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Maya moved silently across the wooden floor in her socks, her fingers trembling with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. Outside, she could hear the brothers' muffled voices. She had minutes at most.

Her attention snagged on a handwoven rug decorated with intricate geometric patterns that seemed slightly askew from the rest of the meticulously arranged cabin. Maya dropped to her knees, pushing back her copper hair as she traced the edges of the rug. Not quite centered under the coffee table. As if it had been moved.

"What are you hiding?" she murmured, pulling back the rug's edge.

The faint outline of a rectangular cut in the floorboards made her pulse quicken. A trapdoor, cleverly disguised but visible to her trained eye for detail. Maya glanced at the window, catching a glimpse of Kieran's broad shoulders as he gestured to his brother.

She wedged her fingernails into the nearly invisible seam and pulled. The door lifted with surprising ease, revealing a small compartment beneath. The musty scent of old paper wafted up.

"Jackpot," Maya breathed.

Inside lay several leather-bound journals, their spines cracked from use, and a stack of papers yellowed with age. With deft fingers, she lifted the topmost journal, its leather cover soft from decades of handling.

The first page bore a date from 1994 and an elegant script:Property of J. Silvercrest.

Maya's eyes widened as she skimmed the entries. Accounts of pack meetings. Territory disputes. Enforcement of human segregation policies.

March 15, 1995 — Council voted unanimously to execute the human witness. Even Maria protested, but traditions must be upheld. Granite Ridge territory remains secure.

Maya's stomach churned. The stark description of a cold-blooded killing was recorded with the same detachment she might use to document wolf feeding patterns.

She flipped further, finding another entry that made her breath catch.

June 7, 2001 — Rebecca refuses the arranged mating to H. Blackwood. Her third refusal. Alpha decreed isolation punishment until the next moon. The old ways must prevail if we are to survive.

Maya grabbed another journal, this one newer. Same handwriting, dated 2010:

The younger generation questions our traditions more openly now. Dangerous talk of human integration circulates among them. Some even suggest letting chosen humans know of our existence. Madness. We cannot allow such rebellion to take root.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up a third book. This handwriting was different—stronger and more decisive. The first entry was dated just five years ago in 2020.

Father grows more tyrannical with each passing year. The methods he uses to quell dissent among the packs sicken me. I've begun documenting the worst abuses. Someday, when I am Alpha, this evidence may help me reform our ways without bloodshed. — K.S.

K.S. Kieran Silvercrest.

The realization hit Maya with physical force. The very man who'd kidnapped her was secretly documenting his father's, the Alpha's, abuses. The same man who'd been tasked with eliminating her was collecting evidence against his own kind's traditions and laws.

Outside, the conversation grew louder. Malcolm was leaving now.

"I should go," Maya heard Malcolm say. "Good luck with your... situation."

"I'm handling it," came Kieran's deep rumble.

Maya frantically gathered the journals, placing them back exactly as she'd found them. Her hand froze on the last one—Kieran's—tempted to keep it as insurance. Instead, she tucked it carefully with the others and lowered the trapdoor.

As she smoothed the rug back into place, her mind raced with new understanding. Kieran wasn't just any wolf shifter. He was heir to the Alpha leadership, and apparently caught betweentradition and reform. A man who'd been ordered to kill her had instead hidden her away.

She needed answers. Now.

The dusty journals and their secrets had changed everything. Wind whistled through the cabin's eaves, announcing the coming storm as the front door handle turned.

Maya pushed to her feet, her copper-red hair falling wild around her shoulders as she squared off in the center of the room. Kieran stepped through the doorway, his large frame filling the small space with an energy that made the air suddenly feel too thick to breathe.

"Who's J. Silvercrest?" The words tumbled from her lips before she could think better of it.

Kieran froze, his eyes sharpening to silver points. "Where did you hear that name?"

"I have a PhD in research. I'm good at finding things." Maya crossed her arms, refusing to back down despite the dangerous flare in his gaze. "Are you going to explain this wolf shifter business to me now, or keep pretending I didn't see what I saw on my camera, in that pamphlet, and in those journals?"