Morning light cut through the window. Felicia sat at the table. Security papers spread before her. Patrol logs. Gate access records. She cross-referenced times. Matched entries.
Her pen stopped. Two entries. Different handwriting. Corrections made by someone else. Someone who shouldn't have touched these records.
She circled both. Heavy ink. Obvious. Then gathered the papers.
Damien's office. She walked fast. Purposeful. Pushed through his door without knocking. Set the papers on his desk. Hard.
Didn't sit. Stood. Arms crossed.
He looked up. His eyes dropped to the papers. Scanned. Found the circles.
His jaw tightened. "Not a mistake." His voice stayed professional. Clinical. "Forgery."
Felicia's hands pressed harder against her arms. "Internal enemy." The words came out harsh. Final. "I won't let this touch my children again."
Damien reached for the call button. Pressed. "Send the head of guard." His voice carried through the intercom. Clear. Commanding.
He stood. Pulled a notepad. Wrote three names. "These three. Isolation. Now."
Not a glance at her. Not checking permission. Not asking. Just acting. As her partner. As equal authority.
The distinction landed. Settled. Mattered.
"The interrogation happens with me there." She didn't phrase it as request. As question. Just fact.
"With you." He repeated. Confirmed. No argument. No negotiation. "Both of us."
The head of guard arrived. Took the names. Left to execute orders. The door closed.
Damien gestured to the corridor. "Ready?"
She nodded. Turned. Started walking.
His footsteps fell behind her. Not beside. Behind. Half a step. Deliberate. Chosen.
So it wouldn't look like he led her. Like he forced. Like he controlled. Just... followed. Supported. Partnered.
Felicia's breathing steadied. She didn't speed up. Didn't slow down. Kept the pace. Let him maintain that position. That respect.
The interrogation room doors appeared. Gray. Heavy. Soundproofed. She pushed through. He followed.
A warrior sat at the metal table. Young. Nervous. Sweat on his forehead. Two guards flanked him.
Felicia moved to the table. Planted her feet. Looked down at him. "Where were you three nights ago?"
Cold. Direct. No preamble.
The warrior's eyes flickered. "East patrol. Second shift."
"Who did you give your keys to?"
"Relief guard. Marcus." His voice hitched. Uncertain.
"Who did you see near the gates?"
Silence. His jaw worked. His hands curled on the table.
Damien stood to the side. Not behind her. Not in front. Beside. Separate. Observing.
"Answer her." His voice stayed even. No yelling. No threat. Just firmness.
The warrior's mouth opened. Closed. "I saw—it was dark—"
Evasion. Deflection. Obvious.
"Direct answer." Damien cut through. Still calm. Still controlled. "Now."
A second warrior was brought in. Older. Harder. His eyes held contempt. "This is waste of time."
"Sit." Felicia's voice didn't rise. Didn't warm. Just commanded.
He sat. Slowly. Insolently.
The questions repeated. Same three. Cold. Methodical. His answers came wrapped in sarcasm. In deflection. In barely concealed disrespect.
"You're reaching." He leaned back. Smirked. "The Alpha's woman playing investigator—"
"Enough." Damien's single word cut through. Sharp. Final. No explosion. No rage. Just absolute authority. "You answer. Respectfully. Or you're removed."
The warrior's smirk died. His posture shifted. Uncertainty bleeding through.
Felicia pulled the access list from her folder. Unfolded it. Set it on the table. Her finger landed on a timestamp. "The lie is visible here."
No emotion. No anger. Just fact. Pointed. Undeniable.
The warrior stared. His face went pale. "I can explain—"
"No." She cut him off. "You can confess. Or you can face formal charges. Choose."
Silence stretched. Thick. Heavy. His breathing turned ragged.
"I passed information." The words came out rushed. Broken. "To an intermediary. I don't know his name. Just—just where we met."
Felicia's expression didn't change. "Name the place."
"The old mill. East boundary. Two kilometers out." He swallowed. "Every third night."
Damien moved. Took the pen. Wrote it down. Set the notepad where Felicia could see. No hiding. No keeping information. Just transparency.
Partnership. Real. Functional. Proven.
"Isolate him." Felicia's command came out flat. Final. "No contact. No visitors."
Damien nodded to the guards. "Execute." No softening. No "let me review first." Just immediate support. "Full isolation protocol."
The guards moved. Took the warrior. The door closed behind them.
The room emptied. Just Felicia and Damien. The table between them. Papers scattered. Evidence of betrayal. Of danger still present.
"We have the third." Damien's voice stayed professional. "He'll break too. Give us the full network."
Felicia gathered the papers. Stacked them. Precise. Controlled. "The meeting place needs surveillance."
"Already arranging it." He paused. "Without your attention to the forgery, we wouldn't have found this."
She looked up. Met his eyes. "That's not a compliment." Her voice stayed even. Matter-of-fact. "That's reality."
He didn't argue. Didn't try to make it more. Didn't push for her to accept praise or gratitude or acknowledgment beyond what she gave.
Just nodded. "Reality." He repeated. Accepted. "Noted."
He moved to the door. Held it open. Waited.
Felicia walked toward it. Papers pressed against her chest. Her shoulder came close to his. Inches. Close enough to feel his presence. His warmth.
She didn't angle away. Didn't avoid. Just walked through. Natural. Normal. Like passing through doorways he held was becoming routine.
His breath changed. She heard it. Felt it in the small space between them.
But he didn't move. Didn't reach. Didn't try to make the moment into something more.
Just stood there. Holding the door. Letting her pass.
The corridor stretched ahead. Empty. Quiet. Her footsteps echoed.
Behind her, the door closed. His footsteps followed. That same half-step behind. That same respect. That same partnership dynamic.
They'd just interrogated a traitor. Found an internal threat. Discovered enemy operations. Together. As partners. With her leading and him supporting. With her commands executed immediately. With her authority unquestioned.
And it had worked. Seamlessly. Naturally. Like they'd done this before. Like they were meant to work this way.
Her chest felt tight. Not fear. Not anger. Something else. Something that felt dangerous. Permanent.
Recognition. That this worked. That they worked. That partnership wasn't just a concept anymore. It was reality. Proven. Functional. Effective.
She'd found the forgery. He'd acted on it. She'd led the interrogation. He'd backed her without overriding. She'd given commands. He'd supported without softening.
And when he'd acknowledged her contribution—when he'd said they wouldn't have found it without her—she'd deflected. Called it reality not compliment. Refused to make it personal. Refused to let it become debt or gratitude or anything beyond simple fact.
And he'd accepted that. Had respected her framing. Had not pushed for more. Had just... agreed. Moved on. Held the door.
Small gesture. Huge meaning. Courtesy. Partnership. Physical proximity accepted without tension. Without defense. Without fear.
She was passing close to him. Walking through doors he held. Accepting his support. Working beside him. Trusting his actions. Building something that looked permanent. Felt permanent. Was becoming permanent.
And the terrifying part—the part that made her ribs ache and her throat close—was how natural it felt. How right. How seamlessly they moved together. How effectively they operated as team.
Not husband and wife. Not Alpha and Luna. Just partners. Equal. Functional. Effective.
Building safety for their children. Building protection for their family. Building trust through action. Through transparency. Through respect maintained even in crisis. Even in danger. Even when enemies worked from inside.
The internal threat was real. Active. Dangerous. But so was their unity. Their partnership. Their ability to function as one unit with two equal parts.
And maybe—just maybe—that unity was stronger than any threat. Any enemy. Any danger that came.
Because they were choosing it. Building it. Proving it. One interrogation. One door held. One reality stated and accepted. Together.