The rival didn't strike back immediately.
That was how I knew he was planning something permanent.
The camp existed in a strange suspension after the failed suspension vote. It was too alert for peace and too restrained for chaos.
Meetings multiplied. Eyes followed movements. Trust fractured into temporary alliances built on shared anxiety rather than loyalty.
Silence, when wielded correctly, is a weapon.
By the second day, I realized what he was waiting for.
Plausible necessity.
It came in the form of an incident on the northern boundary, a skirmish that should have been routine, resolved qlogged,, logged and forgotten.
Instead, it escalated.
A patrol failed to report back. When reinforcements were sent, they found scorched earth, blood, and signs of deliberate provocation.
Someone wanted a crisis.
The council convened immediately.
This time, the rival was early.
"We are under threat," he said calmly. "And fractured leadership is a liability."
I met his gaze across the chamber. "Or a convenient excuse."
"This is not the time for internal conflict," he continued, ignoring me. "We require unified command."
"And you volunteer," I said.
"I am prepared," he replied. "Others are… compromised."
The word landed exactly where he intended.
Eyes shifted toward me.
"They will blame you," Rhea murmured beside me.
"I know."
The alpha spoke before the murmurs could turn. "We will not exploit an external threat to settle internal scores."
"Of course not," the rival said smoothly. "Which is why I suggest temporary emergency authority that's granted by consensus."
Emergency powers.
Temporary.
The oldest lie in governance.
I stood. "You're exploiting fear."
"I'm responding to danger," he countered. "While you document."
I felt the room tilt, not toward him, not fully, but away from certainty.
That was enough.
"Then let's be precise," I said. "Who authorized the northern patrol's altered route?"
A pause.
The rival's eyes flicked,just once.
I pressed. "Because I reviewed the logs this morning. The change wasn't approved through standard channels."
"That's irrelevant," he said sharply.
"It's critical," I replied. "Because whoever redirected that patrol knew exactly where they'd be vulnerable."
Murmurs grew louder.
"You're accusing me," he said.
"No," I said. "I'm accusing whoever benefits most from destabilization."
The alpha's gaze sharpened. "Produce the logs."
They were projected within moments.
Clear. Timestamped. Annotated.
The route change traced back to an auxiliary channel, one that answered not to the council, but to a private security consortium.
The rival's network.
"This proves nothing," he snapped.
"It proves intent," I said. "You manufactured urgency."
The room erupted.
Voices clashed. Accusations flew. The careful composure he'd maintained finally cracked.
"You think exposure makes you untouchable?" he demanded, stepping toward me. "You think they'll choose chaos over control?"
"I think," I replied steadily, "they're tired of being managed by fear."
The alpha raised his voice. "Enough."
The rival turned on him. "You're losing the pack."
"No," the alpha said quietly. "I'm losing my patience."
The decision came fast after that—not a verdict, but a containment order. The rival's emergency authority proposal was denied. An independent inquiry into the northern incident was launched.
He smiled when it was over.
Not relief.
Threat.
That night, the real move came.
Not public.
Not political.
I was walking back from the infirmary, checking on the injured patrol member when the lights along the inner path flickered out.
The forest went silent.
I stopped moving.
"You should've taken the offer," a voice said from the dark.
I turned slowly.
The rival stepped into the dim light, no witnesses, no pretense.
"This won't end the way you think," he said. "People like you don't win. You destabilize, then you disappear."
"And people like you?" I asked. "What do they do?"
He smiled. "We survive."
The air shifted with pressure rolling outward.
He was stronger than I expected.
So was I.
The clash was brutal and brief but controlled and precise. Not a brawl.
A message.
I felt the edge of his power skim too close. He felt mine push back harder than he'd calculated.
When we separated, breathless, the silence screamed.
"You won't be able to prove this," he said softly.
"I don't need to," I replied. "You just showed me who you are when no one's watching."
He laughed. "No one will believe you."
"Someone will," I said. "Eventually."
He stepped back into the dark. "Be careful. Accidents happen."
The lights returned seconds later.
Guards arrived too late. Always too late.
I reported the encounter immediately.
This time, the response was different.
Grim. Focused. No dismissal.
Rhea's hands shook when she saw the marks on my arm. "He crossed into violence."
"Yes," I said. "And that was his mistake."
Because violence leaves traces.
By morning, whispers weren't whispers anymore.
By noon, the rival's allies avoided my gaze.
By nightfall, the inquiry widened.
He hadn't just crossed a line.
He'd erased it.
As I stood alone once more at the overlook, exhaustion settled deep into my bones but beneath it was something sharper.
Certainty.
He had nothing left but escalation.
And so did I.
The next move wouldn't be about exposure.
It would be about survival.
And only one of us was prepared to pay that price.