Page 23 of Mane Brew

“The Preservers.” Caius’s voice is low. Controlled. But there’s an edge there—a fury barely contained. Anouk’s hand finds his under the table.

“We suspected as much after Cordelia.” Anouk’s composure is flawless as always, though I notice the way she leans slightly into Caius’s side. “This confirms it.”

“It does.” Rhodes spreads out his papers. Charts. Graphs. Timeline comparisons that would make a conspiracy theorist weep with joy. “I cross-referenced Marlowe’s shipping logs against the distribution center’s records. They don’t match for the last three deliveries—a discrepancy no one would catch without pulling both sets side by side. The contamination entered Zeph’s supply chain through a modified shipping route. A route that wasn’t officially changed in any documentation I can find.”

“Meaning someone covered their tracks,” Elio murmurs.

“Or someone with access to Network-level records made the changes themselves.”

Silence falls over the table. Heavy. Loaded.

Network-level access. That means someone inside the Protection Network. Someone close to the alphas. Someone trusted.

I scan the table. The alphas all look troubled—varying degrees of fury, concern, recalculation. Izag, Rhodes’s second-in-command, sits slightly behind him, as quiet as he was at the Sunridge office, taking notes with the same meticulous precision Rhodes uses. Steady. Unbothered. The composure of a man who’s weathered many crises at his alpha’s side without needing to make a show of it.

He doesn’t look at Rhodes when he writes down the new information. He looks at his notepad.

His people manage the record-keeping. If there’s a traitor with that kind of access...

“You’re sure about this?” Caius’s question is directed at Rhodes, but his eyes are scanning the room. Assessing. Calculating.

“I’m sure about the data.” Rhodes’s pen taps against the table. Agitated. “The interpretation is still forming.”

“Form faster.” Elio leans back in his chair, but his casual posture doesn’t fool me. His eyes are sharp. Watchful. “I’ve been tracking Preserver movements for years. Every time we think we’ve found the extent of their network, it goes deeper.”

“Then we go deeper too.” Aslan’s usual playful demeanor replaced by steel. “We find the source and we end it.”

“Easier said than done.” Torin closes his poetry notebook with visible reluctance. “These people have been building toward this for decades. Cordelia was on the Elder Council for forty years. Valesh’s operation ran two decades deep in its own right. Whatever they’re planning⁠—”

“It’s an endgame.” Rhodes’s voice cuts through. Certain. Grim. “Everything we’ve seen—Leire’s coven betrayal, the dead zones, Cordelia—it’s all been building to a specific conclusion.”

“The Severing.” Anouk’s words hang in the air. “It’s as I worried. They want to recast it. Permanently.”

I think about the shadows at the edge of those visions. The things watching. Whatever the Preservers are planning involves more than just maintaining old magic. It involves what’s buried. What’s contained.

What doesn’t want to stay contained.

“We need to know who’s feeding them information.” Caius’s command voice emerges—the alpha giving orders. “Elio, your networks. Rhodes, your documentation. Find the leak before they can do more damage.”

“Already on it.” Elio’s smile returns, but it’s sharper now. Predatory. “Speaking of documentation—” His gaze slides to Rhodes. “Your file on Zeph is quite extensive.”

Rhodes stiffens. “I document everything.”

“You document her more.” Elio tilts his head, all innocent curiosity that fools precisely no one.

“The brewery is the site of the incident,” Rhodes says stiffly. “Naturally it requires thorough attention.”

“The brewery. Right.” Elio’s knowing look makes me want to crawl under the table. Or possibly climb onto it and demand to see these fifty-three pages. “And the seventeen visits in seven days⁠—”

“Eighteen,” I correct automatically, then immediately wish I hadn’t when every alpha at the table turns to look at me.

Aslan grins like a cat who’s found cream. “You’re counting his visits.”

“I’m—that’s not⁠—”

“She’s counting his visits. He’s documenting her existence. This is adorable.”

“It’s an investigation,” Rhodes says flatly.