Page 24 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

T HE O LD P ACKHOUSE SAT on the outskirts of town, a sprawling structure that had initially been a warehouse but had served the pack as a meeting place for generations.

During the recent refurbishing of the newspaper offices, though, the archives had been moved to a new, separate outbuilding—temperature-controlled rooms designed to preserve decades of pack history.

Conall was approaching the main archive room when he caught Una’s scent near the entrance. He found her lingering by the door, her posture carrying an uncertainty that seemed at odds with her usual confidence.

Una? he called out, drawing her attention. What brings you out here?

She straightened, offering a smile that looked slightly forced.

I heard Anders and Malcolm talking about the archive research when I stopped by the meeting house earlier.

Something about examining medical records from Vincent’s era?

Her voice carried genuine interest, but there was something else underneath—an eagerness that piqued Conall’s instincts.

That’s right, he said.

I thought maybe I could help, Una continued, stepping closer to the archive building’s entrance. I know the pack’s filing system better than most people. Spent enough time helping Ms. Everett organize things when I was younger.

The offer was reasonable, even generous. Una had grown up in the pack, knew the historical context of many documents better than outsiders like Dr. Chen.

But something about her sudden appearance, her knowledge of their supposedly confidential research, set off warning bells in Conall’s head.

Did Anders or Malcolm ask you to assist? Conall asked.

Una’s expression flickered for just an instant before she shook her head. No, they didn’t mention it specifically. I just thought… With everything that’s happening, with the investigation being so important… She trailed off, disappointment beginning to color her features.

Conall felt a stab of guilt at her obvious dejection, but his protective instincts overrode social courtesy. The research they were conducting was sensitive, potentially dangerous. Adding personnel without authorization—even pack members he’d known for years—violated basic operational security.

I appreciate the offer, Una, I really do, he said gently. But this particular research needs to stay compartmentalized for now. Too many people involved could compromise the investigation.

The hurt that flashed across Una’s face made his chest tighten with regret. She’d been nothing but helpful since the leadership change, had supported Malcolm and Larissa’s reforms without question. Turning down her assistance felt like a personal slight.

Of course, she said, forcing brightness into her voice. I understand. Operational security and all that.

But as she turned to leave, Conall caught the tightness around her eyes, the way her shoulders carried disappointment like a physical weight. Her reaction seemed disproportionate to being excluded from archive work—unless there was something specific she’d hoped to find or influence.

The thought made him uncomfortable. Una was pack family, had been part of his life since childhood. Suspecting her of ulterior motives felt like betraying years of shared loyalty.

Yet the timing bothered him. How had she known about their research? Anders and Malcolm were careful about operational security—they wouldn’t have discussed sensitive investigations where casual observers could overhear.

Unless Una hadn’t been a casual observer.

He watched her walk away, noting how she glanced back once with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

Regret? Frustration?

Something sharper that might have been calculation?

Stop it , he told himself. Not everyone with inconvenient timing is a security threat .

But as he entered the archive room and found Nadine and Dr. Chen waiting among filing cabinets and storage boxes that stretched from floor to ceiling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Una’s appearance had been anything but coincidental.

With a shake of his head, he forced his attention to the work at hand.

Medical records from 1995 to 2010, Chen said, indicating a wall of filing cabinets. That time frame encompasses Vincent’s rise to power and the period when Chimera technology would have been most primitive.

Meaning more likely to leave detectable traces, Nadine added, already pulling files from the nearest cabinet.

Conall watched her work, noting the efficient way she sorted documents, the focused way she examined each page.

She was good at this. Thorough. Professional.

They fell into a rhythm over the following hours, dividing the archives into manageable sections while Chen provided context for the medical terminology and procedures they encountered.

Conall found himself appreciating Nadine’s analytical approach, the way she’d spot patterns he might have missed while he provided the historical context she lacked.

Look at this, she said suddenly, holding up a medical file. Marcus Thompson, treated for ‘routine vaccinations’ six times between 1998 and 2000. But there’s no record of what vaccines were administered.

