Ronan’s POV
“And the weapons,” Heath added after a pause, his brow creasing as if the thought bothered him deeply.
“That was the strangest part.”
Ronan leaned forward slightly now, his attention sharpening.
“Explain,” he said.
“They were not using standard steel,” Heath said.
“And not pure iron either.
Only Blackthorn uses pure iron so widely.
What they used was close.
Treated.
Strengthened.
Almost iron, but altered.
Lighter.
Faster.
Still deadly.”
Ash cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“So someone learned from us,” he muttered.
“Or stole from us,” Heath said quietly.
That did it.
The cold anger finally settled fully in Ronan’s chest, heavy and sharp, spreading through him like frost.
Blackthorn guarded its methods fiercely.
Its weapons.
Its training.
Its strategies.
Those were not things outsiders should have access to.
Years of careful work, of trial and failure, of keeping secrets close, could not simply be handed to an enemy without someone paying a price for it.
“Which means whoever they are,” Ronan said slowly, his voice low and controlled, “they are watching.”
Heath nodded once.
“Yes.
Watching.
Studying.
And preparing.”
Silence followed his words, thick and unyielding, stretching between them as the truth took shape.
This was no random conflict.
This was a war being built carefully, piece by piece.
“I still can’t believe it,” Ash said, shaking his head as he adjusted another piece on the table.
“An omega who was sent here as a tribute figured all of that out in one council sitting.”
Ronan did not answer right away, but the words struck deeper than he expected.
He could not believe it either.
If anyone had told him days ago that Lyra possessed a mind sharp enough to unravel lies that had lasted years, he would have laughed and waved it off.
Ronan nodded slowly.
“And it lines up too well,” he muttered.
He had known she was smart.
He had seen it in the way she spoke, the way she listened more than she talked, the way she watched everything as if the world was a puzzle she intended to solve one day.
He had spoken with her over dinner, shared thoughts, exchanged quiet observations, and yes, she had surprised him then too.
But this was different.
This was not cleverness born of survival alone.
This was strategy.
This was insight.
This was the kind of thinking usually found in alphas who had been trained since childhood to read power and lies and hidden moves.
She had seen the poison for what it was.
She had worked with Lothian to create an antidote without panic, without fear.
And now she had peeled back the truth of the attack in a single sitting, something even seasoned council members had never dared to do.
She was intelligent in a way that made him proud.
Though he did not fully understand why he should feel proud, only that he did, and it was growing harder to ignore.
An alpha’s mind in an omega’s body.
How in the world had Crescent Pack let someone like her go.
No.
He corrected himself silently.
They had not let her go.
They had thrown her away.
And the more he turned that thought over, the angrier it made him, though he kept that anger carefully out of his voice.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Everything about that pack, about the system that decided worth by rank alone, felt more broken the longer he thought about it.
“I would be glad to witness what you all have witnessed in this Lyra,” Heath said as he leaned against the edge of the table, his arms crossed.
“But unfortunately, I need your orders.”
Ronan blinked and pulled himself back into the present.
He sighed and rolled his eyes slightly, more tired than amused.
“We do nothing,” he said.
Heath straightened at once.
“Nothing?” he asked, clearly not expecting that answer.
“Yes,” he said calmly.
“We act normal.
As if none of this has affected us at all.”
Ash looked up, already understanding where this was going.
“At the same time,” Ronan continued, his voice calm, “I want the west patrol reinforced without letting anyone know.
Deploy as many as needed if we are truly facing a war from the west.
Move at night if possible.
Quietly.
No banners.
No announcements.”
Heath’s brow furrowed at once.
He straightened, clearly uneasy.
“We cannot afford that,” he said carefully.
“If you shift too many warriors west, Blackthorn itself becomes exposed.
The pack will notice.
The outer packs will notice too.
Hell, the west and south might actually attack for real.”
Ronan nodded slowly.
He had expected that response.
“I know,” he said.
“That is why it must be done without noise.
Rotations.
Small movements.
Nothing that looks like a buildup.”
Heath hesitated, then spoke again.
