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“Still don’t like you.”

“That’s not a medical condition.”

The corner of Ramsey’s mouth moved before he stopped it. He rose from the step and walked toward the fence without thanking Marcus. This time, however, he carried the doctor’s discarded supply box with him.

Gabriel watched from the porch doorway. His gaze followed Ramsey before settling on Marcus. “The invitation stands.”

“The Victorian ball.”

“You and anyone from the nest who wants to attend.” Gabriel looked across the yard at the mixed work crews. “Not at the edge of the room. At the table.”

The distinction cost Gabriel something to give. Gabriel led a pack that remembered every vampire attack for generations, and a day of cooperation couldn’t erase that history. The invitation didn’t promise trust, but it established where the next attempt might begin.

“I’ll be there,” Marcus said.

Gabriel nodded. “Bring Delphine.”

“That’s her decision.”

“Then ask.” Gabriel went back inside, leaving Marcus with his kit and an invitation he had no idea how to deliver.

Chapter 20

Arrow stood in the packhouse hall with his satchel buckled at his side. The ceiling beams crossed high overhead. Antler trophies hung from the eastern wall, mounted on polished wood that had darkened with age. The oak table between them ran thirty feet, scarred by generations of pack business that had left their marks in the grain.

Gabriel stood opposite. His arms hung at his sides. His jaw was set. The hellforged scar along his temple caught the lamplight and held it. He hadn’t spoken in three minutes. He didn’t look ready to start.

“Thank you for your time,” Arrow said.

His voice filled the hall without volume, courteous and measured, the kind of voice that made people feel slightly smaller without understanding why.

Gabriel’s blue eyes didn’t change. His mouth stayed shut.

Autumn stood a half-step behind Gabriel’s shoulder. Her green eyes tracked Arrow’s face. Her hand rested on Gabriel’s forearm, light and steady. She’d seen him hold this stillness before, and she wasn’t planning to move either.

Arrow adjusted the satchel strap. The leather was worn soft at the shoulder. He had carried it long enough that the buckles had worn smooth.

“I won’t take more of your evening,” he said.

Gabriel’s silence continued. It had weight. Two men, and nothing left between them worth saying out loud.

Arrow nodded once. The gesture was precise. He turned toward the door.

His boots made no sound on the polished floorboards. The floor had been laid two centuries earlier and waxed twice a year since, and it should have carried the sound of a man walking. Arrow crossed the hall in fourteen steps. His gait was unhurried. He’d walked this same distance a thousand times. Nothing in it was worth rushing.

The door opened under his hand and closed behind him without a latch click or a hinge creak.

Gabriel didn’t move. His hand came up. It found Autumn’s where it rested on his arm. His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid, and he held on.

The hall held its quiet. The antlers on the eastern wall caught the lamplight and threw long shadows across the floor. The table between them was empty. A half-empty water glass sat near the head chair. No one had cleared it.

Outside, the night was full dark.

Arrow’s rented room sat above the hardware store on Maple Street, with one window and the curtains drawn. A single candle burned on a small table pushed against the wall, its flame steady, the wax pooled clean around the base.

He set the satchel on the bed. The buckles came open under his fingers. The leather gave. Inside, nine folded parchments lay in a neat stack. He lifted them out and set them on the table beside the candle. The parchment was heavy and cream-colored, the fold creases sharp.

Arrow sat in the room’s only chair. He adjusted the candle. The flame threw his shadow against the wall, long and still. He picked up the first parchment.