“Love you, baby girl,” her father added. “Stay safe.”
The screen went dark, and sudden silence filled the apartment.
Brie sat very still, phone in her lap, staring at the blank screen. Hunter’s arm was still around her shoulders, solid and warm, but it wasn’t enough to hold back what was coming.
“I didn’t tell them,” she whispered.
“You protected them,” Hunter said quietly.
She turned to look at him, tears already spilling down her cheeks. “They were so happy. So happy for me. Making plans to meet you, talking about family dinners…”
The image of Brennan convulsing on the lakeshore was too fresh, his destroyed transformation ability a reminder of exactly what they were dealing with.
Hunter pulled her against his chest, and she buried her face in his shirt as the tears came in earnest. All the stress of the last month, all the fear she’d been holding back, all the weight oflying to the people she loved most poured out of her in broken sobs.
“I’ve never lied to them,” she gasped between tears. “Not about anything important. And now I just looked them in the eyes and pretended everything was fine when I’m being hunted by a cartel.”
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The weeksince the incident at Crystal Lake had been surreal. Brie had thrown herself into festival preparation. Hunter had been supportive, but he couldn’t relax. All day, he sat by the front window of Sweet Summit Bakery, scanning the street. Every customer who lingered too long caught his attention. Even at night, every sound outside Brie’s apartment brought him to full alertness.
“How’s Brie doing?” Dom asked as Hunter took a seat at the conference table in Steel Protection Headquarters.
“Good.” Hunter managed a small smile. “Festival prep is her element. She’s got plans and schedules and elaborate gingerbread house blueprints.” Hunter rubbed his face with one hand, and he looked at Dom directly. “I’m hoping this briefing from the feds will put my fears to rest.”
The door opened and two agents from the Federal Shifter Protection Agency entered the conference room.
Special Agent James Kellerman was a bear shifter in his late forties, with broad shoulders and a steady presence. SpecialAgent Claire Sullivan was a wolf shifter in her early thirties, who moved with purposeful strides.
They settled around the table, Sullivan connecting her laptop to the projector system. The wall screen lit up with a detailed timeline, two weeks of investigation mapped out in color-coded sections.
“Let’s get right to it,” Kellerman said, standing at the head of the table with the screen behind him. “Two weeks ago, your team discovered an abandoned methamphetamine lab in the industrial district. Our first week on the case was dedicated to analyzing that operation. During the second week, we focused on Dr. Thomas Brennan.”
Sullivan pulled up a series of images on the screen. The warehouse they’d found, its interior setup, close-ups of equipment and chemical residue.
“The operation was fairly small scale,” Kellerman continued. “Street value around $200,000 weekly. Based on equipment wear and supply chain analysis, we estimate the lab operated for eight to ten months before your witness report shut it down.”
Sullivan advanced the slides to show a set of chemical analyses. “Now here’s where it gets interesting. “As you know, Dr. Brennan was actively synthesizing a shifter-targeting compound.” Sullivan pulled up slides that appeared to be scanned from handwritten research notes. “Based on Dr. Brennan’s lab documentation and his self-experimentation logs that we acquired from the Bright Institute and the abandoned lab, initial doses enhance shifter abilities. But metabolic dependency develops within three to five doses. Which would require regular doses, or withdrawal would become agonizing.”
Sullivan advanced to the next slide. “His notes document long-term effects in detail. After weeks or months of dependency, the enhancement reverses. Shifts become painful, then uncontrolled, then the body loses the ability to maintain either form. He tracked his own deterioration over several months.”
Hunter’s chest tightened, remembering Brennan convulsing on the Crystal Lake shore, the violent way his body had torn between forms. How long had the chemist been using his own creation?
“Intended purpose?” he asked, though the answer was already forming in his mind.
Kellerman’s expression darkened. “Create an addicted shifter population, then control the supply. Hook them with enhancement, trap them with dependency, exploit them until they burn out. Turn superhuman strength and abilities into a controllable asset. Brennan provided the science. The cartel would have provided the distribution network and market access.”
“How far did this get?” Dom asked, and Hunter could hear the weight of every potential victim in his alpha’s voice. “How many people were exposed?”
“That’s the critical question,” Kellerman said. “And fortunately, we have good news on this front. Based on the lab evidence, this was still in development. We found no evidence of production-scale synthesis or distribution.”
“You’re saying it never left the lab?” Siren asked, pushing off from the wall where she’d been leaning.
“We found no indication it was ever sold or distributed through cartel channels,” Sullivan confirmed. “The regular methoperation was running at full capacity. The shifter drug appears to have been Brennan’s side project. The only confirmed case of exposure is Dr. Brennan himself.”
“The cartel invested in Brennan and the lab operation. When the witness report compromised everything, they cut their losses and relocated.” Kellerman moved to the next section of the timeline. “Now regarding the location of Dr. Brennan.”
