Chapter 47 Shadows and Stone
Chase's POV
The days after Wynter left crawled by with agonizing slowness, each hour stretching like taffy as I forced myself to maintain the facade of normalcy.
I attended classes, participated in training, played the role of dutiful Alpha heir.
But beneath the surface, my mind never stopped calculating, observing, searching for the cracks in the conspiracy that had stolen Wynter from these walls.
"We should start investigating," Rosalie had said on the second day, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. "Document everything, talk to people—"
"Not yet," I'd interrupted gently, squeezing her hand. "We need to be patient. Watch and listen first. Let them think we've accepted this outcome."
She'd nodded reluctantly, though frustration radiated from every line of her body. "How long?"
"A few days. Maybe a week. Just observe for now—but don't do anything that might draw attention."
What I didn't tell her was that I had my own plans. Plans that required a level of stealth her naturally expressive nature simply couldn't maintain. Rosalie wore her heart on her sleeve—it was one of her most endearing qualities, but it made her terrible at deception.
Better she didn't know. Better she stayed safe.
---
The Cloak of Shadows had been my father's gift on my eighteenth birthday, pulled from the Sterling family vaults where it had rested for three generations.
"Every Alpha needs to know when to be seen and when to disappear," he'd said, draping the midnight-black silk across my shoulders. "Power isn't just about commanding a room. Sometimes it's about moving through it unnoticed."
I'd thought it an odd gift then. Now I understood its value.
With this cloak, I could completely hide myself in the darkness and became the king of the shadows—without ever having to worry about being discovered.
---
Professor Stone kept predictable hours. Dinner at six, office work until nine, evening walk, then retirement to the faculty wing. I'd tracked his routine for three nights now, watching from beneath the Cloak's concealment.
Three nights of nothing. Just a man going through mundane evening rituals.
Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's distant presence—she and Jax had found somewhere safe, somewhere the Rogue network could protect them. The knowledge settled some of my anxiety, though her absence still felt like a missing limb.
Tonight was the fourth night. The Cloak wrapped around me like water as I positioned myself in the shadows near the administration building, waiting.
At nine-fifteen, Stone emerged. But instead of turning toward the faculty wing, he headed east.
Toward the forest.
My pulse quickened. The eastern woods—the same area where they'd intercepted Jax. The same service path Jax had used to lead those children toward freedom.
I followed at a careful distance, the Cloak's magic holding as Stone moved with surprising confidence through the darkening trees. He knew this path. Knew it well.
The question that had been nagging at me crystallized into sharp focus: If Stone knew about this exit, why hadn't they pursued the children when Jax freed them? Why let three Rogue kids escape into neutral territory but intercept Jax himself?
Unless the children had never been the real target. Unless Jax's capture had been the goal all along.
---
We walked for perhaps fifteen minutes before Stone stopped in a small clearing. I pressed myself against an ancient oak, barely breathing.
A figure materialized from the opposite treeline—tall, face concealed by a dark cloth mask. But the scent that drifted across the clearing made my wolf's hackles rise.
Bloodrock. The distinctive mineral tang of their volcanic soil, unmistakable even at this distance.
The masked figure pulled something from their jacket—a small pouch that clinked with the sound of coins. Stone took it, weighing it briefly before tucking it away.
Then the figure produced a folded paper, pressing it into Stone's hand. Their heads bent together for a moment, voices too low for me to catch words, but the body language spoke volumes.
Stone nodded once, twice, tucking the paper into his inner jacket pocket. The masked figure melted back into the trees as silently as they'd appeared.
Stone stood alone for a moment, staring down at the pocket where he'd hidden the note. Then he turned and started back toward campus.
I waited a full minute before following, my mind racing. Stone was taking orders from Bloodrock. Taking payment. This wasn't just corruption—this was active collaboration with the enemy.
---
Stone's route took us back toward the administration building. I expected him to head to his quarters, but instead he climbed the stairs to the third floor.
To Headmaster Grey's office.
The door stood slightly ajar, lamplight spilling into the corridor. Stone knocked once and entered without waiting for response.
I positioned myself in the shadows outside, the Cloak's magic making me invisible to casual observation. Through the gap, I could just see Stone's back as he approached Grey's desk.
"The contact made delivery," Stone said, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet.
I watched as Stone pulled out the folded paper and placed it on Grey's desk. The Headmaster picked it up, unfolded it, read silently.
Grey's shoulders sagged slightly as he finished reading. He set the paper down, rubbing his face with both hands.
Stone said something too quiet to hear. Grey responded, equally inaudible—it seemed they had erected a magical barrier against eavesdropping.
My wolf snarled silently. The Headmaster himself was compromised. The highest authority in the Academy, the one person who should have been above corruption, was taking orders from Bloodrock through Stone as intermediary.
I needed to leave.
My boot caught the edge of a loose stone I hadn't seen in the darkness.
The scrape of leather on rock seemed to echo like thunder in the quiet corridor.
Stone's head whipped toward the door. "What was that?"
I froze, every muscle locked, the Cloak wrapped tight around me. If they searched the corridor, if they looked closely enough...
Through the gap, I saw Stone move toward the door. Saw his hand reach for the handle.
A soft mewl broke the tension.
A tabby cat—one of the strays that haunted the administration building—padded past my feet, completely unconcerned with human drama. It paused to rub against the doorframe, tail high.
Stone's posture relaxed visibly. "Just a cat," he said, his voice carrying a note of relief.
Grey said something I couldn't catch. Stone pulled the door fully closed, cutting off my view.
I waited, heart hammering, counting slowly to one hundred before I dared move. The cat had saved me—pure luck, nothing more.
When I finally slipped away, my hands were shaking.
---
Back in my quarters, I sank into a chair and let the Cloak pool around my feet.
Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's concern pressing against me like a physical weight. She'd picked up on my emotional turmoil even across the distance.
I'm okay, I sent, trying to project calm I didn't feel.
What happened?
Later. When I can think clearly.
I stared at the Cloak, my father's gift, and felt the weight of what I'd witnessed settling over me like a shroud.
Stone was working for Bloodrock. Grey was compromised. The Academy's administration, the people who should have been protecting students, were actively collaborating with the enemy.
Everyone here was corrupt. Everyone here was a potential threat.
It was too dangerous here. I couldn't investigate effectively when I was surrounded by enemies. Couldn't trust anyone within these walls.
I needed to leave. Needed to find an excuse to get off campus—something that wouldn't raise suspicion, that would seem natural, expected.