"Don't touch anything you can't explain."
Cain's voice still echoed in her head as Rena pushed open the archive room door. Mold hit her first. Then old paper. Then something else—smoke, maybe, baked into the walls.
He'd pointed her here after Vera left. Said the pack kept everything. Births. Deaths. Territory claims. Massacre records.
She stepped inside and pulled the chain on the overhead bulb. Yellow light spilled across metal shelves stacked with cardboard boxes and leather binders. Dust hung in the air, thick enough to taste.
Nobody came down here much. Good.
She scanned the labels. Faded marker. Someone's blocky handwriting. 1987–1992. 1993–1998. She moved down the row, boots scraping concrete.
1999–2004.
There.
She pulled the box off the shelf. Heavier than it looked. She set it on the floor and crouched. The cardboard flaps cracked when she opened them.
Inside: folders. Dozens of them. Brown manila, handwritten dates on the tabs. She flipped through. Incident reports. Border patrols. Something called Lunar Sync Census.
Then she saw it.
June 2003. Silver Oath Incursion.
Her hands stopped.
She pulled the folder out. Thicker than the others. She opened it and the first thing she saw was a photo. Black and white. Grainy. A clearing full of bodies. Wolves, she guessed. Hard to tell. They were burned.
She swallowed. Turned the page.
Typed report. Faded ink.
"Coordinated assault. 0300 hours. Seventeen dead. Four escaped. Origin: Silver Oath regional command, North Carolina sector."
Her mouth went dry.
"Objective: Eliminate suspected feral pack. Authorization: Commander M. Grey."
Marcus.
Her foster father.
She'd known he was Silver Oath. Everyone in the family was. But she'd never asked what missions he ran before he took her in. Never wanted to know.
She flipped to the next page. A list of names. The dead. Most she didn't recognize. Then halfway down—
"Darko, Stefan. Alpha. Age 34. Status: Deceased."
Cain's father.
Her chest tightened. So that's why he hated Silver Oath. That's why he looked at her like she was a loaded gun.
She turned another page.
Survivor log. Handwritten. The ink smudged in places like someone had been holding the paper with wet hands.
"Four juveniles recovered from perimeter. Ages 6–10. Transferred to Holding Site Seven for assessment."
Four kids.
She scanned the names.
"Darko, Cain. Age 8."
"Lorne, Mika. Age 10."
"Voss, Ellara. Age 7."
And the last one.
"Grey, Rena. Age 6."
She stopped breathing.
Her name.
Her actual name.
Not a rescue. Not a foster case. A recovery.
She read it again. The letters didn't change.
Grey. She'd always thought Marcus gave her his name when he adopted her. But no. She already had it. She was already Grey.
She flipped back to the dead list. Scanned it slower this time.
"Grey, Isabelle. Age 29. Status: Deceased."
"Grey, Jonathan. Age 32. Status: Deceased."
Her parents.
They were wolves.
The folder slipped from her hands. Papers scattered across the floor. She didn't pick them up.
Marcus had killed her parents. Then he'd taken her home. Raised her. Trained her. Taught her to hunt the same thing she'd been born as.
What the hell.
She pressed her palms against her eyes. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. The bite on her arm throbbed in rhythm. She could feel the itch under her skin. The thing that wanted out.
No.
She wasn't one of them. She couldn't be. She'd spent twenty years killing wolves. She'd gutted ferals with silver knives. She'd burned dens. She'd done everything Marcus ever asked.
Because she thought she was human.
Because she thought she was his daughter.
She lowered her hands. One of the papers had landed face-up near her boot. Transfer form. Official Silver Oath letterhead.
"Specimen 03-L transferred to Commander M. Grey. Personal custody approved. Bloodline suppression protocol initiated."
Bloodline suppression.
She didn't know what that meant but she could guess. They'd done something to her. Something to keep her from shifting. From knowing.
From being what she was.
She stood. Her legs shook. She kicked the papers aside and turned to leave.
Then she saw it.
Something metal on the floor. Must've fallen out of the folder.
She crouched. Picked it up.
A badge.
Silver Oath. North Carolina sector. Commander rank.
She turned it over. On the back someone had scratched an inscription.
"For the cause. M.G."
Marcus's initials.
She closed her fist around it. The edges cut into her palm.
He'd kept it. Like a trophy. Like proof.
Footsteps on the stairs outside. Heavy. Slow.
She shoved the badge in her pocket and turned.
Cain stood in the doorway. His eyes went to the papers on the floor. Then to her face.
"Find what you were looking for?"
She didn't answer.
He stepped inside. Looked at the open folder. At the photos. At the names.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I thought you might."
She wanted to ask how long he'd known. If he'd known the whole time. If that's why he brought her here.
But her throat was too tight.
He picked up one of the papers. Read it. Set it down.
"Your father signed the order," he said. "My father died in the clearing. Your mother tried to get you out. She didn't make it."
Her nails dug into her palms.
"He raised you anyway." Cain's voice was flat. "Turned you into a hunter. That's cold. Even for Silver Oath."
She finally found her voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would you have believed me?"
No. She wouldn't have.
"Besides," he said, "you needed to see it yourself."
She looked down at the papers again. At her name. At her parents' names.
At the word *specimen*.
"What did they do to me?"
Cain's jaw tightened. "Bloodline suppression. It's a serum. Keeps dormant wolves from shifting. They use it on kids sometimes. When they want to turn them."
"Turn them into what?"
"Hunters," he said. "Weapons. Whatever they need."
She felt sick.
"How long does it last?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Cain."
"It doesn't," he said finally. "Not if you get bitten. The venom breaks it down. That's why your shift's coming early. Your bloodline's waking up."
She stared at him.
"So I was always—"
"Yeah," he said. "You were always one of us."
Her knees almost gave out. She caught herself on the shelf.
Cain moved closer. Not touching. Just close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. Close enough that his shadow cut across the papers at her feet.
"Rena." His voice dropped. "Your foster father's coming. Vera's scouts picked up Silver Oath movement an hour ago. They're setting up a perimeter around the territory."
She looked up at him.
"He's coming for me."
"Maybe," Cain said. "Or he's coming to finish what he started."
She pulled the badge out of her pocket. Held it up.
"He kept this," she said. "He kept a piece of the massacre."
Cain took it from her. Looked at it. His expression didn't change but something shifted in his eyes. Something dark.
"Then he knows you're here," he said.
He handed the badge back.
Their fingers brushed. Just for a second. His skin was warm. Hers was ice-cold.
"And he knows you found out," Cain said.
She closed her hand around the badge again. The metal bit into her palm.
"So what happens now?"
Cain stepped back. Looked at the doorway. Then back at her.
"Now," he said, "you decide what side you're on."
Before she could answer, a howl split the air outside. Long. Low. A warning.
Cain's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes flashed yellow for half a second.
"They're here," he said.
He turned and ran.
Rena stood alone in the archive room, her parents' names scattered at her feet, the badge burning a hole in her pocket.
Another howl. Closer this time.
Then gunfire.
She ran.