Page 82 of Claimed By The Tracker

Low.

Almost to himself.

"Side door. I don't like side doors I haven't cleared."

"Neither do I. I clocked that one on move-in day."

Something flickered behind his eyes.

Not quite surprise.

Closer to recalculation.

"Good."

Because the threats were real.

Because the legal exposure was documented.

Because sixty percent wasn't a rounding error, and I'd built a whole life on choosing what was strategically correct over what I wanted.

Not because of the warmth still printed into my palm.

Not because my wolf had settled against the inside of my chest like she'd found something she had no intention of giving back.

I signed the cover brief with my own pen.

Black ink.

Sharp signature.

The same one I'd put on three hundred diplomatic documents.

He took it without comment.

My wolf was not quiet.

I told her, with the authority of a woman who'd held this line for eight years, that she didn't get a vote.

She didn't appear to hear me.

Gideon moved toward the elevator with my signed cover brief, and I expected the meeting to end there.

Logistics complete.

Next steps set.

He stopped three steps away.

His back to me.

The pause wasn't transition.

It was preparation.

"The threats were written by someone who knows your schedule in detail."

His voice stayed even, but something underneath it had shifted.