Chapter 6

The heavy silence in the main hall feels thick enough to cut with a blade. Alpha Garreth stands at the head of the long wooden table, his face flushed red with anger.

The formal negotiations between the Blood Moon Pack and the Obsidian delegation have hit a wall, and he knows it. Across from him, the visiting representatives sit in silence, their expressions cold and unreadable.

Silas Blackwood sits near the back of his group, still wearing his simple leather clothing, watching the room with a calm glare.

Garreth slams his hand down onto the polished table, making the glass cups rattle. He needs someone to blame for the missing border shipments, and his eyes lock straight onto me as I stand near the side wall with a fresh pitcher of water.

"This is the source of the problem," Garreth snarls, pointing a thick finger in my direction. "This useless servant was tasked with logging the northern storehouse inventory three days ago. She failed to record two full crates of refined metal and grain shipments. Her endless incompetence is the reason our trade totals do not match the ledgers today."

Every eye in the room turns toward me. The guards by the door shift their stance, waiting for Garreth to order my punishment.

In the past, a servant in my position would bow her head, drop to her knees, and beg for forgiveness to avoid a beating. Garreth expects me to break. He wants to use me as a cheap excuse to hide his own financial theft from the visitors.

I do not lower my gaze. I take a slow, calm step forward into the center of the hall, letting the heavy silver pitcher rest firmly in my hands.

"The northern storehouse logs are correct, Alpha," I say, keeping my voice clear so it carries across the room. "The two missing crates of refined metal were never lost in transit. They were moved directly from the lower yard to the secondary border outpost on the fourth night of the month."

Garreth sneers, his jaw tightening as he steps toward the edge of the raised platform. "Hold your tongue, rat. You know nothing about pack trade or storage logs."

"I know the numbers written in your private registry, Alpha," I reply, making sure my tone remains soft and steady. "If you check the secondary transit receipts from that evening, you will find that the steward signed off on the transfer himself. The grain was not lost to rot as you claimed earlier. It was sold to the outer border merchants at a thirty percent discount, but that profit does not appear anywhere on the official pack ledger you handed to our guests."

A quiet whisper ripples through the elders sitting along the left wall. Garreth’s chief advisor turns pale, quickly flipping through the thick stack of papers on his desk.

"What did you just say?" Garreth growls, his voice dropping into a dangerous rumble. His alpha aura surges outward, a heavy weight designed to crush my throat and force me to my knees. "You dare accuse your Alpha of forging records in front of our honored guests?"

The pressure hits my chest like a wall of iron, trying to bend my spine and force my legs to give out. My lungs burn for air, but I hold my ground inside my mind.

I focus on the reality of the numbers I memorized in his study. The poison in my veins might have kept my wolf asleep, but it never touched my brain. His aura is nothing more than hot air built on a foundation of lies.

"I am not making an accusation, sir," I say, taking another step closer to the long table. I pause, letting my eyes drift toward the Obsidian delegation before looking back at him. "I am simply correcting the math. The numbers you presented to the Supreme Alpha state that Blood Moon maintains a surplus of iron. Yet, if you subtract the undocumented border sales from the total storage figures, your main supply will run completely dry before the next moon phase."

Garreth looks like he wants to leap across the table and tear my throat out with his bare hands. He opens his mouth to shout an order to his guards, but a deep, quiet voice cuts through the room before he can utter a word.

"She makes an interesting point, Alpha Garreth," Silas says from the back row.

Silas slowly stands up, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the stone floor. He steps around the loud commander in silver armor, taking center stage without raising his voice.

The air in the room shifts instantly, drawing everyone's focus away from Garreth and locking it onto him.

"We came here to discuss a long-term trade alliance," Silas continues, leaning his hands on the wooden edge of the table as he looks Garreth up and down. "Yet your own kitchen servant seems to have a far better grasp of your pack's financial health than you do. Why is that?"

"She is a lying, wolfless defective!" Garreth spits, his hands trembling with rage as he tries to regain control of the floor. "She steals paper from my desk and makes up stories to embarrass her leaders!"

"A lie requires imagination, Garreth," Silas says smoothly, a faint smirk touching his lips as his dark eyes flick toward me. "The figures she just cited match the exact market prices for northern iron down to the last copper piece. Unless your servant is a secret master of regional economics, I suggest you take a very close look at your own ledgers."

Garreth freezes, his face losing its bright red color as he realizes how deeply he has trapped himself. If he admits I am telling the truth, he exposes his illegal trade setup to the most dangerous pack in the region.

If he claims I am lying, he looks completely ignorant of his own pack's supply lines.

I stand quietly in the middle of the room, my hands folded neatly over my apron. I do not smile, nor do I show triumph. I simply let the silence hang over the hall, watching Garreth’s carefully built authority crumble to dust in front of the people he tried so hard to fool.

Silas turns his head slightly, giving me a short, almost invisible nod of respect. He knows I just stripped Garreth of his bargaining power without lifting a single weapon.

The trap has sprung, and there is no way for the Alpha of Blood Moon to fix the damage.

Tab 8