The scent was faint but unmistakable—a mixture of wild sage and something sharper, more acrid. I'd caught it on Eden's clothes three days ago, when she'd brushed past me in the hallway. My wolf had stirred then, whispering *danger* before I could even process what it meant.

Now, following that same scent through the dense forest at the edge of our territory, I moved silently between the trees. The morning mist clung to the underbrush, providing perfect cover as I approached the border.

"You're sure about this?" Marcus had asked when I'd told him my plan.

"Positive," I'd replied, remembering how Dorothy had taught me to track medicinal scents. "This particular blend of herbs isn't found in our territory. Someone brought it from outside."

The campsite appeared suddenly between the trees—a small clearing with the remnants of a fire pit and scattered herbal bundles hanging from nearby branches. But it was abandoned, the ashes cold and the bundles swaying in the morning breeze.

"Too late," I muttered, disappointment washing over me.

But my wolf nudged me forward. *Dig deeper.*

I knelt by the fire pit, my fingers tracing the edges of the stone circle. Something had been buried here recently—the earth was disturbed, still fresh. Carefully, I began to excavate, my Healer's hands working methodically through the soil.

"Got you," I whispered as my fingers closed around leather-bound edges.

The ledger was half-burnt, its pages singed and brittle. I opened it carefully, dusting away dirt to reveal neat columns of transactions. My heart raced as I flipped through, recognizing names of common herbs until—

"Modified Aconite. Special order."

And beside it, a signature I recognized instantly: *Eden Powell.*

Below the transaction was a hastily scrawled note: "Safe passage through Silver Moon territory guaranteed upon completion."

I photographed the page with my phone, then tucked the ledger into my bag. "Evidence," I whispered to my wolf, who purred with satisfaction.

---

Back at the pack house, chaos reigned in the kitchens. Andrew stood over a massive copper pot, his face twisted in concentration as he stirred the contents violently.

"It should be calming," Elder Thomas said, his weathered face creased with concern. "The Grief Tea is meant to bring peace, not agitation."

"I'm doing it right," Andrew snapped, sweat beading on his forehead. "It's these herbs—they're inferior quality."

I lingered in the doorway, watching as he added another handful of dried leaves to the pot. The smell was all wrong—bitter and sharp instead of the soothing lavender and chamomile Dorothy had always used.

"Perhaps Clara could assist?" Elder Isabella suggested, her eyes finding mine across the room.

Before I could step forward, Eden materialized at Andrew's side, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

"Clara gathered these herbs," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "Maybe that's the problem."

Andrew's eyes narrowed as he looked at me. "Is that true? Are you sabotaging the ritual?"

"I gathered exactly what Dorothy always used," I replied evenly, though my wolf bristled at the accusation.

"Liar," Eden whispered just loud enough for nearby pack members to hear. "You've been trying to undermine Andrew since his mother died."

The Elders exchanged glances, their faith in their Alpha visibly wavering. One of them stepped back, murmuring something to another council member.

Andrew ladled a spoonful of the tea, taking a cautious sip. His face contorted instantly—the brew was undrinkable.

"See?" Eden hissed. "Even he can taste your incompetence."

---

I was heading to my quarters when Eden cornered me in the hallway, her body blocking my path.

"Enjoying your little investigation?" she asked, her voice no longer carrying the sweet innocence she used around Andrew.

I kept my expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb," she sneered, leaning closer. "It doesn't suit you."

Something shifted in her eyes—the mask slipping to reveal the calculation beneath. "You know what? I'm tired of pretending."

My wolf tensed within me, ready for danger.

"That old hag was never going to step aside," Eden continued, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "She was the gatekeeper, always standing between me and what I deserved."

"You killed her," I said quietly, not a question but a statement.

Eden's smile was cold. "I removed an obstacle. Dorothy was too traditional, too tied to the old ways. She'd never let Andrew see how much better things could be with me as Luna."

"You poisoned her."

"Modified Aconite," Eden confirmed, pride evident in her voice. "Untraceable, or so I thought."

I kept my face carefully blank, committing every word to memory even as I cataloged the scent of her arrogance—a mixture of excitement and fear.

"Andrew will never believe you," she continued, leaning so close I could feel her breath on my cheek. "He's too addicted to my praise, too desperate for my validation."

My wolf growled deep within me, but I remained still, watching as Eden's confidence grew.

