Xander POV

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    I walk April back to Eryx’s room myself. I keep my body beside hers, and try to reassure her but nothing I say or do will, she needs Eryx and right now, we’re struggling to get the Warlock here in time. She’s moving like a ghost, silent and raw. One of her arms is still wrapped around her stomach, like she’s still protecting the baby from everything that was said before. Her cheeks are wet, but she’s done crying now, or maybe she’s too exhausted to cry more? That frightens me far more than the sobs did. Silence is something that says she’s run out of salt and breath.

    At thending her steps falter, and the torchlight cases soft gold and shadows across her face. I move slowly and touch her elbow, and I feel the tremor under her skin. She doens’t pull away, the small mercy feels like trust that I don’t deserve. I

    take it though and continue to guide her down the hall and further away from the cells.

    When we reach Eryx’s room, she stops at the door for a moment. Her eyes go to the bed, then the windows then the chair,

    and 1 know what she’s doing. She’s seeing it with Eryx, she’s seeing what used ito /ibe there, how it used to be. She’s looking

    at his room and reminding herself of everything, of how he was and what he used to be like.

    I get it, I’ve walked past his room and paused and imagined the small boy who grew too quickly, the one I loved, the one I would fight to the death for, who I still n to do that for. Soon he will be back in here.

    She lowers her head like the entire room is a wound.

    “Rest,” I say. My voicees out low and I don’t soften it. She needs to rest, right now softness won’t help, only the right

    words will, and rest. Because if she’s tired and exhuasted then she’s going to feel worse.

    Slowly, she nods once and I stay where I am at the door. I watch as she sighs and moves, slowly walking into the room and

    crossing the rug. She sits down on the edge of the bed. I watch her, lifting her palm and pressing it to the quilt. Her other hand still says on her stomach, and it’s beautiful and powerful to see. She’s fighting to save her baby, even though right now, there’s no threat. Not here. I shift my weight, meaning to tell her I will station two guards at the door, then realize she

    already knows I will do that. She knows what I am when ites to things that matter. She needs to be safe, for when Eryx

    pulls through.

    “I’ll be outside, just down the hall,” I say.

    I wait, and she breathes, but doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t sob. It’s just her body and her reaction that lets me know she heard me. Moving slowly, I close the door and point to two men and they binstantly /bstand outside her door. I don’t need to Dve instructions, they should all know now not to leave her alone.

    When I’m sure she’s safe, I turn and breath in deeply trying to ease the tension building in my chest, Then I begin walking, needing to see what is happening 1 killed someone and everyone in that pack will know I was the one to do it.

    When I step into the war room, it looks the it always does when uncertainty hangs in the air. Maps are still open, a knife stuck into the boarder as if iron can pin down fate. A coat is thrown across a chair in the corner, I can see someone’s half- drunk tea that’s bgone /bcold as well I pass it all, and keep going to my office because I need a different setting, something that tells me this won’t end in a war i also need something I can lock between me and the sound of my son’sughter which deep down isn’t his

    When I step into the office I sigh, and see my phone right where I left it it’s face down beside a stack of reports that never

    09:33 Sat, 30 Aug

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    really stops growing. I walk over and pick it up, the screen lights up, and I sigh seeing the calls. All of them are from Damon’s family, of course it is, I’ve ignored it all until now.

    I sit, the old leatherining, and set the phone on speaker. I wait, hearing the ringing, then the click when he answers. I hear his breath like he is stepping onto a stage he built for himself.

    “Xander,” he says. His voice is already raised and for a change, he does not ask how I am. He does not ask if I am ready to talk. Pack politics rarely bother with the graces when blood is fresh. So I understand his reluctance to y nice right now. “You killed my son.”

    “You raised your son,” I say. I let those words settle because I can. “And he died in your house with his soul soaked in his lies.

    “You will pay for that.” He says the words like they are saviour, something great. “You think your walls will hold when I bring both packs to your gates? You think your trees will hide your loved ones when Ie for them? You started a war you cannot win.”

    “I trusted me with a young wolf, you promised me and you failed to know she was pregnant,” I say. “Are you sure you want to talk about what each of us cannot win.”

    “Do not y the guardian,” he snaps. “She was safe with us. You murdered the man who kept her safe. He was caring for her, ensuring she ate when she wouldn’t leave her room.”

    “Your son told her that Eryx had ordered him to let the rogues tear her apart,” I say. “He told her that Eryx wished his own child burned. He told her my son was a monster who wanted his own mate dead. He lied to get closer to her, to use her. He fied so she would cut thest threads she had to us. He lied to build a bed on grief and call it kindness.”

    The calls falls silent for a moment and I don’t fill it. I won’t do that. Men like him ride silence the way a bad horse rides off a clife. They either pull up or they go over.

    “Your boy rejected heri,/ii” /ihe says finally. “He broke her and sent her away. She was alone. I gave her shelter. You barged into my son’s home and tore him apart. You turned an ally, into an enemy. That is your legacy. How dare you think that was justified”

    “My legacy is that when I make a deal and someone says they will protect a woman, they follow through with it,” I answer. “We had an agreement and you gave us your word. No one touches her, and no one lies to her. You promised no one would bend her grief into a hook. Your word failed. You did not know she carried a child, how were you watching and protecting her? Your son knew, but he also knew how to smirk into her facec and lie and say the father of the child wanted

    it to burn?