“Even so, Alpha, if word spreads that our defenses are thinning, it will invite trouble.
From inside and outside,” he warned.
Ronan met his gaze evenly.
“Blackthorn will not be unguarded,” he said.
Heath paused.
“Then what are you suggesting?” he asked.
For a moment, Ronan said nothing.
His fingers tapped once against the arm of his chair, a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
He did not like saying this out loud.
He rarely did.
“We have backup,” he said at last.
Ash’s head turned sharply toward him, though he did not interrupt.
His beta could read him like an open book.
They were trained to rule Blackthorn together and know what the other was thinking with just a look.
Heath’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Backup,” he repeated.
“You mean…”
“Yes,” Ronan said, cutting in before the word could fully form.
“The Sentinels.”
The room went still.
Heath exhaled slowly.
“Alpha,” he said, choosing his words with care, “calling the Sentinels now would cause unrest.
Not just in the pack, but beyond our borders.
You know how they are seen.
Old fears do not die easily.”
Ronan knew.
He had always known.
The Sentinels were not just warriors.
They were legends shaped into flesh.
Wolves trained beyond normal limits, bound by oaths older than most packs.
To command them openly was to invite whispers of tyranny, conquest, and old wars people preferred to forget.
That did not mean he had not been using them quietly, far from the eyes of the pack or the watching world beyond its borders.
“That is why they are my last resort,” Ronan said evenly.
“I am not waking them openly to march through the streets or stand on the walls.”
Heath studied him.
“Then why bring them up at all?” he asked.
“Because I want you to understand this,” Ronan replied, his voice low but firm.
“Blackthorn is not exposed.
Not now.
Not ever.
If we move patrols west, it does not mean we are weak.
It means we are prepared.”
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening.
“People like to believe I keep the Sentinels hidden because I crave restraint.
That I fear what others will think if I command them.”
Ash let out a quiet breath, already knowing where this was going.
Ronan continued, his tone hardening just a little.
“The truth is simpler.
I kept them hidden because there was no need.
But now we are being tested.
Watched.
Prodded.
And if this turns into open war, I will not leave my strongest blades sheathed because others are afraid of shadows.”
Heath was silent for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
“Understood,” he said.
“You are not deploying them.
You are reminding me they exist.”
“Yes,” Ronan said.
“Exactly that.
Whatever helps you sleep at night, Heath.”
Heath sighed.
“Then I will reinforce the west quietly.
Small units.
Night movements.
No patterns,” he said.
“Good,” Ronan said.
He did not want war.
He did not want to wake the Sentinels.
But he would not let Blackthorn bleed slowly while enemies hid behind silence and poison.
He had carried that pack on his shoulders for too long to watch it crumble because he was too proud to use every weapon he had.
If they wanted to test him, then they would learn one thing very quickly.
Blackthorn was never unguarded.
“Also block the trade routes,” Ronan said, his voice firm and without hesitation.
“Nothing passes through.”
Heath froze where he stood, his eyes widening slightly before he caught himself.
“That’s…” He exhaled and shook his head once.
“Alpha, that is nearly impossible.”
Ronan did not look away.
He watched Heath closely, measuring the weight of the words he had just dropped into the room.
“The packs that rely on that route will not be happy,” Heath added carefully.
“Some of them depend on it for food, tools, medicine.”
“I know,” Ronan replied, his gaze sharpening.
“That is exactly why it must not look like it is our doing.”
“Then how do you want it to look?” Heath asked, his brow furrowed.
“A blockade is a blockade, Alpha.
Someone will notice, and fast.”
Ronan tapped his finger once against the table, thinking it through.
“Bandits,” he said.
“Make it look like bandit activity.
Have a few of our own men stage a raid on a wagon near the border.
Nothing bloody.
Just enough to make traders think twice before using that route.”
Heath’s eyes widened slightly.
“You want us to attack our own supply lines?” he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
“Not attack,” Ronan corrected.
“Discourage.
There is a difference.”
Ash let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
“Only you would call it discouraging,” he muttered.