I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 14

Lyra had been the problem in other people’s war plans before.

This time, she was determined to be the flaw in someone else’s.

Atlas spread a printout of the north ravine sector across the garage workbench. Lines of patrol routes and camera cones crisscrossed the paper, Theo’s notes scrawled in the margins. Cassian, Nia, Sienna and Darius ringed the table with Lyra, the buzz of the rest of the pack a low hum outside.

“They hit here, last night,” Atlas said, tapping the choke point. “And brushed the edge again this morning. No full assault. Just…pressure.”

“Prodding,” Lyra said. “They’re watching who moves and how.”

Darius frowned. “We can’t not respond to a poke at the wards.”

“Didn’t say don’t respond,” she replied. “I’m saying we decide what they see when they poke. Right now, we’re giving them the full show every time.”

Theo, hovering near the monitors, pushed his glasses up. “Like…feeding fake data back into a system. Honeypotting.”

“Exactly.” Lyra tapped the map. “We know they’re watching this sector. So we give them a pattern. Over the next few days, every time they brush here, they see the same thing: same number of wolves, same rotation, same timing. Boring. Predictable.”

Nia crossed her arms. “Isn’t that worse? Makes us easier to hit.”

“That’s what they’ll think,” Lyra said. “But the real shifts—the stronger teams, the heavier backup—move just outside their sightlines. Different routes, different schedule. They go all-in on the pattern they think they’ve cracked, they hit a wall they didn’t know was there.”

Sienna’s mouth curved. “You want to bait them into overconfidence.”

Lyra met her eyes. “They used me as bait for twelve years. I learned something.”

Atlas studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. “Walk me through it.”

She did. Marker in hand, she sketched quick rotations: a visible “standard” patrol that always arrived at the ravine just a breath too late to catch more than scent, and a shadow line of wolves sweeping a wider arc behind the trees, out of direct camera and ritual sight.

“We use the cameras for misdirection,” she said. “Theo can delay some feeds by a few seconds, loop non-critical angles. From their side, it’ll look like we’re a step slower than we actually are.”

Theo winced. “Feels wrong to weaken my own system.”

“You’re not weakening it,” she said. “You’re skinning it. Giving it camouflage. The real timing stays in here.” She tapped her temple, then the secondary console. “And in a closed channel.”

Cassian’s gaze flicked between the map and her face. “You’re sure Silas will bite.”

“He hates what he can’t see,” Lyra said. “He’ll keep needling until he thinks he’s found the hole. We show him a hole we built ourselves.”

Darius exhaled through his nose. “Risky.”

“So is waiting for him to pick the moment.” Her voice sharpened. “Right now he chooses the terms. I’m done with that.”

Silence. Then Nia’s grin flashed, quick and wolf-bright. “I like it.”

“Me too,” Sienna said. “If it makes him trip face-first into my patrol, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Atlas looked around the circle. “Objections?”

Darius hesitated, then shook his head. “As long as outer civilians stay clear of these runs, I’m in.”

“Then we do it,” Atlas said. “We standardize the show and double the shadow.”

He straightened, alpha energy filling the small space. “Theo: work with Lyra on the feed delays and secure channels. Nia, Darius, Jace: rework patrol routes with Cassian. No one outside this room talks details. If Silas is listening, he hears only that we’re ‘increasing vigilance.’”

They dispersed with purpose. Theo tugged Lyra toward the monitors, words already spilling about frame rates and buffer windows. Cassian lingered by the map with her as the others moved away.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked quietly. “Using their playbook against them?”

“Am I sure I want to make Silas eat his own tactics?” Lyra said. “Yes.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She hesitated, fingers smoothing a crease in the paper. “It’ll pull up old s**t,” she admitted. “But I’m done letting old s**t drive. This time I’m writing the script.”

Cassian’s mouth curved, pride softening the usual edge. “Then let’s give him one hell of a bad review.”

Her wolf snorted in amusement.

Theo waved a cable at them. “If you two are done flirting with metaphors, we have packet loss to fake.”

Lyra rolled her eyes and joined him at the console, Cassian at her shoulder.

On the monitor, the ravine looked harmless: rock, trees, a faint silver line.

Somewhere beyond that frame, Silas was counting their steps.

Fine.

If he wanted a performance, Hollow Ridge—and the rogue he’d failed to drag back—would give him one.

Just not the one he thought he’d paid for.