The first death didn't feel real.
It arrived as a rumor—half-formed, carried on the breath of someone who didn't yet understand what they were saying. By the time it reached me, the words had already changed shape.
Found near the river.
No signs of struggle.
Marked as an accident.
Accidents don't leave claw marks.
I pushed through the growing crowd at the perimeter, ignoring the way conversations cut off when people saw my face. The body lay on the rocky bank below, half-shielded by reeds, the water stained dark where it pooled unnaturally still.
It was the clerk.
The one who'd been attacked near the archives.
His eyes were open, staring at nothing.
Rhea reached my side and went rigid. "They said he was recovering."
"He was," I replied quietly. "Until he wasn't useful anymore."
The healer shook his head as we approached. "Neck snapped. Clean. Fast."
Execution.
Not panic. Not chaos.
A decision.
The alpha arrived moments later, face carved from stone. He didn't speak at first—just stared down at the body as if memorizing every detail.
"This is no longer an internal conflict," he said finally. "This is murder."
The word rippled outward, heavy and undeniable.
Security locked down the perimeter immediately. Patrols doubled. Curfews reinstated. Movement restricted.
None of it brought the clerk back.
Back in the command room, the air vibrated with fury and fear in equal measure.
"They're sending a message," someone said.
"Yes," I replied. "And they chose the wrong audience."
Rhea turned to me. "This changes everything."
"It confirms everything," I said.
The rival hadn't shown himself.
That alone was enough to indict him.
But indictments don't stop killers.
I sat at the table long after the others left, staring at the clerk's name on the slate. He had trusted me. Believed that truth mattered enough to risk his safety.
And I had failed to protect him.
The guilt settled deep, cold, sharp and unyielding.
The alpha returned quietly, closing the door behind him. "We've traced movement patterns near the river."
"And?"
"Security routes were altered. Temporarily. The authorization came through a dormant channel."
My jaw tightened. "His channel."
"Yes."
"Then we act," I said.
He hesitated. "Carefully."
"No," I replied. "Decisively."
Silence stretched.
"Say it," he said.
"We detain him," I said. "Immediately.
Publicly. Before he disappears behind allies and technicalities."
"That will fracture the pack," he warned.
"The pack is already bleeding," I shot back. "And every hour we wait tells him he's untouchable."
He studied me for a long moment. "You're asking me to choose."
"I'm asking you to lead," I replied.
The order went out before dawn.
The rival wasn't in his quarters.
Of course he wasn't.
But he hadn't fled either.
They found him at the edge of the outer territory, standing calmly beside the marker stones, as if he'd been waiting.
He didn't resist.
He smiled.
"I wondered how long it would take," he said as they restrained him. "Tragedy always accelerates things."
Rhea bristled. "You killed him."
He tilted his head. "I didn't touch him."
"Then who did?" I demanded.
"You're asking the wrong question," he replied smoothly. "Ask who benefited."
I struck him then.
Not hard.
Not publicly.
Just enough to make the point clear.
"Careful," he said quietly. "Violence doesn't suit your narrative."
"Murder doesn't suit yours," I replied.
The holding chamber was sealed under the alpha's authority—temporary detention pending formal charge. Allies protested immediately. External voices stirred.
Pressure mounted from every direction.
That night, I sat alone again, staring at the river in my mind, replaying the clerk's last hours.
Fear had followed him.
I'd seen it in his eyes.
"I should've moved faster," I whispered.
Rhea found me there.
"This isn't on you," she said.
"It is," I replied. "Leadership means consequence."
She sat beside me. "Then let this one mean something."
The interrogation began the next morning.
The rival remained composed, like too composed.
He denied everything without denying anything. Slipped through questions like water through fingers. Every answer carefully shaped, every omission intentional.
"You think this ends with me?" he asked at one point, meeting my gaze across the table. "There are systems older than both of us. They don't die because one clerk grows a conscience."
"No," I agreed. "They die because people stop protecting them."
His smile faded, just slightly.
That was when I knew.
He hadn't expected resistance to harden into resolve.
By evening, external oversight was invoked.
Not invited.
Invoked.
The pack was no longer handling this alone.
As the sun set, casting long shadows across the grounds, I stood by the river again not to mourn, but to remember why this began.
Truth had a cost.
Blood made it undeniable.
I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of what was coming.
This was no longer about exposure.
It was about justice.
And justice, once awakened, doesn't stop politely.