THE ALPHA’S LAST REDEMPTION

CHAPTER TWENTY

The morning broke cold and colorless, the kind of winter light that made even familiar places look strange. Frost rimed the cobblestones outside the packhouse, and the air was sharp in Kael’s lungs as he stepped into it. The world was hushed, as though waiting for something to happen.

Ronan was already in the stables, tightening the straps on his saddle. His breath came out in clouds as he glanced up.

“You’re really doing this,” he said, not as a question.

Kael swung into his saddle with a sharp, practiced motion. “We can’t win a war on rumors, Ronan. Lucien’s been three steps ahead because he’s been controlling the story. If we take that away, he’s nothing.”

Ronan mounted his own horse, still frowning. “And you think you’ll find proof out there? It’s been weeks since the weapons went missing.”

Kael’s eyes were cold as steel. “Lucien’s arrogant. He’ll have left a trail. And I know exactly where to start.”

They rode hard toward the southern border, hooves drumming over frozen earth. The forest grew denser the further they went, the old pines leaning over the trail like they were listening. Few wolves used this path now — the rogues had claimed it as their hunting ground. The air still carried the ghost of old smoke from burned wagons and scattered campfires.

Kael slowed near a cluster of jagged rocks, scanning the ground. “Here.” He slid from the saddle and crouched, brushing frost away with his glove.

Ronan joined him, eyes narrowing. The snow here was disturbed, the neat crust broken by irregular indentations. “Tracks?”

Kael nodded. “Not fresh enough to be from patrol. And they’re heading away from the border, not toward it.” He brushed aside more snow, revealing dark, damp soil beneath. A faint coppery scent drifted up.

Ronan’s brow furrowed. “Blood?”

“From a crate being dragged,” Kael said. “And not just any crate.”

They followed the trail deeper into rogue territory, the forest closing in around them. The air was heavier here, muffling their footsteps. Every now and then, Kael would stop, kneel, and scan the ground before moving again. The tracks led them to the lip of a narrow ravine.

Kael peered down — and there it was. Half-buried under snow and pine boughs, the remains of a wooden crate lay rotting. The lid had been pried open, splintered at the edges. Inside, straw packing clung to the corners like cobwebs, and a single, rusted crossbow bolt lay forgotten.

Ronan picked it up, turning it over in his hand. “This is from our shipment. No doubt.”

Kael’s jaw hardened. “Lucien didn’t just steal from us. He ran it through rogue territory. Could’ve been selling to them. Could’ve been arming them.”

Ronan exhaled slowly. “This is your proof. This could end him.”

“Not yet,” Kael said. “If we accuse him now, he’ll twist it. Make himself the victim again. This goes public only when every wolf is watching — at the trial.”

They hauled the crate back toward the border, the horses straining under the weight. By the time they reached the packhouse, the sun was dipping low, gilding the snow in pale fire. Wolves looked up as they passed, curiosity flickering in their eyes, but no one dared to ask questions outright.

Inside, Kael went straight to the library. Selene was there, curled in one of the deep leather chairs by the fire, pretending to read. Her gaze drifted instantly to the crate in Ronan’s arms, then back to Kael.

“What is that?” she asked cautiously.

Kael’s eyes held hers. “Something Lucien can’t talk his way out of.”

Her fingers tightened on the book in her lap. “And what will you do with it?”

“Wait,” Kael said simply. “When the trial comes, I’ll put it in front of the whole pack.”

Her expression was unreadable — somewhere between hope and fear. “Then I hope you’re right, Kael. Because if you’re wrong…” She trailed off, shaking her head, and turned back to her book.

Kael stood there a moment longer, then left without a word.

Night settled over the packhouse. From the balcony outside his chambers, Kael could see the courtyard below bathed in torchlight. A small knot of warriors stood near the well — and among them, unmistakable even from this distance, was Lucien.

His hands moved as he spoke, his tone low and persuasive. The warriors leaned in, nodding occasionally, expressions shifting between doubt and intrigue.

Ronan stepped up beside Kael. “He’s working them,” he said grimly. “Every minute he’s free to talk is another seed planted.”

Kael’s grip on the railing tightened. “Let him plant them. When the ground gives way, they’ll all fall with him.”

Later, in the dim corridor outside the war room, Kael crossed paths with Lucien himself. The man looked almost relaxed, his chains gone for the night under guard supervision, his smirk firmly in place.

“You’ve been busy, Alpha,” Lucien drawled. “I hear you’ve been out… searching. Hunting for ghosts in the snow.”

Kael didn’t slow. “Some ghosts leave bones behind. Some leave bodies.”

Lucien chuckled softly. “And some leave nothing but stories. Careful, Kael — you might find you’ve been chasing shadows while the real threat stands right in front of you.”

Kael stepped closer, so close that the breath between them turned to frost. “The real threat has already made his mistake. I just haven’t shown it to the world yet.”

Lucien’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes sharpened. “Then I suppose we’ll see whose story the pack believes.”

As Kael walked away, he felt the weight of what was coming settle in his bones. The trial wasn’t going to be a simple verdict. It was going to be war in the open.

And now, he finally had a weapon to fight it.