Exiled Wolf, Fated Luna

Chapter 26 – Inventory

The call goes on speaker the second we’re in Bran’s office.

It’s Jarek’s contact from Ravenford—human, male, voice pitched low like he knows someone might be listening over his shoulder.

“Name’s Tomas,” he says. “We’ve talked before, Alpha.”

“I remember,” Darian says. He leans against Bran’s desk, arms folded, all focus. I take the other side; Erynn and Bran hover near the bookshelf. Rhoen stands by the door, an unmoving shadow.

“You said Helix,” Darian prompts. “And missing wolves.”

“Yeah.” Tomas clears his throat. “I… might’ve seen something I wasn’t supposed to. Again.”

“Define ‘might have,’” Bran says dryly.

Paper rustles on Tomas’ end. “I fix things,” he says. “Electronics. Security systems. Sometimes companies that don’t want official eyes call guys like me when their stuff glitches. A week ago, I got pulled to look at a wiped drive from one of Helix’s satellite labs near the city.”

My skin crawls.

“Thought you said that site was shut down,” Vael mutters from the doorway.

“Most of it is,” Tomas says. “This was… leftovers. Someone higher up wanted the records gone yesterday. Problem is, you can’t really erase something clean if you’re in a hurry. Not without help.”

“And you like helping,” Darian says, voice flat.

“I like getting paid,” Tomas corrects. “And I like sleeping at night. Those things don’t always line up.”

Bran rubs at his temple. “What did you see?”

“Fragments,” Tomas says. “Names. Codes. Inventory lists. They’re cute about it—no ‘wolf’ or ‘subject’ words, just ‘units.’ But I’ve seen enough now to know when numbers breathe.”

The room tightens.

He goes on. “Most of the files were toast, but a couple of index tables survived long enough for me to grab screenshots. One of them was tagged ‘Priority Anomalous Assets – Active & Lost.’”

My heart thuds painfully.

“Lost,” I repeat.

“Runaways. Raids. Things that broke out.” Tomas lowers his voice further. “One of the names… lined up with a description I remembered you asking about.”

Darian’s gaze snaps to mine, then to Rhoen.

“Say it,” Rhoen says, voice low.

Tomas exhales. “Code: H‑17. Tag: ‘juvenile, unshifted, high sensitivity.’ Status: Lost, six months ago. Location: unconfirmed, believed to have fled toward northern ridges.”

Rhoen’s face goes white.

“The boy,” he says. “The one who ran after they called him cursed.”

The one whose brother sat across from me last night, grief in his eyes.

“Helix had him,” I whisper.

“Had,” Tomas emphasizes. “Past tense. Whatever cage they put him in, he’s not in their inventory anymore. That’s the point. They’re pissed about it. They lost a few ‘units’ in that batch. Some during your raid. Some before.”

The room goes thinner. The air tastes of old metal and new anger.

“There were other codes too,” Tomas says, rushing now, like he wants to get it out before his courage fails. “R‑4, A‑9… Most listed as ‘reacquired’ or ‘terminated.’ H‑17 and three others were marked ‘unrecovered – high priority.’”

“Translation,” Vael says grimly, “they’re out there. And Helix wants them back.”

Tomas hesitates. “There’s more. One entry wasn’t a code. It was a name. Full. ‘Vexa Wolfsbane – external anomaly, empathic profile, bonded Alpha.’ Status: ‘unsecured target of interest.’”

My stomach drops. The room sways.

Darian’s power spikes so hard through the bond it almost hurts. “They put her on a list,” he says, each word like a stone. “As inventory.”

“Not your kind of inventory,” Tomas says quickly. “No cage number. More like… like a line item in a shopping catalog. ‘If opportunity, acquire.’”

“Better,” Vael says. “So much better.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You said… others,” I manage. “Do you have anything more on them? Locations. Ages. Anything.”

“Not much,” Tomas admits. “Partial notes. One was flagged as ‘southern pack, partial shift, auditory anomalies.’ Another…” He shuffles papers. “Here. ‘Former subject, escaped transport, last seen near industrial district, Ravenford outskirts.’ No age. No name. Just ‘dangerous if cornered.’”

“Of course,” Bran mutters. “They break someone and then act surprised when he bites.”

“That last one,” Tomas says carefully, “lines up with rumors I’ve heard about a guy sleeping under bridges, freaking out when cop cars go by. People say he talks to things that aren’t there. Dogs calm down around him, though.”

My heart lurches in an ugly, hopeful way.

“Helix thinks he’s dangerous,” I say. “To them. That’s a good sign.”

“It means he didn’t stay in their box,” Erynn says quietly.

Tomas sighs. “Look, I can send you what I copied, but if they find out someone pulled anything off that drive, my face becomes their next project. I’m already playing this… close.”

“You’re not doing it for free,” Darian says. “We know how this works. Call the usual number for payment.”

“That’s not—” Tomas starts, then cuts himself off. “Fine. But if I get disappeared, tell my sister I told you so.”

“We’ll do better than that,” Vael says, stepping closer to the mic. “We’ll make sure the people who disappeared you wish they hadn’t.”

“Comforting,” Tomas mutters. “Sending files now. And, Alpha? Vexa?”

The sound of my name in a human voice makes my skin crawl.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Helix isn’t used to losing track of things,” he says. “But they’re losing you. And H‑17. And whoever that bridge‑sleeper is. You’re… changing their math. Just remember that makes you a variable and a target.”

The line clicks dead.

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then Bran’s computer chimes.

“Files,” he says. “Got them.”

He clicks through quickly, jaw tightening. “He’s not lying. Codes, status tags, all the creative dehumanization you’d expect.” His eyes flick to me. “And your name. Spelled right, even. How thoughtful.”

A chill crawls up my spine, equal parts fear and fury.

“They think you’re a thing,” Darian says, voice rough. “A resource. A lever.”

“Good,” I say, surprising myself with the word. They all look at me. “If they’re going to write me down, I’d rather be the variable that keeps blowing up their equations.”

Vael barks a short laugh. “There she is.”

Rhoen scrubs a hand over his face. “H‑17,” he says. “The boy. If Helix lost him near the ridges—he could be anywhere by now.”

“Or close,” Bran says. “Scared wolves don’t always run straight lines. Sometimes they circle.”

“If he’s near the industrial district, that’s my side of town,” Jarek’s voice says from the hall; he must’ve lingered. “I can ask around. Quietly. See if anyone’s seen a guy who calms dogs and freaks at sirens.”

Darian nods once. “We’ll plan,” he says. “Routes. Contacts. No one goes sniffing alone. Helix wrote these ‘missing units’ down like inventory. They forgot inventory bites back when it gets teeth.”

The bond hums hot and bright between us.

Bran swivels his chair to face me fully. “We have three problems,” he says. “Helix still wants you. Helix wants its escaped toys back. And there are wolves out there with scars like the ones you’ve been mending in Milo and Teren and half our clinic.”

He taps the screen with the list.

“Question is, Vexa,” he says quietly, “how many of those you want to help pull off their shelves.”

My hands are still shaking.

So is my wolf.

Inside, the dial Erynn made me practice with glows—fear, anger, determination, all jostling. The field outside hums with kids learning how not to hit the ground alone. Milo’s voice echoes in my head: If I get scared again… can I find you?

“Yes,” I say, to Bran, to Darian, to myself. “All of them I can reach.”

Darian’s jaw flexes. Pride, fear, resolve all flicker through our bond.

“Then,” he says, “we make a new kind of inventory.”

Erynn’s brows lift. “Of what?”

“Of every wolf they ever tried to turn into a number,” he says. “And how many we take back.”