IRIS POV
Iris waits until the lodge is dark.
The howling has stopped hours ago. The compound is quiet. Most of the pack members are somewhere deeper in the forest, doing whatever packs do when humans aren't watching. Around nine o'clock she slips out of her room and walks toward the main building. Her heart is hammering so hard she's sure someone will hear it.
Nobody stops her. The compound is almost empty.
She finds the archives building exactly where Marcus pointed it out that morning. A small stone structure with old wooden doors. Iris tests the handle and it opens without resistance. Either they trust no one would be stupid enough to break in, or they don't care if people do.
She steps inside and lets her eyes adjust to the darkness.
Filing cabinets line the walls from floor to ceiling. Shelves of leather bound books. A massive wooden desk covered in papers and old photographs. Iris pulls out her phone and uses the flashlight. The beam catches on labels. Territory records. Pack history. Bloodline documentation. Financial reports.
She starts searching.
Her hands shake as she pulls open drawers. Missing persons files. Accident reports. Death certificates. Most of the documents are old, decades back. Pack members with names she doesn't recognize dying from things that don't make sense. Wolf attacks. Territorial disputes. Rogue incidents. It's like reading a history book written in blood.
Then she finds the newspaper section.
Three-year-old copies of the local news. Hiking accident near Silvercrest territory. Young man missing in forest. Search called off after forty-eight hours due to inconclusive evidence. The article is small, buried on page seven. Her brother deserved more than that. Deserved better than a paragraph squeezed between a weather forecast and a grocery store advertisement.
Iris's vision blurs. She forces the tears back. Not now. She can cry later. Right now she needs information.
She digs deeper into the files. Looking for anything about Marcus. Any mention of his name. Any explanation for why a search would be called off that fast. But the recent files are frustratingly vague. Just numbers and dates. No details. No context. Nothing that explains anything.
She finds old pack records dating back centuries. Names and dates and brief descriptions. Territory disputes resolved. Humans discovered and relocated. Rogue wolves executed. The pack's entire violent history laid out in bureaucratic language like it's all just business as usual.
Iris pulls open another drawer. Her fingers slip on the metal handle from sweat. Her heart won't stop racing.
Nothing about Marcus. Nothing about her brother. Nothing except the vague reference to a hiking incident three years ago that was clearly covered up.
The frustration builds in her chest. She came here for answers and all she's finding is silence. All she's finding is a pack that erased her brother from existence.
That's when she hears the footsteps.
They're steady. Deliberate. Walking toward the archives building from somewhere in the compound. Iris goes completely still. Her hand freezes halfway into a drawer. Her breath catches in her throat.
The footsteps get closer.
She looks around desperately for a hiding spot. The office desk. Too exposed. The filing cabinets. No space between them. Then she sees the corner behind the door. A dark shadow created by the way the shelves angle. It's not much but it's something.
Iris closes the drawer slowly. Quietly. She moves toward the corner and tucks herself into the darkness just as the front door opens.
The footsteps stop inside the building.
Iris holds her breath. She can see a slice of the room through the narrow gap between the door and the wall. A tall figure moves into the archives. Black clothes. Black hair. The same man from the clearing.
The Alpha.
His eyes scan the room like he's looking for something specific. Like he knows exactly what he's searching for. He walks past the desk. Past the filing cabinets. Straight toward the corner where Iris is hiding.
She presses herself harder against the wall. Her hand moves toward her phone in her pocket. Maybe she can call for help. Maybe she can scream. Maybe she can run.
The man keeps walking.
He stops directly in front of her hiding spot. So close she can hear him breathing. So close she can smell him. Something wild and ancient and completely not human.
He doesn't look at her. Doesn't acknowledge that he knows she's there. He just reaches up and pulls a file from the shelf directly above her head. The movement is slow. Deliberate. Like he's giving her a chance to understand that he knows exactly where she is and exactly how trapped she's about to become.
Iris tries to make herself smaller. Tries to disappear into the shadows completely. But she knows the truth.
He's standing right in front of her. Between her and the door. Between her and escape.
His head tilts slightly. Like he's listening to something she can't hear. Then he turns around slowly and faces her directly.
His eyes are pure gold.
Not reflecting light. Actually glowing gold in the darkness. And they're looking straight at her. Through her. Into all the places she's been hiding the truth about why she came to this forest.
He speaks, and his voice is rough like it hasn't been used in years.
"You're looking for your brother."
It's not a question.
Iris's throat closes. She can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except stare at those impossible gold eyes and understand that she's made a terrible mistake.
The man steps closer. Not threatening exactly. Just moving into her space like he has every right to. Like she belongs to him now just by virtue of being found.
"His name was Marcus," the man says. "And yes. I know what happened to him."