Ellery POV:

Queens was a sensory overload of noise and grime. Perfect cover.

I pulled my hoodie up. I wasn't wearing silk today. I was in thrift store jeans and boots two sizes too big. To a human, I was invisible. To a wolf, I still reeked of high-status Pack-moonflowers and ozone.

That's why I'd arranged the courier months ago.

I ducked into an alleyway. A man waited by a dumpster, shivering in a heavy coat despite the July heat.

"Payment?" he asked, not looking up.

I handed him the envelope. Fifty thousand in untraceable cash, skimmed from Brendan's petty cash over six months.

He handed me a manila folder and a spray bottle.

"June Bennett," he said. "Ohio birth certificate. Clean history. The spray is skunk musk and sulfur. It'll hide your scent from God himself for six hours."

"Thanks."

I doused myself in the foul spray and headed for the clinic.

It looked abandoned, windows boarded up. I pushed inside.

Evans stood behind a metal table. Milky eyes, scarred skin.

On the table sat the vial. Electric blue, swirling with a light that looked radioactive.

"I placed the order six months ago," I said, stepping forward. "It took you long enough."

"Ingredients for soul-poison aren't easy to come by, Weaver," Evans rasped. "Remember: once you drink it, there is no antidote. You will bleed from your eyes. Your wolf will die screaming. And the Bond will snap like a dry twig."

"Good."

I reached for the vial. My phone buzzed. The special ringtone for Brendan.

"Answer it," Evans warned. "If he suspects, we're both dead."

I answered, pitching my voice high and soft.

"Where the hell are you?" Brendan barked. "Tracker says Queens. Why are you in the slums?"

I touched the platinum choker-my leash.

"I'm sorry, Brendan. I... I heard about an antique shop here. They have a rare Moonstone. For your birthday."

Silence.

Moonstones. His weakness.

"You're shopping for me?" His voice softened, the arrogance returning.

"Yes. A surprise."

"Don't take too long. Gala tomorrow. You need to look presentable. Not like a stray."

"Yes, Alpha."

Click.

I looked at Evans. He grinned, showing yellow teeth. "You lie well."

"Survival mechanism," I said.

I put the vial in my bag next to the June Bennett ID.

"I can't take it yet," I said. "I have to prep the house. If I'm leaving, I'm making sure the door hits him on the way out."

Ellery POV:

The acetylene torch hissed, a blue tongue of fire licking the crucible.

I stood in the basement workshop. The platinum ring-the Luna's Ring, a symbol of eternal servitude-sat in the ceramic bowl.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

I turned up the heat.

Gold wept. Diamonds sank into the molten sludge. The meteorite shard cracked with a satisfying pop.

I poured the slag into a mold. It cooled into a deformed, ugly lump. I put it in a velvet box.

Upstairs, I walked into the study. Empty.

I placed the box on his desk.

Then, the bookshelf. Dante's Inferno. The hidden door clicked.

The Panic Room. The brain of the pack.

The walls pulsed with blue runes. My art. My soul.

I placed my hands on the central console.

Welcome, Weaver.

"I'm sorry," I told the magic.

I didn't destroy it. That would trigger alarms. Instead, I introduced a cancer.

I rewrote the source code.

If Ellery leaves the territory, initiate Protocol Zero.

Protocol Zero wasn't an explosion. It was a unraveling. Privacy shields fail first. Then alarms. Then the physical barriers dissolve. Twelve hours of decay.

I poured my energy into the stone until my knees shook. The runes flashed violet, then settled back to blue.

The time bomb was ticking.

The front door slammed upstairs.

"Ellery!" Brendan's voice boomed. "Server's down! Financial data is glitching!"

Liar.

I monitored those servers. They were fine. He just wanted me close while he... managed his affairs.

I went upstairs. Brendan stood in the hall, looking agitated but smelling of deception.

"Fix it," he said, gripping my shoulders. "You're the only one I trust with the tech. You're the anchor of this pack."

An anchor is just a weight you drag along the bottom so you don't drift.

"I'll work on it," I said.

"Good girl." He kissed my forehead. Dry lips. "I have to go back to the office. Damage control."

"Okay."

He wasn't going to the office. He was going to Kiya.

"I'm not an anchor, Brendan," I whispered as the door closed. "I'm the storm."

I went to the bedroom and packed a duffel. Cash. ID. Potion.

And a notebook.

Rule 1: Humans do not growl.

Rule 2: Humans cannot hear a heartbeat from across the room.

Rule 3: Humans cry.

Tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Independence Day.

Fitting.

Ellery POV:

Fireworks tore the sky apart in red, white, and blue.

The Gala was in full swing on the lawn. Waiters, champagne, the elite of the werewolf world pretending to be civilized.

I stood on the balcony in a beige dress. Camouflage. Just like Brendan liked.

The crowd parted.

Kiya arrived.

She wasn't wearing beige. She was in white, a Grecian gown that clung to her. She held her stomach like it was a trophy.

A slap in the face to every werewolf tradition.

Brendan moved toward her. He didn't look ashamed. He looked... proud.

I turned away and slipped down to the lake.

The boat house was dark and quiet. I stepped inside to breathe.

Voices on the dock.

"She looked like a ghost up there," Kiya sneered. "A beige ghost."

"Keep it down," Brendan hissed. No bite in his tone.

"Why? Everyone knows, Brendan. She's a Barren She-Wolf. A genetic dead end."

The word Barren cut like a serrated knife.

"She is useful, Kiya," Brendan said.

"Useful? She's a glorified alarm system! I am carrying your son. Your Alpha Heir. She is... what? A broken toy?"

"She is the facade," Brendan said wearily. "We need her for the Council. We need her for the wards. She is a necessary inconvenience. Once the pup is born... I'll move her to the North Wing. You take the master suite."

My wolf didn't growl. She let out a death rattle.

Right there in the dark, she laid her head on her paws and gave up.

He rejected us, she whispered. With truth.

I pulled out my phone.

To: Evans

Message: Tonight.

I dropped the phone in the trash.

I walked out, staying downwind.

I watched Brendan place his hand on Kiya's stomach. He looked reverent.

I touched my own flat, scarred stomach.

"Goodbye, Brendan."