Ella stared at her phone for twenty minutes before making the call.
The mysterious caller's number was still in her recent calls list. One tap, and she could set up that meeting in Golden Gate Park. One conversation, and she might finally understand what was really happening.
Instead, she scrolled to Kaelan's contact and hit dial.
He answered on the first ring. "Ms. Winters. Working late?"
"I need to see you." Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. "There are things we need to discuss."
"Of course. My office in thirty minutes?"
"I'll be there."
Ella looked back at her laptop screen. The two files she'd created still sat open—evidence that could destroy Kaelan, and evidence of his hold over her. She closed both without saving the changes.
Some choices weren't really choices at all.
The Wolfram Group building looked different at night. Darker. More predatory. Security let her up without question, like they'd been expecting her.
Kaelan's office was exactly as she remembered—mahogany and leather and the kind of understated wealth that whispered rather than shouted. He was standing by the windows when she entered, hands clasped behind his back, watching the city lights below.
"You've been busy tonight," he said without turning around.
"How did you—" Ella stopped herself. Of course he knew. "Are you watching me?"
"I'm protecting my investment." He turned, and his gray eyes seemed to catch every photon of light in the room. "What did you find?"
No point in lying. He probably already knew anyway. "Security footage from across the street. Shows something wolf-shaped at Blackwood's place during the attack."
"Ah." Kaelan moved to his desk and poured two glasses of scotch. "And what did you conclude from this footage?"
"That it wasn't you."
"No. It wasn't." He held out one of the glasses. "Does that trouble you?"
Ella took the scotch but didn't drink. "Someone else killed Blackwood. Someone you're protecting."
"I'm protecting a lot of people, Ms. Winters. It's what leaders do."
"Leaders?"
Kaelan's smile was sharp. "Did you think I was just another businessman with unusual hobbies?"
"I don't know what you are."
"No. You don't." He settled into his chair, completely relaxed. "But you're learning. The question is: what are you going to do with that education?"
This was it. The moment where she either crossed the line completely or tried to maintain some shred of her old moral code.
"I also got a phone call tonight," she said quietly.
Kaelan's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. "Oh?"
"Someone claiming to have answers about the Blackwood case. Wanted to meet tomorrow night."
"And?"
"I'm not going."
The silence stretched between them like a bridge. Kaelan studied her face, looking for something. Deception, maybe. Or weakness.
"Why not?" he asked finally.
Because my father is alive because of you, Ella thought. Because the blood contract owns me whether I like it or not. Because I'm too much of a coward to risk everything for the truth.
"Because I made a deal," she said instead. "And I honor my commitments."
"Even when those commitments require... flexibility in your moral framework?"
"Especially then."
Kaelan smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Very good, Ms. Winters. I think you're beginning to understand how this world really works."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick envelope. "Which brings us to your next assignment."
Ella's stomach clenched. "More family visits?"
"Something more hands-on." Kaelan slid the envelope across the desk. "Tomorrow night, there's a cargo transfer at Pier 33. You'll be there to supervise."
"Supervise what?"
"A shipment that requires... discretion. The kind of discretion that only someone bound by blood contract can provide."
Ella opened the envelope. Inside were shipping manifests, customs forms, and a letter of authorization bearing the Wolfram Group seal. The cargo was listed as "biological specimens" and "research materials."
"What kind of specimens?"
"The kind that don't appear on any official endangered species list."
The words hit like ice water. "You're trafficking animals?"
"I'm transporting assets that require special handling." Kaelan's voice carried a warning. "Assets that certain parties would prefer to keep moving rather than stationary."
"Certain parties?"
"People like Marcus Blackwood used to be." Kaelan finished his scotch and set the glass down with deliberate care. "Before he became too greedy. Too careless."
Understanding crashed over Ella like a wave. "You're moving the shapeshifters he was trafficking. The ones from his research facilities."
"I'm providing safe passage for individuals who would otherwise remain in very dangerous situations."
"Safe passage to where?"
"Places where they can't be found. Places where they can heal."
Ella stared at the shipping manifests. If Kaelan was telling the truth, this wasn't trafficking. This was rescue. But if he was lying...
"Why do you need me there?"
"Because humans see what they expect to see. A lawyer supervising legitimate cargo transfer raises no suspicions. Especially when that lawyer is known to represent corporate interests."
"And if something goes wrong?"
Kaelan's eyes flashed gold for just a moment. "Then you'll discover exactly what kind of protection my name provides in this city."
Pier 33 at eleven PM was a place where shadows had weight and fog swallowed sound. Ella stood on the weathered planks, listening to water lap against the pier supports and trying not to think about what she was about to witness.
The shipping container sat on a flatbed truck, unremarkable except for the armed guards standing at either end. They nodded respectfully when they saw her, but their hands never moved far from their weapons.
