Chapter 14
1080 Words
For a long second Amara didn’t move.
The little red dot stared back at her from the ceiling corner, no bigger than a pinhead, pulsing faintly in the dim light from the hallway.
Her wolf went very still.
She stepped inside, slow, resisting every urge to lunge. The air in her room smelled like her—pine, sweat, detergent—overlaid with something faint and foreign. Plastic. Metal. Human hands.
The dot blinked again.
“In here?” she whispered. “Really?”
Whoever had placed it hadn’t bothered to hide it under paint or dust. That was almost worse. Either they’d been in a hurry, or they were that sure no one looked up.
Her skin crawled.
Amara shut the door behind her and crossed to the desk. She picked up an old T‑shirt, shook it out, then climbed onto the chair, balancing carefully as she reached for the corner.
Up close she saw it: a tiny, black nub glued to the wall, lens glittering red.
Her reflection was a dull smear in it.
She stared into it for a heartbeat.
“Smile,” she muttered, then snapped the T‑shirt over it and twisted.
Plastic cracked under her fingers. The red light blinked faster, then went dark.
She yanked it free from the plaster and dropped back to the floor. Her heart was beating too loud in her ears.
At her desk, she spread the shirt and picked the device out of the cloth. Smaller than the one they’d taken off the rogue. Flatter. Built to sit in a room, not on fur.
Not Silverpine tech. Not Blackridge. The weight and finish were wrong.
“Of course,” she said under her breath. “Why just film the yard when you can get the i***t border wolf in her natural habitat?”
The thought sent a new thread of anger slicing through the ache in her chest.
Someone had walked into her room. Past her pack. Past her Alpha. Past Rowan’s people.
And put eyes on her.
She stuffed the device into her pocket and stepped back into the hall, senses flaring.
No one out here. No heartbeat close enough to be listening. Good.
She headed straight for the war room.
It wasn’t empty.
Rowan was there with Gideon and Lyra, half the map table covered in scribbled notes and lists. Elias hovered near the window, phone at his ear, voice low.
All four of them turned when she walked in.
“Problem?” Gideon asked.
“You tell me,” Amara said.
She pulled the tiny black nub from her pocket and dropped it onto the map between them.
Silence hit like a slap.
Rowan’s eyelids flickered. Lyra swore under her breath. Elias went very, very still.
“Where?” Rowan asked.
“My ceiling,” Amara said. “Above my bed.”
Lyra’s mouth tightened. “Your own pack really is committed to the drama.”
“Wasn’t one of ours,” Amara said. “Wrong make. Wrong smell. And if anyone from Silverpine wanted to watch me sleep, they’d at least hide it better.”
Rowan picked up the device with two fingers, turning it to the light. The lens was a dark, dead eye now.
“This is not the same model as the rogue’s,” he said. “Smaller. Shorter range.”
“Placed by someone who had time to wander your halls without being questioned,” Gideon added.
Elias hung up without saying goodbye. “We do not spy on our own wolves,” he said, jaw clenched. “Not like that.”
Amara’s laugh came out dry. “Good to know there’s a line somewhere.”
“Frost,” Rowan said sharply.
She met his gaze. “If you’re about to say you’re sorry again, pick a different angle. I’m running out of places to put it.”
His eyes flashed, but he smoothed it down. He set the bug back on the table.
“Two devices,” he said. “One on a rogue. One in a patrol wolf’s room. Different models, same flavor.”
“Whoever it is,” Lyra said, “they’re not just watching borders. They’re watching you.”
“Because of the bond?” Elias asked, then winced as soon as the word was out.
The room tightened.
Rowan’s jaw locked. “Because she’s useful,” he said flatly. “To us or to them. Either way, she’s central. They put eyes where the pattern moves.”
“Feels great,” Amara said. “Love being a pattern.”
Gideon shot her a sidelong look that said he knew she was two seconds from snapping.
“We need to assume there could be more bugs,” Lyra said. “Rooms. Halls. Maybe even outside.”
Elias nodded once. “We sweep the house. Every floor. Quietly. No announcements.”
“And what do we tell the wolves if they see us pulling the walls apart?” Gideon asked.
“That we’re checking for structural damage from the attack,” Elias said. “It’s not entirely a lie.”
Rowan’s gaze stayed on Amara.
“You found this because you know what doesn’t belong in your space,” he said. “I need you to walk the house the way you walk the border. Smell for anything off. Even if it’s small.”
“Again,” she said, “nice to be needed.”
He flinched, just a little.
“Also,” Lyra added, lip curling, “if they did plant this because of you… they’ll expect you to panic. Maybe run. Maybe leave.”
Amara’s wolf snapped her teeth.
“Then I won’t,” she said. “If someone wants a show, they can stare at a closed door.”
Gideon nodded, satisfied. “There’s the spine.”
Rowan folded his arms. “We sweep. We log every device. And then we figure out who’s watching—and how to make them wish they weren’t.”
Amara picked up the dead bug again, feeling its light, hateful weight.
“Whoever they are,” she said, “they just made one mistake I can work with.”
Rowan’s eyes sharpened. “Which?”
“They stopped being a story,” she said. “They walked into my house.”
She closed her hand around the device until the edges dug into her palm.
“For that,” she added quietly, “I bite.”
- Writer
