Page 36 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

A threat, veiled in civility.

I swallow, my pulse loud in my ears.

I know exactly what she's saying.

If I refuse, I disappear.

If I accept, I become something else entirely.

A pawn. A mouthpiece. A weapon for their cause.

I straighten in my seat, meeting her gaze with quiet defiance.

"I don't make deals with people who put me in chains."

The woman exhales through her nose, not quite a sigh, not quite amusement.

"Think it over," she says, closing the file with a softsnap.

She stands, smoothing out an invisible crease in her sleeve.

"You have until tomorrow."

Then she leaves.

The door clicks shut.

And I am alone once more.

I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Tomorrow.

It isn't much time.

But it's still time.

And as long as I have that—no matter how little, no matter how fragile—I am not done fighting yet.

CHAPTER 12

ADRIAN

Risk has to be calculated. It's weighed, measured, and action is taken only when the reward is worth it.

At least that's what I tell myself as I walk through the dimly lit corridors of the Council's detention center. Every step I take is deliberate. Every breath is controlled. My training has taught me how to use my wolf to control my vitals to prevent me from panicking even when I'm in a situation where my nerves should be screaming with anxiety. I've managed to reduce the noise to a whisper and the occasional groan, but this is still too early to celebrate.

This is treason.

I have spent years building a life within the Council's ranks—earning their trust, securing my place and my future. Now, I am about to throw it all away.

For her.

I have to move fast. From what I hear, they aren't giving her much time. If I don't act fast, by tomorrow they could lock her in a hole and throw away the key.

The air is laced with the faint scent of metal and something antiseptic, as if they're trying to scrub away the stench of the lives they keep locked away. The walls are a dull gray color, the kind that invites your brain to conjure up images. The walls were like a blank canvas for your nightmares. Elara would be appalled that architectural knowledge was being used to wage psychological warfare on people.

The hum of security systems is a constant undercurrent, a reminder that every step I take is being monitored, logged, analyzed. But I know the blind spots. I've studied them for years.

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