He gestures toward the exit. "We should not talk here. There is a coffee shop two blocks north. Meet me there in ten minutes."
He leaves with his enforcers, and I am left standing in the garage with Declan and Mira, my pulse roaring and my hands shaking with adrenaline that has nowhere to go.
"What the hell just happened?" Mira's voice is too loud in the sudden silence.
"Tobias just picked a side." Declan picks up the box I set down. "And it is ours."
The coffee shop is the kind of place that serves eight-dollar lattes and has reclaimed wood tables and Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Tobias is already there, sitting in a corner booth with a plain black coffee and a leather briefcase that looks older than I am. He stands when we approach, gestures for us to sit, and waits until we are settled before he opens the briefcase.
"I have been investigating your father's death since the day I learned the truth about what happened." He pulls out a folder, sets it on the table between us. "Conclave meeting minutes. Financial records. Testimony from Councilor Brennan, recorded three days before he died of cancer."
I open the folder. The first page is a transcript, Brennan's voice captured in neat, typed lines. I voted to kill James Carrigan and his pack. I believed his reform proposal would destroy pack stability and undermine alpha authority. I was wrong. What we did was not justice. It was murder.
"He confessed." My voice sounds hollow.
"He did. And he named every Councilor who voted with him." Tobias taps the folder. "Garrett Voss orchestrated the massacre. He convinced the others that elimination was the only option, that your father's proposal would lead to chaos and violence. He made them believe that killing your pack was an act of preservation."
Declan is reading over my shoulder, his body tense. "How many people know about this?"
"Three. Myself, Councilor Reyes, and Councilor Okoye. We have been gathering evidence, building a case, waiting for the right moment to bring it before the full Conclave." Tobias meets my eyes. "You are that moment, Sloane Carrigan. Your challenge is the catalyst we need."
"You want me to be your weapon." The words taste bitter.
"I want you to be what your father was. A voice for change. A threat to the system that protects wolves like Garrett Voss." He pulls out another document, this one dense with legal text. "Your father's proposal was not just about abolishing omega designation. It was about restructuring pack hierarchy entirely, creating a system of checks and balances, giving the Conclave real authority to hold alphas accountable. Half the Conclave voted to kill him rather than allow it."
"And the other half?"
"Voted to protect him. Voted to bring his proposal to a full pack referendum. Voted to give wolves a choice." Tobias's expression is grim. "They lost. And your father died because of it."
Mira is staring at the documents, her face pale. "If Sloane challenges Garrett and wins, if she brings this evidence forward—"
"The Conclave will fracture." Tobias does not sugarcoat it. "The wolves who supported your father will rally behind you. The wolves who voted for his death will fight to protect themselves. It will not be a challenge. It will be a civil war."
"Good." The word comes out harder than I intend. "Let them fight. Let them tear each other apart. Maybe then the wolves who have been suffering under this system will finally have a chance."
Declan's hand finds mine under the table, his fingers lacing through mine. He does not say anything, but I can feel the tension in his grip, the fear and pride and resignation all tangled together.
Tobias watches us for a long moment, then nods. "I will testify at your challenge. I will present this evidence to the Conclave and to every pack that sends a representative. I will make sure they know what Garrett Voss did, and why your father died." He pauses. "But you need to understand what you are walking into. When you challenge Garrett Voss, you will not be fighting for your pack. You will be fighting for every omega, every rogue, every wolf the Conclave has broken. And they will kill you for it if they can."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a text from Iris or Lyra, but the number is unknown. There is a photo attachment.
I open it, and my blood goes cold.
It is a picture of Iris, bound and gagged, blood streaming from a cut above her eye. Behind her, I can see the interior of what looks like a warehouse, concrete walls and industrial lighting. And in the corner of the frame, just visible, is a hand holding a knife.
The text below the image reads: You have 24 hours to withdraw your challenge. Or she dies.
I show the phone to Declan, watch his expression go from confusion to fury in the space of a heartbeat. Tobias leans forward, his face draining of color when he sees the image.
"When was this sent?"
I check the timestamp. "Two minutes ago."
Mira is already on her feet. "We need to—"
My phone buzzes again. Another text, same unknown number: The address is 1847 Harbor Avenue. Come alone. Bring the documents. No Conclave, no enforcers, no witnesses. Just you.
Tobias reaches for my phone, but I pull it back. "This is a trap."
"Yeah." I stand, shoving the phone in my pocket. "It is."
Declan grabs my arm. "You cannot go. They will kill you both."
"They will kill her if I do not." I meet his eyes, and I can see the wolf in him rising, the desperate need to protect me warring with the knowledge that I am right. "I have to go."
"Then I am going with you."
"No." I pull my arm free. "You heard the text. I go alone, or Iris dies."
"Sloane—"
"I am not arguing about this." My voice is sharp, final. "Iris saved my life. She gave me a pack when I had nothing. I am not letting her die because Garrett Voss wants to scare me into backing down."
Tobias is gathering his documents, shoving them back into his briefcase with shaking hands. "I can have enforcers at that location in thirty minutes—"
"And Garrett will know. He will kill her the moment he sees Conclave uniforms." I pick up the box with my father's documents. "I go alone. I trade the documents for Iris. And then I kill every single one of them."
Declan stands, and for a moment I think he is going to try to stop me. But instead he cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and when he speaks his voice is low and rough. "If you die, I will burn down everything Garrett Voss has ever touched. I will make him wish he had never heard your name."
"I am not going to die." I lean into his touch for just a moment, letting myself have this one small comfort. "Not today."
His kiss is brief, desperate, a promise and a goodbye all at once. Then he steps back, and I can see the resignation in his eyes, the knowledge that he cannot stop me, that this is my choice to make.
I turn toward the door, the box heavy in my arms, and my phone buzzes one more time.
Another photo. This one shows Iris's face up close, her eyes wide with fear and fury, and behind her I can see movement—shadows that might be wolves, or might be something worse.
The text reads: Tick tock.