"Ms. Winters?" A man in a longshoreman's jacket approached. He was middle-aged, with calloused hands and nervous eyes. "I'm Rodriguez, the dock supervisor. We're ready to begin the transfer."
"What exactly am I supposed to be supervising?"
Rodriguez glanced at the guards, then back at her. "Mr. Wolfram said you'd know what to look for. Said you'd make sure everything went... smoothly."
The container doors opened with a metallic screech that seemed to echo forever in the fog. Whatever was inside, it wasn't ordinary cargo.
The smell hit her first.
Blood. Recent blood, but not human. Something wilder, more primal. Underneath that was another scent—fur and musk and something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Wolf.
Rodriguez and his crew began unloading wooden crates from the container. Each one was roughly the size of a coffin, with air holes drilled along the sides and warning labels in multiple languages. The men handled them with extreme care, like they contained something that might explode.
Or something that might bite.
"Careful with that one," Rodriguez called to a worker who'd tilted a crate too far. "Mr. Wolfram was very specific about handling protocols."
The worker nodded and adjusted his grip. As he did, Ella heard something from inside the crate.
A whimper.
Soft, pained, definitely alive.
"What's in the crates?" she asked Rodriguez.
"Specimens. For research." His answer was too quick, too rehearsed. "All legal, all documented."
"What kind of specimens?"
Rodriguez wouldn't meet her eyes. "The kind that require special permits."
Ella watched the workers load the crates onto a waiting truck. Twelve crates total, each one carrying something that was wounded, frightened, and very much alive.
Something that smelled like wolf.
But not entirely like wolf.
As the crew worked, she noticed something else. The way they looked at her. Not just respectful—fearful. Like she was something dangerous. Something to be cautious around.
"You're Wolfram's new lawyer," Rodriguez said. It wasn't a question.
"I represent the Wolfram Group's interests, yes."
"Then you know what happens to people who ask too many questions about this kind of work."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. Ella felt a chill that had nothing to do with the fog rolling in from the bay.
"I'm here to ensure everything goes according to plan," she said carefully.
"Good. Because Mr. Wolfram doesn't tolerate complications."
The loading continued in relative silence. Ella stood to one side, officially supervising but really just trying to understand what she was witnessing. The crates were labeled with codes that meant nothing to her, but the shipping destination was clear: a private airfield north of the city.
From there, who knew where they were going?
As the last crate was secured in the truck, one of the workers dropped his clipboard. Papers scattered across the wet pier, and he scrambled to collect them before the wind could carry them into the bay.
Ella bent to help, grabbing a sheet that had blown near her feet. In the brief moment before she handed it back, she saw what was written on it.
A medical report. Incomplete, but legible enough to make out key details. Subject designation: WS-447. Species: Lycanthrope, juvenile. Condition: Severe trauma, malnutrition. Recovery prognosis: Fair with proper care.
The worker snatched the paper from her hands. "Sorry about that. Wind's stronger than it looks."
"No problem."
But it was a problem. A big one.
The crates didn't contain biological specimens or research materials. They contained people. Shapeshifters, wounded and traumatized, being moved from one location to another.
The question was: were they being rescued or sold?
Ella watched the truck pull away, its precious cargo disappearing into the fog. She thought about the whimper she'd heard, the medical report she'd glimpsed, the way the workers had looked at her with fear and respect.
She thought about the blood contract that bound her to Kaelan Wolfram, and the father whose life depended on her cooperation.
She thought about the choice she'd made in his office—to stay silent, to honor her commitments, to cross whatever moral lines were necessary to survive in this world.
And she realized that standing on a fog-shrouded pier, watching wounded shapeshifters disappear into the night, she'd already crossed more lines than she'd ever imagined possible.
The transformation was happening whether she wanted it or not. The question was: what would she become by the end of it?
Rodriguez appeared beside her as the truck's taillights vanished. "Mr. Wolfram said to tell you the transfer was successful. He's pleased with your supervision."
"I didn't do anything."
"You were here. You saw what needed to be seen. And you kept your mouth shut." Rodriguez's smile was cold. "In this business, that's everything."
Ella's phone buzzed with a text from Kaelan: Well done. Same time next week.
Next week. Another shipment. More wounded shapeshifters, more moral compromises, more steps away from the person she used to be.
She looked out at the bay, where fog swallowed the city lights one by one. Somewhere in the darkness, predators hunted and prey struggled to survive. And somewhere in between, lawyers like her helped maintain the balance.
Even when that balance was built on blood.
"Ms. Winters?" Rodriguez was still standing beside her. "Your car's this way."
Ella nodded and followed him back to solid ground. But as she walked away from the pier, she could still smell it—blood and fur and the lingering scent of fear.
The smell of a world where monsters were real and the people who served them wore business suits.
The smell of what she was becoming.