Chapter 64 Empty Rooms Louder Echos
Kier’s POV
“Say something,” he said finally.
“What do you want me to say?” I kept my eyes forward. "Sable is missing and the only thing we have as a lead is a block of warehouses that should have been condemned decades ago.”
“You also have six people on standby and an angry Beta,” Jaxon said. “That still counts for something.”
“Does it?” I flexed my hands on the wheel. “Because right now I’ve got nothing where my wolf should be.”
“What do you mean nothing?” Jaxon asked, leaning forward a little. “You can’t just lose your wolf, Kier.”
I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, tell that to the silence in my head. It’s like… he’s gone. No growl. No instinct. No pull. Just—emptiness.”
Jaxon frowned. “Since when?”
I hesitated, eyes fixed on the road. “Since that night with Liora.”
“The hell are you saying? You think she—”
“I don’t know what to think.” I cut him off before he could finish. “All I know is the moment it was over, I felt him retreat. Like he couldn’t even stand to share the same body with me. He’s been quiet ever since.”
He didn’t push. He never did unless it mattered. “You’ll feel him when you need him."he said after a beat.
“That used to be true.”
“That is still true.”
“Don’t do the big-brother optimism thing.”
He huffed. “I’m doing the practical thing.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The engine did the talking—low, angry. The SUV ate pavement, closing distance to the docks.
Jaxon tilted his head. “You’re thinking about it. Say it.”
“Thinking about what?”
“You’re wondering if it was him. The betrayal you felt before.”
“Sam?” I tasted the name like a bad pill. “It lines up. He was in her orbit then. Close enough to try something. Too close."
I pressed harder on the gas.
“Team’s staged two blocks out,” Jaxon said, checking his phone. “Isaac’s guys have eyes on the south and west approaches. No movement yet.”
“Good,” I said, and took the last turn toward an alley.
The warehouse was scarred by time and bad paint. One rusted door. Three dark windows. A strip of yellow light under the frame.
We parked without lights. The private team fanned in—three shadows stretching long across wet concrete—then melted to posts we’d agreed on: corner, dumpster, opposite roofline. Jaxon slipped out first, low and quiet. I followed.
“Two on the back,” he mind linked. “One on the ridge.”
My pulse drummed in my throat. I stepped to the door, put my fingers on the plate, felt for vibration.
Nothing.
I glanced at Jaxon. He nodded once. I slid a pick into the lock. The metal argued, then lost. The latch clicked; the door gave.
We went in on a breath.
Empty air hit first—cold, stale. The sweet rot smell of wood. A bulb buzzed in the back room, flickering on an exposed wire. The place looked staged: pallet, water bottle, a folded blanket. Silver chain coiled on the floor like a snake you didn’t want to test.
But no Sable.
I swallowed the sound my chest wanted to make.
Jaxon holstered his weapon with a mutter that wasn’t a prayer. “They moved her.”
“Or she was never here,” I said. The words tasted like rust.
He knelt near the chain, hovering a hand over it. “Still warm.” He lifted the unbroken end with a pen. “He left in a hurry.”
“Then why leave this?” I toed the chain; it rang like a quiet bell. “He wanted us to see it.”
“A ploy,” Jaxon agreed. “To burn time.”
“He's playing with us,” I said. My voice went thin.
Jaxon didn’t argue. He looked toward the back exit. “No camera we can trust. No neighbors to witness. He picked right.”
“Or someone picked it for him,” I said, scanning the corners for anything to help us out. “He couldn't have known about silver on his own."
My hands wanted to break something. My teeth wanted to find a throat that deserved it. The wolf in me should’ve been a storm by now—ripping, tearing, destroying—and there was… nothing.
“Come on,” I said under my breath, not to Jaxon. “I’m asking you. Come back.”
Silence. Stillness. The dull throb of blood that wasn’t accompanied by the blood-deep other heartbeat I’d had since I was a boy.
We checked the back door—propped with a splintered board—and followed its line into a narrow cut that emptied to a service road. Fresh tire blemishes bled into puddles.
Jaxon snapped photos, marked angles, sent pins to Damian. "Look into obtaining possible footage in the area.”
“We already did.”
“Well do it again.”
We circled once more inside. I picked up a water bottle with a handkerchief. Unscrewed it. Smelled nothing but plastic and cheap city tap. I capped it and bagged it anyway.
“Nothing else,” Jaxon said. “No hair, no fibers, no—" Jaxon stood. “We’re done here.”
I stared at the chain one more time. “Let’s go,” I said.
We slipped back into rain. The team peeled away, ghosting to their cars. The drive back was louder—same wipers, same road—but filled with the kind of thoughts you try to outrun and can’t.
“She was here,” Jaxon said finally. “Briefly. He moved her before we got the feed.”
“Or he brought us here to throw us off,” I said. “He wants us frantic.”
“Then don’t give him what he wants.”
I didn’t answer. I drove faster.
When we got back to Ironclad tower Emma met us in the executive lobby, tablet in both hands, eyes scanning our faces before she said a word. “Nothing?”
“Staged,” Jaxon said, stripping his wet jacket. “He's trying to throw us off his trail.”
Emma’s mouth flattened. “Should we get the police involved?”
“No,” I said. “You know better, this is pack business.”
“Maybe we need to let humans deal with Sam,” she snapped, then bit it back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “Sam is human but he knows too much.”
We crossed toward Security. Isaac leaned out. “Nothing new on the east cams. Van vanished under the overpass. I’m combing private lots.”
“Keep combing,” I said.
We’d barely cleared the threshold into the control room when Miguel at the front desk called over the radio, voice pitched weird. “Uh… Mr. Blane? You’ve got a visitor at reception.”
“Tell them to make an appointment,” Emma said.
Miguel hesitated. “You’ll probably want this one.”
I exchanged a look with Jaxon. “Who?”
“Says her name is Tia,” Miguel said. “Says she has information you want.”
“Description,” I said.
“Red coat. Smudged lipstick. Looks like she’s been out all night. Says she works the docks.”
Jaxon’s mouth tilted. “Prostitute.”
“Her word was ‘companion,’” Miguel offered.
Emma’s gaze snapped to me. “She knows something?”
“Only one way to find out,” I said. I straightened my wet cuffs. “Bring her up.”
Emma was already moving. “On it.”
Jaxon drifted closer, voice low. “You ready for whatever this is?”
“No,” I said, honest for once. “But we're about to find out.”
A minute later, the elevator pinged. Miguel led in a woman wearing a red coat, bare knees, hair scraped back too tight. She clocked every camera, every exit, every man.
Her eyes landed on me; she smiled without warmth. “You’re the Alpha?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got something on your girl,” she said, voice rough from cigarettes and rain. “But I don’t talk for free.”