Elena’s POV
I locked the chain and dialed Maya before the lead officer finished pressing the itinerary against the glass.
“The next cold box is sealed,” Maya said.
“The route is clear.”
“Then nothing changes because he knocked on my door.” I kept my voice flat.
“Patients move. Boxes move. No one follows me. No route on any open line.”
“Understood.”
The outer lock clicked open.
The flat belonged to a Blackwood-controlled landlord; its ordinary lock had never been part of Felix’s secure site.
I sent the intrusion alert to him and my lawyer.
On the screen, his acknowledgment arrived just before the guards crossed the hall.
I grabbed only what I needed.
Silver-lined gloves.
Medicine for the burned hand.
Encrypted drive.
Nothing from Half-Mountain.
I left its dresses on the rack where they belonged to a woman who still answered to him.
The lead guard held the outer lock open with his fob.
The man behind him cut the safety chain.
The lead officer held out his palm.
“Your phone, Mrs. Blackwood.”
“That name is why you are here,” I said.
“Do not pretend it is courtesy.”
I said one last line into the open channel.
“The airport. Ninety minutes. Keep the patient routes off this phone.” Then I locked the encrypted account and handed over the screen he could no longer open.
They walked me to the private jet without asking again.
No coat from Half-Mountain.
No jewelry he once left on my dresser.
Only the bag that held my treatment and my files.
The cabin door sealed.
Caleb sat across from me with the alliance risk file open.
Wife of Record attendance required.
He slid the page toward me like a bill.
“You proved you are still Blackwood’s legal Luna,” he said.
“The stock, the alliance, the Pack—you are responsible for all of it. If this project fails, you stay in the Pack until the debt is paid. Publicly. Fully.”
I looked at the numbers.
Then at him.
“File the papers you stole.”
“You published the marriage. You made yourself useful. You do not get to walk away from the cost.”
“File the papers,” I repeated.
“Then we talk about one dinner. Not a lifetime of Pack debt.”
“You could not even keep your science,” he said.
“You do not get conditions.”
My ruined hand lay on the armrest between us.
His eyes passed over it on the way back to the alliance file.
I picked up the full glass of ice water and threw it across his collar and chest.
Cold ran down black wool.
Ice hit the table and skittered into his open folder.
He surged halfway out of his seat, gold flooding his eyes.
The flight attendant stopped in the aisle.
He saw her watching and lowered himself again.
“You must be thirsty after all that, Mr. Blackwood,” I said.
I ordered a meal.
The attendant put a towel beside Caleb and a plate beside me.
I ate while he changed his shirt.
He returned in a clean shirt and said nothing useful for the rest of the flight.
***
At the hotel, the host’s liaison asked each delegate to confirm their own contact number.
Caleb’s guard returned my phone in front of her.
I sent my lawyer the room number before we entered the welcome banquet.
I saw the place cards before the hostess finished her smile.
Main table, seat beside the Alpha: Luna seat — reserved.
Ivy sat down in a custom gown cut in Blackwood black and silver, the same colors as the stage screen behind her.
Farther down the line, printed smaller: Elena Vale — Scientific Consultant.
I left both cards untouched and photographed them with the offline device in my sleeve.
Two jobs.
One of us paid.
One of us posed.
An attendant approached the main seat with a small box holding the Blackwood Pack seal.
Only a legal Luna could wear it in public.
He stopped at Ivy’s chair as if the room had already decided.
“The Blackwood seal for the Luna,” he said.
Caleb took the box back before it reached her hand.
“Not tonight.”
Ivy leaned in for the cameras, close enough to brush his throat.
No mark given.
No seal given.
But when the photographer called, “Closer, Mrs. Blackwood,” Caleb did not correct him.
Ivy smiled for the lens.
The wrong name stuck to her face and stayed.
They moved us into the first toast.
Caleb put me within camera range and far enough from his side that no one would mistake us for a pair.
Ivy kept her place at his shoulder.
“This is the partner who will stand with Blackwood publicly,” Caleb said.
A guest lifted a glass at once.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood.”
Glasses rose.
I recorded the toast and the two place cards with the offline device in my sleeve.
The marriage certificate stayed open beside the saved frame.
Across the room, one of the host representatives stopped walking.
She looked straight at me.
Not at Ivy.
Not at Caleb.
At the consultant card on my place, and at the steel seal glowing for one second on my sleeve screen.
I turned the certificate toward her.
She set down her untouched glass and came straight to me.
The steel seal on my sleeve screen flashed once more in the toast noise.
The host representative cut through the crowd without looking at Ivy or the cameras.
She stopped in front of me and took my left hand.
Not the gloved right.
The left.
Claire Monroe.
Richard’s wife, and the alliance’s risk and integrity co-signatory.
“Since when did you learn to hide yourself as a consultant?” she asked.
She glanced at my brace and shifted her grip to support my left elbow.
The small kindness nearly undid me after the flight.
I swallowed and showed her the card.
“Since my husband needed a wife on paper and another woman in her chair.”
I turned the sleeve screen so only she could see the marriage certificate steel seal.
Then I swiped to the shot of both place cards locked in one frame: Luna seat — reserved next to Elena Vale — Scientific Consultant.
Claire steadied my elbow for one more moment.
“Signal received.”