Chapter 8 · The Hold Doesn't Open

"—compromised," Cross said, like she was reading it off a form instead of gutting me with it. "Given the second claim. Given the elevator. Given the fact you're standing in my vault at two in the morning with an Alpha's hand on your wrist."

Vale's hand didn't move off my wrist. If anything his thumb pressed harder, right over the bruise the elevator rail left twenty minutes ago.

"Read the rest," I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt, which was the only win I had left tonight. "Rhys doesn't get to file a competency review on the clerk who's holding his own leftover stamp. That's a conflict. Even you know that."

Cross's mouth flattened. She was pack legal, not pack loyal, and I watched her decide, right there, that she didn't want to be the one holding this file at three a.m. "I'll flag it for council review in the morning," she said. "Tonight I just need the vault sealed and the two of you out of my hair."

"Out of your hair where," Vale said. Flat. Not a question. "Elevator's dead. Stairwell's locked from the fire code since the flood.