Chapter 53 CHAPTER 053
Harry stepped out of the bathroom with steam trailing behind him, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, water still dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He was already mentally planning the rest of his evening — food, maybe a call to Dex, then bed.
What he wasn't planning for was his father standing in the middle of his room.
"Dad." Harry stopped short, gripping the towel tighter. "Ever heard of knocking?"
His father didn't even flinch. Just stood there with his arms folded behind his back, surveying Harry's room like he owned it. Which, technically, he sort of did. But that wasn't the point.
"You're alive," his father said flatly. "Good."
"Knocking," Harry repeated, gesturing toward the door. "It's a concept. You knock, I say come in. Or don't. Basic human decency."
"I didn't come here for a lecture on manners."
"Clearly."
His father turned to look at Harry fully then, and Harry already didn't like the expression on his face. That tight, calculated look his father wore whenever he wanted something and had already decided Harry was going to give it to him.
"There's a meeting tonight," his father said.
Harry stared at him.
"A meeting."
"Yes."
Harry let out a short laugh, more confusion than humor. "Dad, I'm Stone's Beta. If there's a meeting, I'm supposed to be the first person to know about it." He paused. "Stone didn't call any meeting."
"Stone didn't call this one."
The air in the room shifted slightly. Harry looked at his father more carefully now.
"Then who did?"
His father didn't answer immediately. He walked slowly toward the window, glancing outside like the answer was somewhere in the treeline.
"What kind of meeting?" Harry pressed.
"The kind that doesn't need Stone's permission."
Harry didn't say anything for a moment. Something cold was settling at the base of his stomach.
"I'm not going," Harry said.
His father turned from the window. "You are."
"I really am not." Harry moved toward his wardrobe, pulling it open. "I've had a long day, I haven't eaten, and whatever this is—" he gestured vaguely at his father— "I don't want any part of it."
"Harry—"
"I mean it." Harry pulled out a shirt, not even looking at his father. "Whatever you and your friends are cooking up, leave me out of it."
Silence.
Then his father spoke again, his voice quieter this time. More deliberate.
"The Lighthouse. Tonight at nine." His father moved toward the door. "Don't be late."
"I just said I'm not going."
His father paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame. He looked back at Harry, and there was something in his eyes Harry couldn't quite name. Something between disappointment and contempt.
"You know," his father said slowly, "sometimes I look at you and wonder if your mother dropped you on your head."
Harry went still.
"Excuse me?"
"A Beta." His father said the word like it tasted wrong in his mouth. "My son. And you can't even walk into a room full of elders without being told twice." He clicked his tongue. "What kind of man are you?"
The shirt in Harry's hand crumpled slightly where his grip tightened.
"Nine o'clock," his father repeated quietly. Then he walked out.
Harry stood there for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw working slowly.
What kind of man are you?
Harry threw the shirt over his shoulder.
"Fine," he muttered to no one. "Fine."
The Lighthouse sat at the edge of pack territory, far enough from the main house that sound didn't carry. Harry hadn't been here in years. The last time was a ceremony he barely remembered, something about borders and bloodlines and old men making speeches that went on too long.
Tonight felt different.
The inside was lit by low, amber-toned lanterns, casting long shadows across the circular table where the elders were already seated. Harry counted seven of them before he stopped counting. All familiar faces. All older than him. All watching him walk in with expressions that told him this wasn't their first time gathering like this.
His father sat at the head of the table.
Of course he did.
Harry pulled out a chair and sat down without greeting anyone. A few of them exchanged glances. He didn't care.
"Now that we're all here," his father said, his voice filling the room easily, "we can begin."
Murmurs of agreement circled the table.
His father leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "I'll say what all of you have been thinking but haven't had the courage to say out loud." He let the silence breathe for exactly one second. "Stone is slipping."
No one objected.
That alone told Harry enough.
"Slipping how?" Elder Rowan asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
"The girl," his father said simply.
"Ari," someone else confirmed quietly.
"Since she arrived," his father continued, "he's been distracted. Unfocused. Making decisions without consulting the council. Skipping protocols he's followed for years." He paused. "That girl has done something to him, whether she intended to or not."
Elder Voss, who was older than most of the trees outside, leaned back in his chair. "I've noticed it too. He cancelled the border review last week. Didn't even send a word."
"He sent no word to me either regarding the eastern dispute," another elder added.
"Because he doesn't think he needs to anymore," his father said. "That's the problem. Whatever hold she has on him, it's making him reckless. And a reckless Alpha—"
"Is a dangerous Alpha," Rowan finished.
His father nodded slowly.
Harry sat quietly, listening, his fingers resting flat on the table. Part of him wanted to push back, to say they were overreacting, that Stone was still Stone. But the honest part of him — the part that had watched him closely these past weeks — knew some of what they were saying wasn't entirely wrong.
Still. Harry didn't like where this was going.
"So what exactly," Harry said, keeping his voice even, "are you suggesting we do about it?"
His father looked at Harry.
"What all of us are afraid to say," his father replied. Then he straightened. "We remove him."
A sickening silence hung heavy in the air.