"He'll always choose me over you," she whispered. "Always."

As she turned to leave, I caught a final whiff of her scent—something new mingling with the familiar herbs. Something that made my blood run cold.

Guilty knowledge.

The riddle Dorothy had taught me echoed in my mind as I crept through the darkened corridors of the Pack House. "When the moon hides her face, seek the wisdom of ages in the heart of stone."

It was three nights after Dorothy's death, and the pack had finally fallen into uneasy slumber. I pressed my palm against the cool stone wall of the archive room, feeling for the hidden mechanism Dorothy had described.

"Here," I whispered, finding the slight depression in the wall. "This is it."

My fingers traced the outline of a loose stone, carefully extracting it from its place. Behind it lay a small cavity containing a leather-bound book that made my heart race.

*Dorothy's True Grimoire.*

I pulled it out with trembling hands, settling cross-legged on the floor to examine its contents. The pages were filled with her elegant script—not the simplified recipes Andrew had been using, but the true knowledge she had perfected over decades.

"Modified Aconite," I murmured, flipping to the section on poisonous herbs. "Here it is."

The entry was detailed, listing not only the effects but also the distinctive scent signature—exactly what I had detected on Dorothy's lips. But it was the next page that made my blood freeze.

*A record of theft.*

Dorothy had meticulously documented every time Andrew had stolen her formulations, even noting when he had presented her work as his own "Golden Tongue" creations. The final entry, dated just days before her death, chilled me to the bone:

*Eden seeks what I protect. The girl's ambition blinds her to the true cost of power. I fear she will strike when I least expect it.*

"She knew," I whispered to my wolf, who stirred anxiously within me. "She knew Eden would try to kill her."

But the most crucial discovery came at the end of the book—a description of a "Spirit Echo" spell Dorothy had placed on the archives. It would record any intruder who came searching for her knowledge, preserving their actions and words as a final insurance.

---

"Are you certain this will work?" Marcus asked, his voice barely audible as we crouched in the shadows of the archive room.

"Eden's too arrogant to resist," I replied, clutching the projection stone he had given me. "She'll come for the will."

Earlier that evening, Marcus had spread the rumor through carefully selected channels—pack members loyal to him rather than Andrew. The story was simple but devastating: Dorothy had left a hidden will in the archives that named her killer.

"Remember," Marcus whispered, "we need irrefutable evidence. The Lycan Council won't act on suspicions."

I nodded, adjusting my position to ensure I had a clear view of the main archive chamber. The projection stone felt warm in my palm, its surface glowing faintly as it absorbed the moonlight filtering through the high windows.

"Someone's coming," Marcus hissed, pressing himself against the wall.

The archive door creaked open, and Eden slipped inside, her face twisted with barely contained fury.

"Old witch," she muttered, tearing through the shelves. "I killed you once, I'll destroy anything you left behind."

She moved frantically, pulling books from their places and hurling them onto the floor. Her eyes were wild, her movements increasingly erratic.

"I won't let a piece of paper ruin me," she snarled, ripping open a leather-bound volume. "I worked too hard!"

I activated the projection stone, feeling it pulse with energy as it captured her image and voice. Marcus stood ready with a second stone, ensuring we had multiple recordings of her confession.

"I killed the old witch to get this far," Eden continued, her voice rising with desperation. "She was always in my way, always protecting that pathetic Clara!"

She tore through another shelf, sending papers fluttering to the ground. "I deserve to be Luna! I deserve everything she had!"

I held my breath as she moved closer to our hiding spot, her eyes scanning the darkness where we stood. For a moment, I thought she had seen us—but then she turned away, continuing her frantic search.

"There!" she exclaimed, seizing a document from behind a row of books. "The will!"

My heart pounded as I watched her tear it to pieces, unaware that it was the fake we had planted earlier that day.

"Destroyed," she whispered, satisfaction replacing the panic in her voice. "No one will ever know what I did."

As she turned to leave, Marcus and I remained frozen in place, the projection stones still recording. We waited until she had gone before daring to move.

"We got her," Marcus whispered, his eyes gleaming with grim satisfaction.

I nodded, clutching the stone that held Eden's confession. "Now we have what we need."

What neither of us realized was that Eden had left a trail of her own—a scent marker that would soon bring Andrew to the archive room, and to the evidence we had so carefully hidden.