Chen examined the file, frowning. That’s unusual. Medical protocols require specific documentation.

Not to mention most shifters don’t really need standard vaccines, Nadine added dryly.

And here, Conall added, pointing to another notation. Treatment administered by ‘visiting specialist’ with no name or credentials listed.

They were building a picture of systematic medical intervention during Vincent’s era—procedures that looked routine on the surface but lacked the documentation that legitimate medical care would require.

How many pack members were ‘vaccinated’ in this way? Nadine asked about two hours later.

At least twenty, based on what we’ve found so far. Conall spread the relevant files across the table. All of them Vincent’s inner circle. All of them treated by unnamed specialists.

Neural interface implantation, Chen concluded grimly. Systematic compromise of pack leadership.

The scope of Chimera’s infiltration was staggering.

Not just individual assets placed in packs, but wholesale compromise of existing leadership structures.

That meant years of subtle manipulation, behavioral modification, false memories designed to guide decisions toward specific outcomes.

Vincent himself? Nadine asked.

Chen pulled up Vincent’s medical file, studying the sparse notations. Impossible to tell from this. But given his position as alpha, he would have been a primary target.

Which means everything we thought we knew about pack history during his reign could be fabricated, Conall said.

Gregory’s apparent loyalty to Vincent, his enforcement of brutal pack policies—all of it potentially orchestrated by an enemy that had been manipulating events for decades.

We need to check current pack members, Nadine said. If Chimera was implanting interfaces twenty years ago, some of those people are still alive. Still potentially compromised.

The scanning protocols Dr. Weiss is developing, Chen said. We could start with pack members who were treated during this period.

How long before the scanners are ready? Conall asked.

Days, potentially weeks. The technology is complex, and we’re working with limited resources.

Time they might not have.

The attacks on other packs, the systematic communication blackouts, the placement of false assets—Chimera was building toward something larger.

The Omicron Protocol that Nadine had mentioned.

There’s something else, she said, as if reading his thoughts. The timeline of these medical procedures corresponds to major pack decisions during Vincent’s era. Territorial expansions, alliance negotiations, conflict resolutions—all happening within weeks of recorded ‘treatments.’

Chen leaned forward, studying the correlation she’d identified. Behavioral modification designed to influence specific decisions.

But whose decisions? Conall asked. Vincent’s? His advisers’? The entire leadership structure?

All of them, potentially. Nadine’s voice carried implications none of them wanted to face. A completely compromised pack making decisions based on manufactured impulses.

We should call it a night, Chen said finally, rubbing his eyes with obvious fatigue. A fresh perspective in the morning might help us see connections we’re missing.

Conall nodded, though part of him was reluctant to stop.

The work was important, yes, but more than that—these hours of focused collaboration with Nadine had felt right. Natural.

He shoved down the thought.

I’ll lock up, he told Chen as the geneticist gathered his materials. Make sure all the files are properly secured.

Chen nodded and headed for the exit, leaving Conall alone with Nadine for the first time since Dr. Chen’s arrival.

Find anything else interesting? Conall asked, focusing on the scattered files to avoid looking directly at her.

This. She held up a clipping from the local newspaper, dated fifteen years earlier. Story about a missing Sunburst resident who was found weeks later with no memory of where he’d been.

Conall moved closer to read over her shoulder, catching her scent as he leaned in.

Jason Martinez, he read. Disappeared for three weeks, found wandering on the highway outside town. Claimed he couldn’t remember anything after leaving for a routine hunting trip.

But look at this part. Nadine pointed to a paragraph buried in the middle of the article. Medical examination revealed ‘minor surgical scarring consistent with outpatient procedures,’ but no record of Martinez having any surgery.

Their heads were close together now, both leaning over the old newspaper clipping. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, could see the way her pulse fluttered at her throat.

Close enough that when she looked up from the article, their faces were inches apart.

Time seemed suspended in the space between heartbeats.