Chapter 12
1062 Words
The device sat in Rowan’s palm like a live coal.
Amara couldn’t stop staring at it. Sleek black casing, no bigger than a thumb joint, tiny red lens already dim. It looked wrong here, against blood‑streaked fingers and dirt.
“Someone was filming us?” Tamsin breathed behind Amara. “Like humans do?”
“Inside,” Rowan said. His voice had gone very flat. “Now.”
The little knot around him broke apart. Gideon peeled off to bark orders at patrols; Lyra herded curious eyes away. Rowan and Lysander headed for the house with Elias a step behind.
“Frost,” Rowan said over his shoulder, without looking. “Walk with us.”
Every part of her wanted to refuse. Her wolf wanted to rip the camera from his hand and grind it into dust. Instead, Amara fell into step beside Elias, matching the short, tense march to the war room.
Inside, the big table was already half‑covered in new maps and bloody handprints. Rowan dropped the device in the center. It looked even more out of place against old wood and worn paper.
“Humans?” Lysander asked.
“Or wolves who like their toys,” Lyra said. “But yeah. Looks human.”
Elias leaned in, not touching it. “You’re sure it’s a camera?”
Rowan’s mouth twitched humorlessly. “Blackridge has taken more off dead hunters than I care to count. Different brand. Same idea.”
“So whoever sent those rogues wanted to see how we reacted,” Gideon said. “Our formations. Who moves where. Who matters.”
Amara’s scalp prickled.
“They strapped it under his fur,” she said slowly. “He couldn’t have done that to himself. Someone calm enough to get that close.”
“Calm,” Lyra echoed. “Or confident no one would question them near a rogue pack.”
Rowan’s gaze slid to Amara. “You smelled anything off on that one? Under the rogue stink.”
She replayed the fight in her head. Blood, rot, fear. Under it, a chemical tang she’d written off as adrenaline.
“Something sharp,” she said. “Not pack. Not forest. Like… plastic warmed in a car?”
Gideon grimaced. “Human.”
“Perfect,” Lysander muttered. “Rogues with human toys. That’s exactly what this valley needed.”
Rowan straightened. “We assume worst case. Someone on two legs is testing us. Using rogues as delivery systems. Maybe more than here.”
“And filming our response,” Elias said. “To send where?”
“Whoever signs the checks,” Lyra said.
Silence stretched.
Amara folded her arms to keep from digging her nails into her palms. “We need to know how many,” she said. “If this was on one wolf or six. If they all had cameras, or just one.”
Gideon nodded. “We’ll strip every body. Sweep the woods. If there’s more, we’ll find them.”
“And every outer marker gets re‑checked,” Amara added. “If they put eyes on a rogue, they might have put them on our trees too.”
Rowan’s mouth eased, just a fraction. “Do it.”
He looked at her like he wanted to say more. She looked away.
“This doesn’t leave this room,” Lysander said. “Not until we know what we’re dealing with. Last thing we need is panic about humans watching us.”
Too late, Amara thought. Her wolf already paced, feeling unseen eyes in every shadow.
“Frost,” Rowan said quietly. “Walk me through your sector again. Every scent you clocked in the last week that didn’t fit.”
She almost told him to find someone else. Almost told him that if he wanted her nose, he shouldn’t have cut the rest of her out of his skin.
Instead, she pointed at the map, tracing lines she knew better than the veins on her hands.
“Here. Old pine. That’s where I first smelled you,” she said before she could stop herself, then corrected, “Blackridge. Three days ago. Same edge of cold metal as the rogues tonight, but cleaner. Deliberate.”
Rowan’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t interrupt.
“And here,” she went on, tapping a curve near the creek. “Last week. Faint gasoline. Too far from the road for a stalled car. Now I’m wondering if it was a dropped can from someone setting up a blind.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “You logged it?”
“I mentioned it,” she said. “No one cared. Humans dumping trash isn’t high‑level drama.”
“Write every detail you remember,” he said. “Tonight. Even if it feels small.”
His tone wasn’t an order, not quite. It still scraped.
“Fine,” she said. “Anything else, Alpha?”
He flinched a little at the title, then covered it. “We’ll speak again when we know what’s on that,” he said, nodding at the camera. “Until then, don’t go anywhere alone.”
Amara’s laugh came out sharp. “You already made sure I’m alone.”
Something flashed in his eyes—guilt, anger at himself. He didn’t answer.
“Dismissed,” Lysander said, a touch too quickly.
She turned to go.
“Frost.” Rowan’s voice stopped her at the doorway. “If humans have your face on that footage—”
“They won’t be the first ones to see me as a problem,” she said over her shoulder. “Get in line.”
His jaw clenched.
Amara stepped into the corridor, letting the war room door close behind her.
For one heartbeat, she thought the air felt thicker, like the weight of a camera lens pressing between her shoulder blades.
Then a pup barreled around the corner, colliding with her legs.
Milo. Big eyes, scraped cheek, smelling of smoke and fear.
He clung to her without asking.
“Amara,” he whispered into her jacket. “They said you bit a bad wolf.”
She stared down at him, throat tight.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I did.”
His fingers fisted tighter in her clothes. “Good.”
Somewhere above them, unseen and silent, a tiny red light blinked back to life.
- Writer
