Adrian read Nova’s letter twice, just like I had, and then placed it on the desk with this careful touch that actually felt… dangerous.
More so than if he’d just crumpled it up and tossed it aside.
“Selene Blackwood,” he said, voice steady but quiet, “just went from being a ‘complication’ to a ‘target’ in my mind.” “She’s Ronan’s mother.” I didn’t even mean to say it for her sake—especially not after what Nova’s letter had just spelled out—but there’s this old instinct in me that always flinches at the thought of open war with pack leadership.
“If you go after her, you’re fighting more than just Redthorn’s enforcers.
She’s an Elder, with decades of political ties spread across a dozen packs.” “I know.” Adrian’s jaw was locked tight.
His eyes stayed on the letter, like he might squeeze out more answers from the paper if he stared hard enough.
“Which is why we’re not taking any action yet.
First, we figure out what cards she’s already holding.” Sal had already moved to the far wall, pressing a section of bookshelf that quietly swung open, revealing a narrow staircase heading down into dim light.
Somehow, I hadn’t noticed the house even had a secret basement until that moment—and the way Sal opened it, so casually, told me this wasn’t the estate’s first hidden room.
“Records room,” he said, noticing the look on my face.
“My grandfather started it.
Every family the Vitales ever dealt with—made alliances with, fought against, or buried a war under.
Bloodlines too, if it mattered for a deal.” “And Redthorn?” “Redthorn didn’t matter until three days ago.” Adrian was already heading down the stairs.
“So whatever we find down here, it’s old.
Maybe older than current pack law.
If Selene’s protecting a secret tied to the Calloway line, it didn’t start with you.” The records room was colder than anywhere else in the house.
Not cold for comfort, but for preservation.
There were rows and rows of filing cabinets, boxes with locked lids, and more shadows than light.
Sal walked through like he’d memorized every inch, flipping drawers, reading labels.
Adrian and I followed, but I didn’t have a clue what I was even hoping to find.
We searched for almost two hours.
“Here.” Sal’s voice cut through the silence—tight, and just the smallest bit shaken.
He’d just pulled this thin, water-stained folder from the very back of a cabinet, the date on the label barely visible.
“Calloway.
Most of this is gone—like someone went through and picked it clean—but this survived.” Adrian took it and, before I realized it, I was leaning in over his shoulder, heart pounding faster with every line I read.
Calloway bloodline—thought to be extinct after the Moon Court collapsed.
One surviving branch rumored to have relocated under a new name, location unknown.
Bloodline descends directly from the First Queen—see cross-reference, Lycan Sovereignty Records (SEALED).
“First Queen,” I whispered.
“What does that actually mean?” Sal’s face went still, almost cold.
“It means every living werewolf pack technically falls under a bloodline older than any of them.
Way before Alphas, before the world was carved up by packs.
There was just one Court.
One line of Queens who ruled all packs at the same time.” “That’s a legend,” I shot back—automatic, like I’d been trained to do since I was a kid.
At Redthorn, it was practically a bedtime story, the so-called ‘golden age’ that never existed.
“The Moon Court isn’t real history.” “Stories don’t usually come stamped with sealed government record numbers,” Adrian said, pointing at the bottom of the page.
Sal was already halfway to another cabinet—the oldest one down there, locked with something that looked sturdy enough to stop a bear.
“If this bloodline’s real—if you’re truly a descendant—then that explains everything about Redthorn’s reaction.
A Queen’s heir would threaten more than just Ronan’s spot as Alpha.
It would shake every pack’s right to claim authority.
Every Alpha out there owes their power to the end of that old Court.” “So if I’m real,” I said slowly, the realization settling in like ice, “if that bloodline survived somehow—every pack leader in the country would have a reason to erase me.
Make sure I never even realize what I could claim.” “Exactly,” Adrian said.
“That’s why Selene didn’t just want you dead.
She wanted you gone in a way that left no reason for anyone to start asking questions.” I let that sink in—how it shifted everything I thought I knew about myself.
Not just a cast-off Luna, or someone lucky to survive when she should’ve been killed.
I might be the last piece of an order every existing pack was built on top of.
“We need that sealed record,” Adrian said, turning to Sal.
“The Lycan Sovereignty cross-reference—where is it?” Sal’s face went grim, and I saw a serious edge there I’d never caught before.
“That’s not in this house.
Those records passed through official channels while the Court still functioned.
The only copies left would’ve gone to whoever took power after the collapse.” “Who would that be?” Before Sal could answer, the lights overhead flickered—once, really hard—then went dark.
Just like that, we were plunged into pitch black.
Nobody moved at first.
Adrian’s hand caught my wrist, hauling me behind him.
Somewhere close by, I heard the unmistakable click of a gun being drawn, and it sent ice straight down my spine.
“Perimeter’s breached,” Sal muttered, his voice low and urgent, already reaching for something at his waist.
“That’s no power cut—someone took out the grid on purpose.” Red emergency lights started to glow along the floor, throwing everything into this dim, hellish red shadow.
In that light, I saw Adrian’s whole posture change—no more calculation or control, just violence bottled up, barely on a leash.
“Stay behind me,” he said—voice stripped down and raw.
“Whoever comes through that door isn’t staff, and it isn’t an accident.” Then, from somewhere upstairs, muffled by all the floors and walls, came the sharp crack of a gunshot.