Page 104 of Tides of Fate

Jay is stone-faced, his mind running through the possibilities.

This is one of those moments that reminds Gideon exactly whyheis not destined to rule a pack—why he was meant to be here, at Jay’s side. Maybe he’s been destined to be here, in every life, through all of time.

Because Jay was born to make the hard decisions.

In the end, Jay nods, and Cat dials Logan on her tablet.

It rings twice before she disconnects. Redialing, it rings three times—another disconnect. The final time, it rings once, and then Logan’s face fills the screen.

“Go,” the alpha says.

“Code Black,” Cat responds.

Logan’s breath catches. “Friendly?”

“No, sir.” She glances at Jay, who shakes his head. She’d rightly assumed there would be a lot more chaos if it had been a member of the Rhodes pack.

Logan exhales, relieved. “Good. Approved. Level seven sweep.”

“Seven-sweep?” Cat asks incredulously but nods.

“Yes, seven. Is Gideon there?”

Gideon holds his hand out for the tablet.

“I’ll just assess.” She whistles, and three women pour out of the truck, moving in perfect sync to secure the perimeter. They must have been monitoring the conversation from inside.

Logan’s eyes narrow with concern. “Everyone okay? You look like shit.”

Are they okay? Who can say? They’re sitting ducks at the moment.

“For now. And respectfully, fuck you.”

Logan raises a brow but eventually nods. “They won’t finish the install tonight if they’re going Level Seven. But I’ll put four guards at your place in the meantime. I’ll text you their dossiers so you can verify them when they arrive. That work for you?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Gideon says, just as Jay pops up behind so he can look over his shoulder.

“Logan. What’s a Level Seven?” Jay asks.

Logan smirks. “Better you don’t know, Jay. Talk soon.” And he’s gone.

Gideon hadn’t congratulated him on his daughter—it didn’t seem right to talk about life in the middle of a conversation about death.

Jay exhales sharply. “Did you know they did that?”

They both watch as the operatives pull out bags and start on the car, wiping surfaces with matte black cloths. A dark-haired agent with a fluffy dog tattoo under her ear wields an almost silent vacuum the size of a shoebox.

“Fuck no,” Gideon sighs.

“Hey, Gideon?” she calls.

He meets Cat at the front of the vehicle, passing the same dark-haired agent—now stripping the PIZZA sign from the roof and tossing it into the back of the truck. Another pops the hood, filing off the VIN. A third follows her nose, pops the trunk, takes one look, then shuts it again.

“Two,” she says simply.

The word lands like a weight in his chest. The boy. Still curled in the dark, still just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A sharp shard of regret presses behind Gideon’s ribs. He swears to himself that the boy’s family will know the truth.

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