Who here was involved?
My guys promise me they’re not going to confront anyone just yet. But, for appearance’s sake, they need to check in with their superiors and regroup. After all, it’s unlike them to leave an active assignment without just cause.
“Brylee!” The voice cuts through the evening air like a shard of glass.
Brock.
I’m not surprised to see him. According to my mates, Brock and his pack have taken over some of the classes my guys had abandoned when they were pulled to the front line. He probably heard rumblings that we’ve returned.
I wonder if he’s confused by my appearance. After all, “Teddie” went to the front lines, not me. But since it was only me and my pack in the car, I’d chosen to change out of the bodysuit and into my normal clothes. I don’t give a shit if people suspect something.
I’m done hiding.
Done pretending.
Done lying.
He jogs toward us, his movements fluid and confident despite the exhaustion etched around his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. He looks thinner than I remember, the renewed intensity of the war carving lines onto his face that weren't there before.
My mates stiffen instantly. Luka’s hand tightens on my back, his fingers pressing into my flesh as if to physically hold me in place. Colter takes a half step forward, his body coiling like a spring, while Ridge's jaw clenches, his eyes turning a dangerousshade of aquamarine. Kylian emits a low growl that vibrates through the ground and up my legs, a clear warning that ripples through the air between us.
Is he…?
Is he reaching for his dagger?
“Easy,” I murmur, placing a calming hand on Kylian's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. “He's helping us, you freaking psychopath.”
Their possessiveness is a familiar comfort, a fortress built around me, but right now it's an obstacle. I need answers, and Brock is the one who has them.
Brock slows his approach as he registers the hostile reception, his gaze flicking between my mates—a quick calculation of threats—before settling on me. There's something in his eyes, a mix of urgency and apprehension that sets my teeth on edge.
“I have an update about Sam,” he says in lieu of small talk.
The name hangs between us like poison, heavy and suffocating. Sam—my former friend, the one who had sold me out to our enemies like a piece of meat at market. The memory of his betrayal still tastes like ash in my mouth, bitter and acrid.
“What did you find?” My voice is colder than I intended it to be.
I can feel the shift in my mates' stances, their muscles tensing. I know none of them had given up looking for the traitorous beta, but I’m also well aware they had more important things to deal with.
Like…
Being sent to the front lines by my mother and discovering there’s a virus turning alphas feral.
Yeah. Things like that.
Brock runs a hand through his dark hair, dislodging a few floppy strands. “My pack tracked him to an abandoned hotel near the border. The place has been empty since the war started—windows shattered, doors hanging off hinges, that sort of thing.” He pauses, and his gaze drops to the ground as if he can't bear to meet my eyes. “He was dead when we arrived. Suicide.”
The word hits me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I should feel relief—justice for his betrayal, a small victory in a war that has cost me so damn much.
Instead, a cavernous ache spreads through my chest. Sam, who had helped me be both Brylee and Teddie without complaint, his laugh quick and easy. Sam, who trained with me, a perpetual grin affixed on his face.
Sam, who had looked me in the eye while arranging my capture, his expression blank as a fresh sheet of paper.
Logically, I know that there are varying facets to every aspect of nature, and human nature is no different. There’s good and bad in everybody. Nobody is inherently one way or the other.
Sam was my friend.
But he also was my enemy.
