The first sign came three days after Sura’s morning session.
I was in the records room, finalizing the disinformation profile for Cassin’s documentation. The paper under my fingers felt heavier than usual, the ink still slightly damp from Evan’s last review. My wolf stayed low, ears forward, the way she did when the ability was resting but not asleep.
A knock—three measured raps, the third one softer.
Evan’s knock.
“Come in.”
He stepped inside, closed the door behind him with the quiet click that meant the corridor was clear. In his hand was a small, unmarked envelope, the kind used for internal correspondence within the fortress. But the seal was wrong. Not the wolf-and-pine of Victor’s house. Not the simple wax of the intelligence division.
This one was plain black wax with n
