Chapter 39
title: "The Photograph" wordCount: 2286
The photograph shows her mother's eyes, and I know those eyes—know the exact shade of terror in them because I saw it in the mirror for three years.
I stare at my phone screen until the image blurs. My mother's face fills the frame, her silver hair tangled, a bruise blooming along her left cheekbone. Garrett Voss's hand rests on her shoulder, possessive and casual, like he is posing for a family portrait. The timestamp in the corner reads twenty-three minutes ago.
The text beneath the photo is brief: Withdraw from the challenge. I will return her unharmed. You have until sunrise.
My hands shake. The phone slips, and Declan catches it before it hits the table.
"Sloane." His voice comes from very far away. "What is it?"
I cannot speak. My throat has closed around the words, around the scream building in my chest. I watch him look at the screen, watch his expression shift from concern to fury, and then he is standing, his chair scraping against the floor.
"We go now." He sets the phone down with careful precision. "We get her back right now."
Tobias leans over to see the photo. His jaw tightens. "That is Garrett Voss."
"Yeah, no." The words come out hoarse. "We are not doing anything right now."
Declan turns to me, and I have never seen him look like this—wild, barely controlled. "Sloane. That is your mother."
"I know who it is."
Mira picks up my phone, studies the image. Her face goes very still. "I remember her. From before. She used to bring cookies to pack meetings." She sets the phone down. "She was kind."
The word lands like a punch. Kind. My mother, who taught me to braid my hair and make pie crust and stand up for myself. My mother, who survived the massacre only to end up in Garrett Voss's hands because of me.
"If you withdraw from the challenge," Tobias says quietly, "you will be executed as an imposter. The Conclave does not tolerate fraud. And everything your father built dies with you."
"I am aware."
"Are you?" He leans forward. "Because Garrett Voss is betting you will choose your mother over your father's legacy. He is betting you will sacrifice yourself and every wolf who needs the reforms your father died for."
My nails dig into my palms. "Do not."
"I am simply stating facts."
"You are stating that I should let my mother die." My voice cracks. "You are saying I should abandon her to save people I have never met."
"I am saying Garrett will kill her regardless." Tobias does not look away. "The moment you withdraw, you lose your leverage. He has no reason to keep her alive."
Declan slams his hand on the table. "Enough."
"Someone needs to say it."
"Not like that." Declan's voice drops to something dangerous. "Not to her."
I stand. My legs feel unsteady, but I make it to the door. "I need air."
"Sloane—"
"I need air."
The parking garage is cold and empty. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in sickly yellow. I lean against Declan's truck and try to breathe, but my lungs will not cooperate.
Footsteps echo behind me. I do not turn around.
"You followed me."
"Of course I followed you." Declan stops a few feet away, giving me space. "Did you think I would let you face this alone?"
"I do not know what I thought." My voice sounds strange, distant. "I do not know anything anymore."
He moves closer. "Talk to me."
"What is there to say?" I stare at the concrete wall across from us, at the oil stains and tire marks. "Either I save my mother and die, or I let her die and live with it. Those are my options."
"There has to be another way."
"There is not." The words come out flat. "Garrett made sure of that."
Declan reaches for me, and I let him pull me against his chest. His heart beats steady under my ear, and something inside me breaks.
I cry. Not the silent tears I have perfected over three years, but ugly, gasping sobs that shake my entire body. I cry for my mother, for my father, for the girl I was before the massacre. I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes burn and there is nothing left.
Declan holds me through all of it. His hand moves in slow circles on my back, and he does not tell me it will be okay, does not offer empty comfort. He just holds me.
When I finally pull back, his shirt is soaked. "Sorry."
"Do not apologize." He cups my face, thumbs brushing away the remaining tears. "Not for this."
"I cannot choose." My voice breaks again. "I cannot choose between my mother and my father's legacy. Both choices feel like betrayal."
"You are not betraying anyone." His eyes are fierce. "You are being forced to choose between two kinds of love, and that is not the same thing."
"It feels the same."
"I know." He presses his forehead to mine. "I know it does."
We stand like that for a long moment, breathing together in the cold garage. Then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Another message from Garrett: The clock is ticking, Sloane. Make your choice.
I show Declan the screen. He reads it, and his expression hardens.
"We should go back inside," he says. "Figure out a plan."
"What plan? Tobias is right. If I withdraw, Garrett kills her anyway. If I do not withdraw, he kills her to punish me." I laugh, and it sounds broken. "There is no plan that saves her."
"Then we make one."
Iris's apartment smells like coffee and desperation. We sit around her kitchen table—me, Declan, Tobias, Mira, and Iris herself, who looks like she has aged ten years in the last hour.
"We attempt a rescue," Iris says. "Before the challenge. We find where he is holding her and we get her out."
Tobias shakes his head. "We do not know the location. We do not know how many guards he has. We do not know if she is even still alive."
"She is alive." I keep my voice steady. "He needs her alive to have leverage."
"For now." Tobias taps his fingers on the table. "But the moment you withdraw—"
"I am not withdrawing."
Everyone goes silent.
Mira speaks first. "You are going to let her die?"
"I am going to try to save her without giving Garrett what he wants." I pull out my phone, open the photo again. "Look at the background. That is a warehouse. Industrial. The lighting is artificial, and I can see metal shelving behind her."
