Page 82 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

"I know what you've told me," I correct. "I want the truth."

She holds my gaze for a long moment, searching my face like she's weighing whether I'm worth the honesty. Finally, she exhales, looking away.

"My involvement wasn't as deep as you think. But it wasn't nothing either." She taps a finger against the edge of the map. "I knew things. Enough to be useful. Enough to know they don't all agree with each other."

That catches my attention.

I straighten. "Explain."

Isla shifts, her expression unreadable. "The Council isn't as united as they pretend to be. There are fractures. Some of them—" She hesitates. "—don't think the current leadership is sustainable."

A cold weight settles in my chest.

"You're saying some of them don't support the direction the Council is heading?"

She nods once. "They're not exactly allies. But they're not completely loyal either."

I process that.

If there are factions within the Council playing a longer game, it means the rebellion isn't just fighting an external enemy—it means the enemy is already at war with itself.

And that means we could have leverage.

"Who?" I ask.

Isla shakes her head. "If I had names, I'd have given them to you already. But the ones who matter? They're watching. They're waiting."

For what, she doesn't say.

And somehow, I get the feeling she isn't sure either.

The training room is empty except for her.

Elara stands near the far wall, hands braced against the wooden rack of weapons. The soft glow of lanterns casts long shadows, highlighting the curve of her shoulders, the delicate line of her spine as she exhales, slow and measured. Her back is to me, but I can tell she knows I'm here.

She doesn't turn around when she speaks.

"Something on your mind?"

Her voice is even, but I catch the tightness beneath it.

I step closer. "You left the meeting quickly."

She finally glances over her shoulder. "Not much else to say, was there?"

There it is. The sharp edge. The unspoken weight pressing between us.

I take another step forward, watching the way her fingers flex against the wooden rack. "You disagree with Isla's plan."

Elara lets out a quiet breath, turning fully to face me. "I disagree with how easily you accepted it."

Her eyes hold mine, unreadable in the dim light. There's something simmering beneath the surface—more than frustration, more than strategy.

I cross my arms. "You think I should've fought harder."

"I think you're being careful," she says. "And I think I know why."

There's an accusation buried in her words, something she isn't saying outright.

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