Chapter 60
DEREK
The press conference had only been two days ago, but it felt like a lifetime.
I still hadn’t slept. Not really. Not in any way that counted.
I’d crashed for a few hours on the couch in my office the night after–boots still on, half-
dressed, a mostly full glass of whiskey sweating rings into my desk.
It was still there. Same glass. Same whiskey. Still untouched.
The quiet was heavier than usual tonight. The kind that made a man feel like the walls were closing in, like the fire in the hearth was burning just to keep the shadows from swallowing
the room whole.
I leaned forward on the couch, elbows braced on my knees, hands clasped tight enough to
crack bone. My eyes fixed on the dying flames. I didn’t move.
Not when the embers popped.
Not when the clock ticked past midnight.
Not even when her voice echoed through my memory again.
“Until now,” she’d said, lifting her chin at the podium like she belonged there. Like she wasn’t afraid of a single one of them.
Godess, she was magnificent.
Even now, after everything. Even when my blood still ran hot with resentment, confusion,
regret–she’d stood beside me and held the line.
We’d both lied through our teeth for the sake of the Alliance. Lied, smoothed edges, played the parts we had to play.
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And I’d looked at her and realized I didn’t know where the performance ended.
The way her fingers had threaded with mine when the press started circling like sharks- that hadn’t felt like acting.
Or maybe I just wanted to believe that.
I exhaled hard through my nose and rubbed a hand over the back of my neck.
There were too many questions and not enough answers. About her. About what came next.
About how much longer we could pretend we weren’t still tethered together by something ancient and cruel and impossible to break.
a
I didn’t even notice Joe had come in until the door clicked softly shut behind him.
“Alpha.”
His voice was low. Careful.
That got my attention.
I straightened, tension already coiling in my spine. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
He nodded, walking toward me. A folder in one hand. He laid it flat on the table between us.
“I’ve got something.”
I took a deep breath, knowing just by looking at him that I wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell me.
“You’re not going to like this,” he said. I hated always being right.
And if he said it, it meant I was going to absolutely hate it.
He opened the folder. I didn’t reach for it. “The note?”
“Yeah. Forensics came back this morning.”
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I stared at the folder, the fire’s reflection flickering over its contents. “Tell me.”
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“The paper? Common. Cheap. Generic stock from a dozen office supply stores. The ink? Same deal. Nothing proprietary. Nothing traceable. No DNA from the envelope.”
“So, nothing,” I muttered, already annoyed.
Joe shrugged and took a seat opposite me. “Not quite nothing.”
That got my attention.
He flipped the folder around so it was facing me and slid a page across the desk. “The handwriting analyst found some things. Said the letter was written by someone right- handed. Pen pressure was confident. No hesitation or shakiness–whoever wrote this, they weren’t nervous. They knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Gender?”
“Inconclusive.”
“But…” I pressed, catching the way his lips tugged to the side like he was holding something back.
I looked at him, waiting for him to finish.
“She said it looked like someone educated. Like, private–school educated. Polished script.
Formal sentence structure. No idioms or slang. Raised in the upper echelons, someone used
to refinement.”
I felt something cold settle in my gut. “Can she tell what pack?”
Joe hesitated. “She wouldn’t say for sure. But… she’s pretty confident the person was raised
in Silverclaw.”
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me, and stared up at the ceiling. A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes.
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It was one thing to suspect it. To know, deep down, that someone close to me had done this.
But hearing it confirmed, even indirectly–it twisted something in my chest.
I stood abruptly, walked to the fire, and poured myself another drink. The bottle clinked against the glass like it had something smart to say. I threw it back and let the burn sit in my throat.
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