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Kasar waits a beat.

We all know what he’s saying without saying it.

Just surveillance . . . as long as Kit stays outside the lines.

But if this wolf crosses them?

If he lays a hand on Blake?

If he so much as breathes near her in a way that suggests claiming?

Then surveillance becomes clean-up.

I give the smallest nod. It’s all Kasar needs.

“For now,” I say, and it grinds out of me with more gravel than steel, more warning than command. “I want pressure. Not a body count.”

“Understood.” He picks up the card again, sniffs it once more before folding it in half without hesitation. “Going to enjoy this.”

The fucker means it. Kasar lives in that tight margin between control and carnage. You point him, he eliminates. But he likes the slow walks best—the long hunts where he gets to watch his prey squirm. It’s why he’s the Lion of the Barrows.

I trust him more than anyone in the world.

Which is probably why I hate that I’m handing this task over instead of dealing with it myself.

Lan waves a lazy hand toward the air like he’s blessing the moment. “Wonderful. Me digging into another shifter’s digital footprint and Kasar sniffing him like a bloodhound with a fetish. Feels very clan-forward.”

I give him a look.

He grins. Sharp. Ferocious.

“Relax, General,” he says, dropping into his chair and spinning it toward the wall of monitors. “If the wolf’s touching your girl, we’ll find the prints.”

“She’s not—” I stop. The protest crumbles in the back of my mouth, dry and hollow.

No one’s buying it.

Not even me.

I give both men one final look—Lan already scrolling through the underworld’s social media and Kasar tucking the card into an inner pocket—and turn to leave the way I came in.

The hum of the steel door slides home behind me, but already the rest of the house feels off. Like the air doesn’t fit right in my lungs anymore.

This isn’t over.

It’s not going to stop at the bracelet. The wolf wants her. Worse, he thinks he already has a chance.

And Blake?

She doesn’t know yet that she was targeted. That the gift wasn’t romantic, but reconnaissance. That whatever part of her past involves that bracelet—the pain, the joy, the unspoken longing—is now a vulnerability someone else is puppeteering beneath her skin.

Rage simmers through me again, deeper and colder this time. Next time I see Kit, I won’t just offer a warning.

I’ll make sure it’s the last claim he ever attempts.

ChapterFourteen

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