Chapter Fifty-Three: Carol's POV
I stood up, my voice steadier than I'd expected, carrying far through the hall.
"I'll take charge of this rescue. I'll bring those three young wolves back. The pack needs this, and my oath demands it. Regardless of how you all view my abilities."
I'd learned one thing from Simon: when facing this kind of test, the best response wasn't making excuses—it was accepting directly.
After I spoke, the hall fell silent for a moment.
I didn't wait for their reaction. I turned and walked out. I didn't want to give anyone time to complicate things further.
In the corridor, Vasquez caught up from behind.
Her steps were quick, her expression one I rarely saw. It was worry, with a hint of guilt, as if she felt she'd pushed me into a position where I had no choice but to accept this dangerous mission.
"You didn't need to agree right now. This looks like a carefully set trap. Rogue wolves don't usually attack pack patrols unless they have stronger backing."
I looked at her without responding.
"If you find the mission too difficult, don't push yourself. The Council can provide more support."
She spoke with genuine concern.
But I suddenly felt deflated. Even my most supportive ally doubted my ability to see this through.
"There's something I need to emphasize again," I looked at her, pausing. "As Osmon's daughter, this mission means more than rescue. I must prove I'm worthy of the Valodin name, even without an awakened wolf."
The corridor light shone on her face, and she nodded slowly, as if finally understanding the weight on my shoulders.
"I know what this mission means. Not just the lives of those three young wolves, but my position in the pack. People here still doubt whether someone like me has the right to give orders." I paused, taking a breath. "I won't let Osmon's bloodline be buried just because I didn't go through traditional awakening. His daughter won't let his reputation suffer because she failed her first real test."
Vasquez was silent for a moment. In the corridor, only distant voices could be heard.
"I always felt you were different," she finally spoke.
"Even without your wolf, you still carry Osmon's shadow. That unyielding resilience, that persistence in the face of injustice." Her tone was calm, carrying a long-overdue recognition.
"I have to go," I said. "The rescue mission can't wait. Every hour we delay, those three wolves are in more danger. When this is over, we'll talk."
Vasquez stared at me for a few seconds, her lips moving as if wanting to say something, but finally just nodded.
"Go." Her voice was soft.
I nodded, my mind already on how to assemble my team, review the territory maps, find the most likely routes the rogues would take and the best strategies to intercept them without more casualties.
At the corner, a man in a suit suddenly appeared.
I'd only seen him in photos, but I recognized him immediately. It was Edmund, Belinda's husband.
He politely stepped back. After all these years in this pack, this was the first time I stood face to face with him.
He looked older than in the photos, his smile perfect, but you couldn't read what he was thinking.
"Carol," he spoke, his tone casual and warm, with deliberate friendliness. "I came to the Council to submit a cooperation proposal, a business project that needs pack approval."
Something felt off, but I couldn't pinpoint what. His timing was too convenient.
I remembered Isabel's unfinished words from a week ago—her father, Edmund, had asked her to visit Simon at the hospital.
I felt a chill run down my spine.
Whatever Edmund's real purpose here, I had no time to investigate now, because three pack members were waiting to be rescued.
"Sorry, I have urgent business." I said to Edmund. He wore a friendly smile, nodding in understanding.
I walked away quickly. After turning the corner and confirming he couldn't see me, I pulled out my phone and sent Jack a text.
"Watch Edmund over the next few days," I wrote. "See who he meets, where he goes. But be careful—don't let him notice he's being watched."
A few seconds later, my phone vibrated.
"Got it." Jack replied with two words.
The garage was on the lowest level of the Council building. When I arrived, Marcus was already there, the scar running from his brow to his chin the same as always, his expression grim and determined.
He was loading equipment into the back of a pack all-terrain vehicle.
With the efficiency honed from his military career, he'd packed everything I might need.
First aid kits, weapons, silver-lined restraints, and high-calorie protein bars for energy during long wolf-form runs.
I was checking the vehicle's equipment, my mind still calculating the situations we might encounter along the coast.
Derek's voice suddenly came from the garage entrance.
"I'm going." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his tone not asking for permission but announcing.
"No." I didn't even look up. "This isn't training. If something goes wrong, there's no fixing it. The rogues who took our people are desperate—they're twice as dangerous as pack wolves."
I refused him more harshly than I'd intended.
The Council was watching me, and I didn't want to fail my first real test, so my words were severe.
This mission was dangerous enough. I didn't want to add a young man who relied mainly on stubbornness, and I didn't want to see anyone else get hurt or killed on my watch.
Derek's expression changed, showing a hint of hurt beneath his stubbornness.
"I'm older than you," he said, which was true, though only by a year or two.
"I was at the moonshine operation, remember? I know how you work. And my combat scores are probably higher than yours."
I looked at Derek, understanding why he was so unwilling.
If I didn't let him go, I'd be telling him I didn't trust him, even though he'd already proven his loyalty and ability through his actions.
That desire to prove oneself, to be seen—I understood it better than anyone.
If I refused him now, I'd be like those people I'd despised all these years, judging someone by appearances instead of giving them a chance to prove themselves.
Marcus stood nearby, saying nothing, just shrugging. I understood his meaning—Derek could fight, bringing him might not be entirely bad. At least an extra hand was better than one less.
"Get in the car." I gestured toward the vehicle. "Follow my orders, don't act on your own. Understood?"