Lyra’s POV
Lyra slowly turned to face her.
Marley frowned, his head tilting slightly as confusion crossed his face.
He had not sent for her too.
Lyra was certain of that.
His gaze shifted between the two women, then settled back on Lyra, silently asking the question he had not yet voiced.
“I did not send for you,” Lyra said carefully.
“Who informed you?”
Lysa blinked.
“What?” she asked.
“Who informed you,” she repeated, her voice still soft, but sharper now.
“And why?”
Lysa hesitated, then laughed lightly, as if the question surprised her.
“The guards,” she said.
“They always inform me when supplies arrive.
I usually helped the former head cook check them, so they know to call me.”
Her gaze stayed on Lysa’s face, searching for something.
A crack.
A flicker.
Anything out of place.
This was when the realization settled fully in her chest, cold and heavy.
Lysa had not only been present during supply checks.
She had also delivered food to Ronan’s chambers.
She had access.
Repeated access.
More than enough chances, if someone had wanted to poison him slowly, carefully, without raising suspicion.
Her pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral.
Marley shifted uncomfortably beside her.
“I never told anyone to fetch you,” he said slowly.
“No one mentioned calling anyone else.”
Lysa’s smile faltered for just a second before she masked it.
“Well, that is strange,” she said.
“But I am here now.
We can start.”
“No,” Lyra said sharply.
The word came out gentle, but firm.
Lysa stared at her.
“No?” she asked.
She nodded.
“You can wait over there with the others.
Marley will assist me,” Lyra said.
Shock flashed openly across Lysa’s face.
“Lyra, I have always helped with this.
You do not need to push me aside,” she protested.
“I am not pushing you aside,” she replied evenly.
“I am reorganizing duties.
Marley will assist me today.”
Lysa opened her mouth, clearly ready to argue.
“But the former head cook always asked for me,” she said.
“I am the head cook now,” she said, meeting her gaze without flinching.
“And this is my decision.”
The courtyard seemed to hold its breath.
Marley did not speak, but she felt his quiet support at her side.
He trusted her and she trusted him too.
She did not know why that mattered so much, but it did.
Lysa’s eyes darted around, as if seeking support, but the guards nearby were already watching closely now.
After a long moment, she exhaled sharply.
“…Fine,” Lysa said.
“If that is how you want it.”
“It is,” she replied.
Lysa turned and walked away, back to where others were standing, her steps stiff, her shoulders tight.
Lyra watched until she was out of earshot, then finally released the breath she had been holding.
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but her resolve only hardened.
She did not know if Lysa was guilty.
Not yet.
But she knew one thing for certain.
If poison had entered Blackthorn through these supplies, then the truth was buried somewhere among these crates.
And she would find it.
She took a slow breath and nodded to Marley.
“Let us start from the east row,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady.
He answered at once.
“Yes, head cook,” he said, and picked up the first manifest, unrolling it carefully.
He held it open so she could see the list while she worked.
She moved to the first crate and knelt, breaking the seal with careful fingers.
Her heart was still beating too fast, but her hands knew what to do.
Work always calmed her.
Order always helped her think.
“Grain,” Marley read out.
“Six large crates.”
She opened one, then another, pushing her hand into the grain to feel for dampness or grit.
It was dry.
Clean.
It smelled right.
“Good,” she said.
“Mark it.”
He ticked it off.
The sound of charcoal scratching parchment felt oddly comforting.
They moved to the next stack.
“Salt,” he said.
She checked the seals, tapped the barrels, cracked one open just enough to inspect the inside.
The salt was packed tight, white and clean.
“No moisture,” she murmured.
“Store it in the inner room.
Away from heat.”
“Noted,” he replied, already writing.
Crate by crate, barrel by barrel, they worked their way down the line.
She did not rush.
She refused to.
Every item was checked twice.
Sometimes three times.
She looked for broken seals, odd smells, discoloration, anything that felt wrong.
Herbs came next, and her focus sharpened even more.
“Do not touch yet,” she said quickly when Marley reached for a bundle.
He froze at once.
“Sorry,” he said.
She crouched and inspected the labels, reading each one slowly.
Her fingers brushed over the twine, checking how tight it was tied.
“Mint.
Thyme.
Feverleaf.
Groundroot,” she murmured.
All common.
All useful.
Then she paused.
Her breath caught for half a second before she forced herself to stay calm.
She lifted one bundle and sniffed carefully.
“Is something wrong?” Marley asked quietly.
“No,” she said after a moment.
“Not here.
Just… checking.”
She did not say the name Ashvine out loud.
She would not.
Not here.
She checked the herbs again, then nodded.
“These are clean.
Move them to storage.”
Marley waved to two guards standing nearby.
“Careful with those,” he told them.
“Follow her instructions exactly.”
As they worked, she marked each item off herself, making small notes in the margin of the manifest.
Where it came from.
Which supplier.
Which route.
She paid close attention to that part.
“Wine next,” Marley said.
She checked the seals and dates, tapping the barrels lightly and listening to the sound.
Nothing was off.
No leaks.
No cracks.
“Meat?” he asked.
She inspected the cured meat carefully, checking color, smell, texture.
Everything was prepared properly.
As they moved the supplies one by one into the storage rooms, she felt the size of it all pressing on her.
This was not just food for a hall or a household.
This was food for thousands.
For weeks.
Maybe months.
“How many wolves are in Blackthorn?” she asked suddenly, not looking up.
Marley paused, surprised by the question.
“Including outer territories?” he said.
“Several thousand.”
She nodded slowly and kept working, ticking off another crate.
One after the other.
No gaps.
No missing items.
No extra ones either.
She knew Blackthorn was big, but she had no idea until that day that it was this big.
Good supplies meant planning.
Good planning meant control.
And control meant whoever had poisoned the Alpha had not used this delivery.
Because so far, she had not seen anything suspicious.
That thought settled heavy in her chest as she closed the crate and straightened, rolling her shoulders back.
Relief tried to creep in, but she did not let it fully settle.
Relief made people careless.
“Alright,” she said quietly.
“These can be moved fully into storage now.”
Marley looked at her with clear respect, his voice low as if he did not want to break the moment.
“I have never seen anyone check supplies this thoroughly,” he said.
She gave a small, tired smile.
“I learned the hard way what happens when you do not,” she replied.
In Crescent, no one cared enough to check.
No one wanted to take responsibility.
Mistakes were blamed on omegas.
On bad luck.
On anything but the truth.
Here, at least, the system demanded care.
They continued moving the crates, the steady rhythm of work grounding her even as her mind refused to rest.
If the poison had not come through this supply route, then where?