Chapter 26 The Advocate's Betrayal (Rowan POV)
The conference room door opened at 10:17 a.m. sharp. Nathan Grey walked in first, same crisp suit, same wire-rimmed glasses, same neutral expression that never quite reached his eyes. Behind him came two guards I didn’t recognize; they stayed by the door, hands resting near their belts. Nathan carried a slim black binder today instead of the thick evidence packet. He set it on the table with a soft thud and sat across from me without preamble.
“Trial is tomorrow,” he said. “Nine a.m. Eclipse Chamber. We have one hour to finalize strategy.”
I leaned back in the chair. The metal was cold against my spine. “I already told you my strategy. I’m not pleading to anything.”
Nathan opened the binder. Flipped to the first page, typed bullet points, single-spaced. “Diminished capacity plea. You admit the physical act, killing Tyler Morrison, but argue you were not in control of your faculties due to the incomplete Turning. The wolf acted. The human Rowan Ashford did not consent. We request mitigation: exile instead of execution. The Alphas have precedent. They’ve shown leniency in cases of forced transformation before.”
I stared at the page. The words blurred for a second, black ink on white paper, clinical, detached.
“No,” I said.
Nathan didn’t flinch. Just turned to the next page. “Alternative: temporary insanity plea. Same outcome. Exile. You serve time in a neutral territory under supervision. You live.”
“I said no.”
He closed the binder. Laid both palms flat on the table. “You understand the alternative?”
“I understand.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Then help me help you. One sentence in open court, ‘I don’t remember, but the evidence shows I did it, and I wasn’t in control’, that’s all it takes. The Alphas will take mercy. They don’t want to execute a seventeen-year-old scholarship kid in front of the entire Concordance audience. It looks bad. They’ll exile you. You’ll be alive. You’ll have a chance to disappear, start over.”
I met his gaze. “I didn’t kill Tyler.”
Nathan exhaled through his nose, sharp, impatient. “You don’t remember. That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
He stood abruptly. Paced once to the window, then back. “You’re going to die for pride?”
I stood too. Slowly. Deliberately. “I’m going to die telling the truth. If that’s what it takes.”
Nathan stopped. Looked at me, really looked, for the first time in two meetings. Something flickered behind the professional mask. Not pity. Not respect. Something colder. Calculation.
“You’re making my job impossible,” he said quietly.
“Then quit.”
He laughed once, short, humorless. “I don’t quit. I win. Or I lose gracefully. But I don’t quit.”
He gathered his binder. Tucked it under his arm.
“Think about it,” he said. “One night. One sentence. Exile instead of silver. It’s not surrender. It’s survival.”
I didn’t answer.
He walked to the door. Knocked twice. The guards opened it.
He paused in the threshold. Looked back.
“Last chance, Rowan. Last chance.”
The door closed behind him.
I stood in the middle of the room. Breathing hard. The silver marks on my arms burned hotter, almost feverish now. The wolf inside me paced, low growl, restless, ready.
I walked to the door. Pressed my ear against it.
Nathan’s voice, low, urgent, filtered through the steel.
“She won’t cooperate.”
A pause. Someone else answered, male, older, muffled.
Nathan again: “Diminished capacity plea rejected. She insists on innocence. Full denial. No mitigation. She’s forcing their hand.”
Another pause.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready tomorrow. She’ll have her statement. They’ll have their verdict.”
Footsteps retreated down the corridor.
I stepped back. My heart hammered so loud I could feel it in my teeth.
He wasn’t defending me.
He was reporting to them.
Pack leadership.
The ones who wanted me dead.
I banged on the door, hard, once.
Jackson opened it. “What?”
“I want to fire my advocate,” I said. “Right now.”
Jackson blinked. “You can’t.”
“I just did.”
He shook his head. “Too late. Trial’s tomorrow. Advocate’s assigned by the court. You don’t get to fire him.”
“Get Headmaster Vance,” I demanded.
Jackson hesitated. Then spoke into his radio. “Vance to holding wing. Inmate request.”
Minutes later, five, maybe six, Vance arrived. Coat billowing, expression unreadable.
“Rowan,” she said. “What is it?”
I stepped forward. “I want Nathan Grey removed. He’s not defending me. He’s working against me. I overheard him reporting to pack leadership. Telling them I won’t plead. Telling them I’m forcing their hand.”
Vance’s face didn’t change. But her eyes sharpened.
“Proof?” she asked.
“I heard him,” I said. “In the hallway. Clear as day.”
She looked at Jackson. “You hear anything?”
Jackson shifted. “No, ma’am. I was at the end of the hall.”
Vance turned back to me. “Without corroboration, it’s your word against his. He’s a licensed advocate. Court-appointed. Removal requires cause, documented misconduct. A hallway conversation you claim to have overheard isn’t enough.”
I clenched my fists. “He’s betraying me.”
“But the law doesn’t bend for suspicion. The trial proceeds tomorrow. Nathan Grey remains your advocate.”
I stared at her. “You’re letting them kill me.”
“I’m letting the process run,” she corrected. “You still have your statement. You still have the truth. Use it.”
She turned to leave.
“Headmaster,” I called.
She paused.
“If I die tomorrow,” I said, “will you at least remember I told the truth?”
Vance looked back.
“I’ll remember,” she said softly.
Then she was gone.