Declan leans in. "Harbor district?"
"Maybe. Probably." I zoom in on the image. "There are shadows. Movement. He is not alone."
"How many?"
"I cannot tell. At least three, maybe more." I set the phone down. "But during the challenge, Garrett has to be at the Claiming Grounds. He cannot be in two places at once."
Understanding dawns on Iris's face. "You want to attempt the rescue during the challenge itself."
"His attention will be divided. His resources will be split." I look at Declan. "You and Mira go to Harbor Avenue. Search every warehouse until you find her. Get her out."
"And you?" Mira asks.
"I face Garrett at the Claiming Grounds. I keep him occupied." I meet her eyes. "I give you time."
Tobias leans back in his chair. "That is a terrible plan."
"It is the only plan."
"It relies on too many variables. We do not know the exact location. We do not know the guard situation. We do not know if Garrett will actually be at the Claiming Grounds or if he will send a proxy."
"He will be there." I am certain of this. "He wants to watch me lose. He wants to see my face when I realize I cannot save her."
Declan has been quiet, studying the photo. Now he looks up. "If we find her, and there are too many guards, what then?"
"You get out. You survive."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only answer I have." I reach across the table, take his hand. "If you have to choose between saving her and surviving yourselves, you survive. Do you understand me?"
He pulls his hand back. "No."
"Declan—"
"I will not promise to abandon your mother if the situation becomes difficult." His voice is hard. "I will not promise to let her die."
"I am not asking you to let her die. I am asking you not to die trying to save her."
"Those might be the same thing."
We stare at each other across the table. The air between us feels charged, dangerous.
Iris clears her throat. "There is something else you should consider."
I turn to her. "What?"
"Your mother." She folds her hands on the table. "I knew her, before. Not well, but enough. She was at the pack house the night of the massacre. She saw what they did to your father, to your brother. She barely escaped with her life."
"I know that."
"Then you know she understands what is at stake." Iris's voice is gentle but firm. "She knows what your father was building. She knows why it mattered. And if she were here, if she could speak to you right now, what do you think she would say?"
My throat tightens. "That is not fair."
"It is not about fair. It is about what she would want." Iris leans forward. "Your mother would tell you to fight. She would tell you not to abandon your father's legacy for her. She would tell you that some things are worth dying for."
"You do not know that."
"I do." Mira speaks quietly. "I remember her. She was fierce. She stood up to alphas twice her size when she thought they were wrong. She would not want you to give up everything for her."
I close my eyes. Try to breathe. Try to think past the panic clawing at my chest.
"Sloane." Tobias's voice is surprisingly gentle. "You cannot save everyone. That is the hardest lesson of leadership. Sometimes you have to choose the many over the few. Sometimes you have to let people you love make sacrifices."
"She is not making a sacrifice." My eyes snap open. "She is being used as a weapon against me. That is not the same thing."
"No. It is not." He meets my gaze. "But the outcome might be."
I stand. My chair scrapes against the floor. "I need to think."
"Sloane—"
"Alone. I need to think alone."
Iris's guest room is small and dark. I sit on the bed with my father's journal in my lap, the leather cover worn smooth from years of handling.
I have been avoiding this. Avoiding his words, his thoughts, the man he was before they killed him. But now I open the journal and start to read.
The entries span years. Plans for reform, notes on pack politics, observations about power and hierarchy. My father's handwriting is precise, controlled, each letter carefully formed.
But as I read deeper, the entries become more personal. More raw.
The old ways are killing us. We cling to hierarchy and dominance because it is what we know, but it is making us weak. A pack built on fear cannot survive. A pack built on choice, on consent, on mutual respect—that is a pack that can change the world.
I turn the page.
Marcus challenged me today. Said my reforms would destroy pack structure, would make us vulnerable. I told him structure built on submission is already destroyed. We just have not admitted it yet.
Another page.
Elena is pregnant. We are having a daughter. I want her to grow up in a world where she can choose her own path, where she is not bound by the circumstances of her birth. I want her to be free.
My vision blurs. I wipe my eyes and keep reading.
The final entry is dated the day before he died.
If I do not survive this, I hope my children will finish what I started. The old ways are dying. Let us build something better from the ashes. Let us create a world where wolves like Elena and Marcus can choose their own destiny, where power is earned through respect rather than fear. This is my legacy. This is what I am willing to die for.
I close the journal. Press it against my chest.
"I will, Dad," I whisper. "I promise."
Dawn breaks cold and gray. I stand at Iris's window watching the sun rise over the city, my father's journal in one hand and my phone in the other.
Declan is asleep on the couch. Mira and Tobias left an hour ago to scout the harbor district. Iris is in her room, probably not sleeping.
I type a message to Garrett: I will see you at the Claiming Grounds tomorrow. Come alone or do not come at all.
My thumb hovers over the send button. This is it. The moment I choose. The moment I decide who I am going to be.
I think about my mother's eyes in that photograph. I think about my father's words in his journal. I think about all the wolves who need the reforms he died for, who are waiting for someone to finish what he started.
I hit send.
The phone rings immediately. Garrett's name fills the screen.
I stare at it, my pulse hammering, and the sound cuts through the quiet apartment like a blade.