Chapter 230
The meeting place was neutral in the truest sense of the word.
No markers. No territory lines. Just an abandoned rail station swallowed slowly by grass and time, concrete platforms cracked open by weeds, rusted tracks disappearing into the trees on either side. The kind of place that existed between purposes. Between owners. No pack symbols carved into stone. No scent wards layered into the soil. Just emptiness that had learned how to last.
I arrived early.
That was deliberate.
I stood near the edge of the platform, hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket, boots planted on concrete that still held the chill of night. Cold seeped through the soles, grounding me in my body. The air smelled like damp metal and moss, old rain trapped in rusted seams. Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily, patient and indifferent, marking time in a way that made everything else feel temporary.
I breathed it in and out, slow and controlled.
Ben stood a few paces behind me. Close enough that I could feel him without looking, a steady presence at my back. Far enough that this remained my meeting. My choice. My responsibility.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I replied. “But I need to hear them without leaning.”
He did not argue. He never did anymore. He just nodded once and stayed exactly where he was, a promise without pressure.
The Alpha arrived without ceremony.
No entourage. No dramatic approach. Just a tall figure stepping out from the trees as if they had always been there, posture calm, movements controlled. Their scent reached me first, unfamiliar but steady. Not aggressive. Not probing. It carried restraint, awareness.
Observant.
“Savannah,” they said. Their voice was measured, neither male nor female dominant, authority worn lightly but undeniably. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”
“You asked,” I said. “That usually means there’s something you want.”
A faint smile crossed their face, brief and honest. “Direct. That tracks.”
We faced each other across a strip of broken platform, the space between us deliberate. Respectful. Neither of us moved to close it. This was not a dominance exchange. It was an assessment.
“My name isn’t important yet,” they said. “What matters is why I’m here.”
I waited, saying nothing, letting silence do the work it was meant to do.
“Silvermen was not an exception,” the Alpha continued. “He was a symptom. You exposed him, but you also exposed the silence that allowed him to operate for decades.”
I felt my wolf stir, uneasy but attentive, recognizing the truth before my mind finished processing it.
“You’re not the only one who
noticed,” they went on. “Packs are
talking. Wolves are asking questions they were taught never to voice Abuse that used to be buried is surfacing, not all at once, but
enough to change the ground under our feet.”
“And that scares you,” I said.
“Yes,” the Alpha admitted without hesitation. “And it should.”
They took a slow breath, eyes lifting briefly to the trees before returning to me. “Several packs want reform. Real reform. Not cosmetic changes. Not new faces wearing old systems and calling it progress.”
My chest tightened, breath catching just slightly. “And you think that’s me.”
“We think it could be,” they
corrected. “Because you don’t
belong to any one faction. Because you were trained outside pack structures Because you survived What most of us pretended didn’t exist and came back willing to name it.”
The weight of it landed hard, heavier than any challenge ever had.
“This isn’t about power,” I said carefully. “If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re in the wrong place.”
The Alpha nodded once. “That’s exactly why we’re here.”
They spoke then of quiet alliances forming behind closed doors, not to seize control but to dismantle old protections. Of elders stepping aside without protest because they were tired of defending what they knew was broken. Of wolves refusing to return to packs that hurt them, choosing exile over silence. Of younger generations no longer willing to accept suffering as tradition or obedience as virtue.
They spoke of scale.
Of distance.
Of responsibility that stretched far beyond one territory, one Alpha, one solution.
By the time they finished, my hands were clenched tight in my pockets, knuckles pressing white against fabric. My heart pounded not with fear, but with something colder and heavier.