COUNTERFEIT FATE: The Alpha Who Couldn't Howl

chapter2

I didn't scream. I want that on record.

I grabbed my phone, thumbed the flashlight, and spun around so fast the chair hit the wall.

A man stood two feet away, hands raised, looking mildly embarrassed. Early thirties, dark curls, a rumpled shirt, and the kind of tired eyes you only get from never sleeping. He smelled like cedar and rain.

"Sorry," he said. "Dramatic entrance. Occupational habit."

"You were in the hallway."

"I was."

"Now you're in my office."

"I'm fast." He smiled like that settled it. "Idris Vale. Operations. Pell is the one with the contract, I'm the one who keeps the building from eating people."

"Funny."

"I'm hilarious. Ask anyone." The overhead lights buzzed back on, one panel at a time, like the building was clearing its throat. "Blackouts happen. Old wiring."

"The building is six years old."

"Old for a building." He didn't blink. "Ms. Calloway, you look like you want to ask me something. Go ahead."

I held up the contract, open to page nine. "My father audited you. Eleven years ago. Your lawyer left that out."

"Pell leaves everything out. It's his best skill." Something flickered across Idris's face, fast, and gone. "Daniel Calloway worked here for about four months. He was good. Scary good."

"What happened to him?"

"You know what happened. Car. Road. Bad luck."

"Is that what you think?"

Idris studied me for a long second. "I think you should ask Mr. Rook. He's the one who signs the checks and the one who owes you answers." He backed toward the door. "Midnight. Until then, the box is yours. And Ms. Calloway? Eat something. Humans get weird when they skip meals."

He said humans like he wasn't one. I decided I'd imagined it.

***

The next fifteen hours disappeared into the box. Bank statements, wire logs, vendor invoices, all of it too tidy.

Real books are messy. These were clean enough to eat off. I found three payments to something called Lunar Maintenance and a fourth I couldn't explain, and once the bars crawled back I texted Priya every hour like I'd promised, mostly alive and eating, mom.

At 11:58 I was still at the desk when the hallway went quiet. Not silent. Quiet, like a crowd stopping mid-sentence.

Then footsteps. Slow, heavy, completely unhurried.

He filled the doorway. Six-three, easy, in a black coat with rain still on the shoulders. Dark hair pushed back like he'd stopped caring halfway through. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow, and his eyes were grey, flat, and so controlled they looked expensive.

Okay. Rude. Nobody that scary should also be that good-looking.

"Ms. Calloway." His voice was low and dry, like it didn't get used much. "Silas Rook. You've been in my building for fifteen hours. Tell me what you've found."

I stood. Smoothed my blazer. Decided to be a professional. "Your books are too clean. Real companies leave fingerprints. You left none, which is its own fingerprint. Also, nobody told me my father worked here."

"Your father," Silas started, and took one step into the room.

He stopped.

Not a pause. A full-body stop, like he'd walked into glass. His nostrils flared once. His grey eyes dropped to my throat, then my wrists, then came back up, and the control in them cracked straight down the middle.

His hand slammed onto the doorframe. The wood groaned. A crack ran up the paint.

"Mr. Rook?"

"Don't," he said. It came out rough, almost a growl. "Don't move."

I didn't move. Mostly because my legs had filed for divorce.

He breathed in again, slower, like a man testing whether a stove was still hot. His jaw locked. When he finally spoke his voice came out tight. "What's your perfume?"

"I'm not wearing any."

"Shampoo. Soap."

"Dollar-store lavender. Why are we doing this?"

Silas looked at me like I'd just told him the sky was a lie. Then something moved behind his eyes that looked a lot like fear.

"Who sent you?" he said.

"Your lawyer. Mr. Pell. I signed a contract, which you should know because you're paying me."

"No." His voice dropped. "Who sent you?"

"Nobody. I needed rent money."

He stared at me a second too long. His throat worked. His knuckles had gone white on the cracked doorframe.

"Your access is full," he said, flat again, like someone had hit a switch. "Every ledger, every server, every room. Idris will find you a place to sleep. Don't leave the building tonight, and don't—"

He didn't finish. He just turned and left, fast, coat snapping behind him, like the room had caught fire.

I stood there with my mouth open. In three years of auditing, I've made CEOs cry, CFOs lawyer up, and one regional manager faint. Nobody had ever fled.

"Well," I said to the empty doorway. "That went great."

Idris appeared at my elbow so quietly I nearly launched my stapler at him. He wasn't smiling anymore. He was staring down the hall where Silas had gone, and he looked like a man watching his house burn.

"In six years," Idris said slowly, "I have never seen him walk out of a room."

"Maybe he doesn't like auditors."

"He doesn't like anyone. That's not the same thing." Idris finally looked at me. His nostrils flared, just once, and the color left his face. "Oh no."

"What? What does oh no mean?"

Before he could answer, every light on the floor died at once. Not a flicker. A slam. The whole building seemed to drop into a hole.

In the pitch black, a hand closed around my wrist. Idris. Hot as a fever.

"Wren," he whispered. First time he'd used my name. "Whatever you do, don't go looking for him."

"Why not?"

Somewhere far below us, glass exploded. Then came a sound that started as a howl and broke halfway into a human scream.

Idris's grip tightened. "Because I don't think that was anger," he whispered. "I think that was recognition."