Chapter 9 · Not Her Fault

"Rowan!"

The side door didn't open. It slammed, hinges cracking against plaster, and a man I only half recognized from the seating chart came through it like he meant to put a fist through something. Odessa's father. Vane. Silver hair, silver cufflinks, and a face gone the color of raw meat.

"Where is she." He wasn't asking. "Where's the archivist."

I was still sitting on the folding chair where Callum had left me twenty minutes ago, my wrist pressed flat against my stomach because the mark under my sleeve wouldn't stop pulsing. I stood up anyway. Better to be standing when a man like that finds you.

"I'm right here."

Vane crossed the room in four strides and put a folder down on the little table so hard the flower vase jumped. "You leaked the record division's file. The mark reading. My daughter's people have it on three phones already. You want to explain to me why the whole pack knows Callum Rhee's mate mark never faded before you explain it to my lawyers?"

"I didn't leak anything." My voice came out steadier than I felt, which surprised me. "I archive. I don't publish."

"Convenient.