“It’s obviously a setup,” Claws adds. “They ransack your room yesterday, and today they send a mysterious message asking you to come alone? How stupid do they think we are?”
“Maybe that’s exactly what they want us to think,” I counter. “Maybe someone inside their operation saw what they did to my room and decided enough is enough. A guilty conscience looking for a way out.”
Heavy shakes his head. “You’re reaching.”
“I’m a journalist. Reaching is what I do. And sometimes I grab onto something real.”
“And sometimes you could grab onto a blade,” Cannibal growls. “Which is what’s going to happen if you walk into that trap.”
“You don’t know it’s a trap.”
“We don’t know it isn’t.” Texon’s voice cuts through the argument. “You’re a target, Ines. After yesterday, that’s clear. You should get on that transporter and go home while you still can.”
I meet his burning gaze. “And let whoever killed your parents get away with it? Let them win?”
The table goes silent.
“That’s not fair,” Rook says quietly.
“No, it isn’t. None of this is fair. Your parents are dead. Your brother was banished. Someone wiped Heavy’s memory and tried to kill him. Someone gassed an entire ballroom just to gather intel on your family.” I look around at all of them. “And I’m supposed to get on a transporter and forget any of this happened?”
“Yes,” Chief says firmly. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. This isn’t your fight.”
I point at the front door and raise my voice. “It became my fight the moment I walked through that door.”
Texon makes a low sound in his chest. Not quite a growl, not quite a word.
Roxy reaches over and squeezes my hand.
The brothers keep arguing. Cannibal wants to storm the location now without me, no waiting. Heavy insists the risk isn’t worth it to me, or to them. Claws suggests they send a decoy.
I don’t budge. “I’m going to that meeting,” I insist.
Texon hasn’t spoken again since his warning, but I can feel the weight of his attention. He has to know I’m not going to back down.
Finally, Scar holds up a hand. The table goes quiet. “If she’s going,” he says slowly, “we do this smart.”
“Scar—” Chief starts.
“The human insists she’s going to the meeting, so we follow. Hidden. Far enough back that a real whistleblower won’t spook. Close enough to intervene if it’s a trap.”
“The message says come alone,” I point out.
“Trunk will go with you almost to the location and then he will remain back so you can appear to go in alone.” Scar almost smiles, baring his fangs. “They won’t see three more of us there too.”
Rook steps forward. Everyone looks at him. “I can rig a tracker,” he says. “Small enough to hide in her clothing. Scar’s surveillance tech plus a locator I’ve been working on. We’ll know exactly where she is and hear everything.”
Scar raises a ridge. “You’ve been working on tracking tech?”
Rook shrugs, a little defensive. “I tinker. No one notices.”
“Do it,” Chief orders.
The youngest fever brother disappears down the hallway. He’s back in less than five minutes with a device so small I can barely see it between his claws. He approaches me and gestures to my shirt.
“May I?”
I nod. He tucks the tiny tracker into the hem of my collar, quick and efficient. Then he explains how it works, the range, the audio pickup, how they’ll monitor from a safe distance.
