Page 79 of Claimed By The Tracker

"An Arden who negotiates without her father's leash is worth more to a rival bloc than anything he'd hand them directly. You're not the asset because you're an Arden."

A beat.

"You're the asset because of what you can make disappear across a table—tariffs, territory claims, blood debts—without anyone's name attached to the deal."

"That's not in my public record."

"No."

His voice stayed level.

"It's in the file that got you three death threats."

I hadn't expected him to say it plainly.

Most people who understood my function well enough to name it out loud also understood better than to say so to my face.

Then he opened the cover brief.

"Old Conclave law makes an unaffiliated, unmated female negotiator from a rival bloodline a viable acquisition target at a gathering this size."

His tone didn't move.

"Eighteen documented cases in forty years. Your threat signature matches the pattern."

I kept my face still.

I'd known about the acquisition laws since I was nineteen—since my father explained, without any particular feeling, that my worth to the Arden pack would be decided partly by which alliance I could be traded into.

Eleven years spent making myself too valuable to trade cheaply.

"Your timeline's too compressed to be credible," I said. "Six months of relationship, no public sightings? The Conclave's diplomatic corps has photographers at every function. There are records of me attending alone."

"Then we build the backstory today."

No hesitation.

"Where you met me. What convinced you. I need it airtight by tonight."

"And the intimacy the cover requires reads as faction alignment."

I held his eyes.

"I've spent eight years building independent standing. My father will weaponize the first summit photograph within forty-eight hours—proof I've chosen a side. I'll lose access I spent years earning."

"Then we control what the photograph shows."

He didn't blink.

"I don't need you to perform devotion. I need three things visible in every frame: proximity, familiarity, and a claim mark your father will recognize as real. The rest is noise."

"A mark isn't something you fake for a camera."

"No."

His voice went quieter.

"It isn't."