Chapter 97

Chapter 97
Gregory's POV

I'd given up on sleep around 3 AM.

After discovering the sabotaged equipment and spending hours redesigning our entire assessment approach, my mind refused to shut down.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those deliberate scratches on the communication relay, the careful tampering that spoke of someone with intimate knowledge of our plans.

Now I sat on the edge of my bed at 5:30 AM, staring at the hastily rewritten training plan in my hands. The paper was soft from handling, covered in my handwriting and last-minute revisions.

"Turn their sabotage into our advantage," I'd told Nephele last night.

Easy to say when you're running on adrenaline and righteous anger. Harder to believe sitting alone in the dark, knowing that in three hours, twenty-eight pack members would put their trust in me.

Outside my window, Stormfang territory was still wrapped in pre-dawn darkness, but I could see the faint glow on the horizon.

Sunrise was coming, and with it, the most important day of my life.

My hands weren't shaking. That was unexpected.

A few hours ago, when we'd discovered someone had been messing with our equipment, I'd been furious enough to put my fist through a wall. Then the anger had faded into the kind of cold fear I remembered from my worst days with Ophelia—the terror of being completely powerless while someone else controlled my fate.

But sitting here now, looking at our revised plans, I felt... steady. Focused.

I'd spent the night planning instead of panicking. We'd turned their sabotage into proof that our methods worked even when everything went wrong.

Or maybe it was because after twenty-two years of having my life controlled by someone else's malice, I was finally done being afraid.

If I failed today—really failed, with assessors recording every mistake—it wouldn't just end my opportunity. Every wolfless person in the Northern Alliance would pay the price. Every Alpha would point to my failure as proof that challenging traditional hierarchies was dangerous.

But I wasn't going to fail. Not because some coward was too threatened by change to fight fair.

"Let them try," I muttered, finally standing up and heading for the shower. "We'll be ready."

The hot water helped wash away the last traces of the three hours of sleep I'd managed, but it couldn't touch the knot of tension in my shoulders.

As I got dressed, I caught myself in the mirror. Thin face marked by too many years of stress, violet eyes that looked too much like Nephele's but carried different scars. I looked like someone who'd survived hell.

Today, I needed to look like someone who could lead others through it.

I grabbed the training plan and my notes on the equipment modifications we'd made last night.

The hallway was quiet as I made my way toward the kitchen, but I could smell coffee and bacon drifting from that direction. Someone else was awake early—probably Nephele and Kaedan, who'd been just as wired as I was when we'd finally called it a night.

I pushed open the kitchen door to find Nephele at the stove, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, shoulders tense with the same restless energy I'd been feeling. Three plates were already set out on the table.

"You look like shit," she said without turning around.

"Thanks. Love you too." I slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. "How long have you been up?"

"Since four." Kaedan appeared from the direction of his office, holding a steaming mug and looking like he'd been awake even longer. "Couldn't sleep either."

He sat down across from me, ice crystals appearing and disappearing on his hands in the restless pattern I'd learned meant he was worried but trying not to show it.

None of us were handling the pressure as well as we'd like to pretend—the tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

"The Alliance leadership is paying attention," Kaedan said without preamble. "I've had three calls since midnight from Alphas who 'just wanted to check in' on today's assessment."

My stomach clenched. "Good attention or bad attention?"

"Curious attention. Which could go either way depending on how today goes."

Nephele set a plate in front of me—eggs, bacon, toast cut into precise triangles. The kind of careful presentation that meant she was worried and channeling it into taking care of people.

"Alpha Elena also requested that today's assessment be recorded," she added, settling into her own chair. "Full video documentation for the Alliance archives."

I stared at the food, appetite gone. "So no pressure, but everything I do today gets preserved for posterity. Great."

"Gregory." Kaedan's voice was firm. "Look at me."

I met his ice-blue eyes, seeing determination beneath the worry.

"You've prepared for this better than anyone could have. Your methods work—we've all seen it. The volunteers believe in you." He paused. "I believe in you."

"Even if someone's actively trying to sabotage the assessment?"

"Especially then." Nephele reached across to squeeze my hand. "Because you know how to succeed when everything goes wrong. That's literally what you're teaching them."

I looked down at our joined hands—her shadows wrapping gently around my fingers like living things offering comfort. For a moment, I let myself believe it might actually work.

"Eat," she said firmly. "You'll need the energy."

I forced myself to clean my plate, though every bite felt like swallowing sawdust.

Around us, the packhouse was starting to wake up—voices in the hallway, the distant sound of the morning patrol checking in.

"Time to go face the music," I said, pushing back from the table.

"We'll be watching," Kaedan said. "Not interfering, but we'll be there."

"Thank you." The words felt inadequate for everything they'd done, everything they were risking for me. "Both of you."

Nephele hugged me quickly. "Go show them what a wolfless person can really do."

I grabbed my revised training notes from the counter, checking one last time that I had everything I needed. The walk from the main building to the training grounds felt longer than usual, each step bringing me closer to either vindication or disaster.

Other pack members were starting their morning routines—early patrol shifts heading out, kitchen staff arriving for breakfast prep. A few nodded at me as I passed, some with curiosity, others with what might have been encouragement. Word about today's assessment had clearly spread.

By the time I reached the training area, my nerves had settled into something more manageable. This was it. Time to find out if a wolfless man could really teach werewolves how to survive.

Something felt wrong. The morning was too quiet. Even the air felt different, charged with the kind of tension that preceded violence. My skin prickled with the familiar warning that had kept me alive through years of Ophelia's games.

I'd learned to trust that feeling. It had never lied to me.

Today wasn't just going to be an assessment. Today was going to be a battle.

And I had the sinking suspicion that discovering the sabotaged equipment last night had only been the opening move.