    He sucks air, and I wait for him to quit. “I will burn your alliances, Xander, you won’t have a single one left, I will speak to every alpha from the mountains to the coast. I will tell them you tore out a man’s throat in his own home in front of a guest who sought shelter under his roof.”

    “You can try,” I say, “Let’s do it, shall we? But just be aware of this, I will be sending my own message first. I’ll send names and dates, and statements that prove you failed. I will ensure that every single pack knows your promise to us, that you knew the rejection was to protect her. I will make sure to tell every pack that your son took a rejected, pregnant female into his house under the banner of safety and told her the child’s father wanted the baby dead so he could press his mouth to hers. I will tell them he hid her pregnancy, hid her from us, and fed her stories to rip thest of her hope to shreds. I will tell them he had his hands on her when I came through the door.”

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    “I don’t care, we don’t answer to randoms,” he says. The words have less force than before.

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    “You will answer to the council when they hear that you did not know the she–wolf in your care carried a pup, despite promising to protect her,” I say. “You will answer to the oldws about how we treat mothers and children. You will answer for the oath you swore when you signed the alliance here to help should we need it and drank at my table and call me brother. You will answer for each line your son crossed while wearing your crest.”

    “You are good at speeches,” he says. There is tired under the heat now. “You always have been.”

    “No, I’m good at speaking the part no one wants to say, I’m good at making sure the truthes out and that it’s loud enough to destroy packs” I reply. “That is why I lead wolves who should not have followed anyone. I say the truth so loud even the trees hear it.”

    “You took off his head,” he says, quieter. “You left him on the floor like a warning.”

    “He threatened my unborn grandchild with lies,” I say. “He turned a sanctuary into a snare. He spat on the code and called it clever. You want to think your son was innocent that this was cruel? He drew blood first in my house with his mouth. In the oldws that is still blood. I gave him the mercy that is quick. If you want to call that a warning, then learn from it.”

    He goes silent again. I hear the scrape of something at his end, a chair maybe, or the way someone slides a hand over a desk to find steadiness. When he speaks, the fury is still there, but it rides behind something heavier.

    “You started a war, Xander.”

    “No, you did, you agreed to something and you left! How will you look now, everyone will know you failed and that your own son was the cause. Your son that you were ready to give the title to, your son who was using lies to build grief to get a pregnant wolf in bed,” I say. “War is what you get when men cannot live with the quiet shame of their failures. Don’t bring your failures to my gate, and begin a war because you failed.”

    “You think the council will keep your back,” he says. “They like your name nowi. /iNames fade.”

    “They like the code,” I say. “The code does not fade. It lives because we keep it breathing. You will find fewer ears than you hope when you tell them you lost track of a pregnant woman and the man you raised used her sorrow.”

    He exhales long through his teeth. “What do you want.”

    “I want you to ihonor /ithe words you signed,” I say. “Stand down. Pull your threats back rather than attacking me with them and make sure they die there. Keep your pack at home. Keep your mouth closed until you can speak without lying. You will send a letter acknowledging that the alliance holds and that your son acted without your knowledge. You will also admit that you did not know she was pregnant and that you failed your end of the oath. I will keep that letter in a drawer and never show it to anyone if you keep your men away from my borders and your whispers out of my trees. In return, bif /banyonees from this demanding answers as to why you didn’t stop him, I will agree, you had no knowledge so you’re not punished for it.”

    Heughs without humor. “You want me to kneel in a letter.”

    “I want you to keep men from dying so you can stand taller than a truth,” I say.

    Once againb, /bthere’s more silence. Then, a different tone. “And if I refuse.”

    09:34 Satb, /b30 Augu

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    “Then the council hears everything I just told you,” I say. “They will read your letter that does not exist, because I will write it for you in the words you would have used if you were smart, and then I will attach the actual record of what happened. I will put April’s statement beside my guards‘ reports. I will put the witch’s reading where your men can isee /iit. And I will name your son for what he chose to be in the end. Not a leader. Not a shield. Something smaller.”

    “You will not nder my dead,” he says. There is a crack at the edge of it.

    “I don’t have to,” I answer. “He spoke for himself, to me, to her, to the room where I took his head because thew gave me that right. I will repeat his words. If you want them to sound better, you should have taught him different ones.”

    The chair scrapes again. I hear him stand. I picture him in his study, the same as me, hand on a desk, jaw tight, pride burning holes where wisdom ought to sit.

    “You killed my son,” he says, softer. “And you want me to write a letter that tells you I ept it.”

    “I want you to write a letter that tells me you ept your part in it,” I say. “And then I want you to keep your men alive by keeping them home. You are still an alpha. Act like it.”

    He breathes and then he breathes again. Then I hear the thing that tells me this is over. The weight leaves his voice and leaves only age behind.

    “Send me the words,” he says. “I will read them. If I can live with them, I will sign.”

    “You will live with them,” I say. “Because the other choice is to die with the ones you want to say instead.”

    He disconnects without saying goodbye and I stare at the dark screen in front of me.