Page 91 of Wolf's Vow

It was too clean.

Too perfect.

I’d seen tactics like that in war councils. Divide operatives, keep intel on a need-to-know basis, and eliminate leaks by eliminating connections.

But who in the Hollow had the experience for that? Who had both the knowledge and the opportunity?

I shifted slightly, careful not to wake Wolfe. His arm tightened, and I stilled until his breath evened again. When it did, I let my gaze move past him—toward the dresser across the room.

That bottom drawer. I knew what was in there.

My father’s records. His private ones. The ones I hadn’t touched since Wolfe had taken the role I was raised for.

And over the weeks, I’d trusted him to handle it. I still did. But if there was something in those papers—anything—that could explain who was orchestrating this, I had to look. He would want me to look.

Slowly, I slid out from under his arm.

He murmured something in his sleep, low and wordless. I brushed my hand over his hair, kissed the line of his jaw, and whispered, “Rest. I’ve got you.”

I padded across the room barefoot.

I crossed to the bottom drawer in the far dresser, pulled it open, and knelt. The folder inside had been there since Wolfe had told me I was to stay with him. I’d skimmed them once after his death, but grief had made me sloppy. I hadn’t looked deeply.

Now I did.

Inside, there were notes, letters, copies of old council decrees, and—something I hadn’t seen before. A map. Faded, ink-streaked. Marked with territories. Not just Blueridge Hollow. Not exactly. This was outside our borders.

Rogue lands. Tracked. Labeled.

There was a separate bundle—sealed in twine—marked with a name I didn’t expect.Galvin. One of the older Blueridge advisors. Retired. Respected. Present for every council meeting Corrin ever attended.

I frowned, flipping through the bundled notes. There were letters—communications between my father and Galvin—about rogue watch posts, controlled border incursions, and calculated resource scarcity.

As I read, it was clear that they were managing the rogues. Like aresource. I sank to the floor, the folio open in my lap.

Corrin wasn’t the architect. Not in the beginning. He was just the one still willing to get his hands dirtynow.

But Galvin? He had the reach. The time. The position. He’d stepped down right before my father’s death. Quietly. Without protest. Claimed age. Health. Fatigue. But maybe he’d just passed the baton.Maybe Corrin was the obvious one. Thedisposableone.

Whoever had picked up after Galvin was still operating—more carefully now, but trying to make us bleed from the inside.

I looked over at Wolfe, still sleeping. His face was peaceful now, slack in a way I rarely saw.

He didn’t need to know yet. Not tonight. But come morning—I’d show him everything. Because the war we thought we were fighting? It went deeper than rogue attacks and pack division.

It went back to my father. Had his own actions cost us the lives of our pack now? I stood and carefully rebound the papers. Tucked the bundle under my arm.

Wolfe stirred as I crossed the room again. Eyes half-lidded. Voice hoarse. “Come back to bed, princess.”

“I will.” I leaned down, brushing my lips across his. “But when you wake up, we’re going hunting. And I think I know where to start.”

He blinked, trying to focus. “You found something?”

“No,” I said quietly, watching his eyes flutter closed again. “I foundsomeone.”

I was already dressed.

The bundle of my father’s records sat on the windowsill, tied neatly. The morning light crept through the heavy glass, brushing across the bed in soft golds and grays.