The cargo containers loom like metal coffins stacked against the midnight sky, and I cannot stop thinking about the way Morgan's face will crumble if we return without her friend.
Salt wind cuts through my jacket and numbs the exposed skin at my wrists as Zane and I approach the eastern dock where Cormac and three of our best enforcers wait in the shadows.
The harbor reeks of diesel fuel and rotting fish, industrial decay mixed with the sharp copper scent of recent violence that makes my wolf snarl beneath my skin.
"Report," I command, keeping my voice low enough that only shifter ears can catch it.
"Container 7B, Alpha." Cormac jerks his chin toward a rusted shipping crate forty feet ahead. "Two guards. We neutralized them before they could radio in."
"Any sounds from inside?"
"Weak heartbeat. Irregular breathing." His jaw tightens with barely controlled anger. "She's alive, but barely."
Zane moves to my left, gravel crunching beneath his boots, his expression hardening into something I rarely see on my brother's usually gentle face.
"Sarah did this to a human," he says quietly. "An innocent woman whose only crime was being Morgan's friend."
Morgan's face when she told me Ricky was missing flashes through my mind. The way her voice cracked on her friend's name. The desperate hope in her eyes when I promised we would find her.
"Let's move." I stride toward the container with Zane flanking me, our footsteps silent against the cracked concrete.
The padlock yields to bolt cutters with a grinding shriek that echoes across the empty dock. Rust flakes off beneath my grip, orange and rough against my palms. I wrench the doors open, and the stench that pours out makes even my hardened stomach clench with revulsion.
Human waste. Old blood. Fear so thick it coats my tongue like rancid oil. The air inside carries a damp chill that seeps straight through clothing and settles against bone.
"Goddess have mercy," Zane breathes beside me.
A figure huddles in the far corner of the container, curled into a ball against the corrugated metal wall.
Wild curls mat against a face so pale and hollow that I barely recognize the vibrant woman Morgan described with such fierce loyalty, the human friend who saw past her bruises and loved her anyway.
Dark circles bruise the skin beneath her eyes, and her lips have cracked from dehydration, raw and bleeding at the corners.
And Sarah put her in a metal box to rot.
"Ricky." Zane steps inside first, his weight making the metal floor groan beneath him, his voice dropping to something soft and careful. "We're here to take you home."
Her head lifts slowly, brown eyes bloodshot and unfocused as they struggle to process what she sees. Recognition dawns in painful increments across her gaunt features.
"Well, well." Her voice comes out cracked and raw, barely above a whisper. "The big bad wolves finally showed up to play hero."
The sardonic edge cuts through her obvious agony, and something like admiration stirs in my chest.
This woman spent days locked in darkness, and she still has enough fight left to mock us.
"Can you stand?" I crouch at the container's entrance, keeping my distance so I do not crowd her already traumatized senses.
"Can you ask dumber questions?" Ricky attempts to shift, then hisses through clenched teeth. "My ribs might be broken."
Zane kneels beside her with careful movements, his hands hovering without touching. "We need to get you to our healer. She can fix the damage."
"Happy to hear." Ricky's laugh dissolves into a wet cough that spatters blood across her cracked lips. The metallic smell of it hits my nostrils, sharp and wrong against the stale air.
The first time I saw this woman at the safe house, terror radiated from every pore of her fragile body, but she stood her ground anyway.
She hated us then. Hated what we represented, what our world had done to her best friend. Now she looks at us like we are the answer to prayers she probably never believed in.
"You're taller than I remembered," she says, tracking me with eyes that are sharper than they have any right to be given what she's endured. "Morgan described you accurately, at least. I'll give her that."
"What exactly did she describe?" Zane asks, moving to help me lift her.
"Someone I should be terrified of." Ricky winces as we ease her arms over our shoulders.
Her weight feels like nothing against my frame, fragile as dry kindling, and the bones of her shoulder press sharp through her filthy shirt. "She was right, for the record. But apparently terrifying has layers."
"High praise."
"Don't flatter yourself. You're still on probation." She manages a ghost of a smile despite the pain etching lines across her face. "Both of you."
We carry her out of the container slowly, each step measured to minimize the jarring against her injuries.
The night air hits her skin and she shivers violently, her teeth chattering loud enough that I feel the vibration where her body presses against mine, her body temperature dangerously low from days without adequate warmth or nutrition.
"Sarah did this personally," Ricky says as we reach the dock. "She wanted me to deliver a message before I died."
"What message?" Zane's voice has gone deadly quiet.
"That Morgan should learn what happens when she steals things that do not belong to her." Another wet cough shakes her frame. "Your wife is a special kind of evil. The kind that smiles while she watches people suffer."
My wife.
The word burns like acid in my throat.
I see Sarah clearly now, stripped of every political justification I used to tolerate her presence. Not a strategic alliance. Not a necessary evil for pack unity.
A monster wearing designer clothes and diplomatic immunity.
Cormac brings the SUV around, headlights cutting yellow beams through the harbor mist, and we ease Ricky into the backseat where blankets and water wait.
Her fingers shake too badly to hold the bottle, so Zane helps her drink while I climb into the driver's seat. The leather creaks beneath my weight, and the engine rumbles to life with a low growl that mirrors the fury still coiling in my chest.
"Morgan must be losing her mind right now," Ricky murmurs, exhaustion finally overwhelming her defiance.
"She is," I confirm, pulling away from the dock. "But she believed we would find you."
"Foolish woman." Affection warms the edges of her fading voice. "Always believing in people who do not deserve it."
The road stretches dark ahead of us, headlights cutting through fog that rolls in from the harbor. The tires hum against wet asphalt, a steady rhythm beneath the silence that fills the cab.
Ricky's breathing evens into something approaching sleep, and Zane catches my eye in the rearview mirror.
"What happens when we get back?" my brother asks quietly.
The answer crystallizes with absolute certainty in my chest.
"I reject Sarah the moment I see her."
Zane's eyes widen slightly, but he does not argue. We both know this night changed everything.
The question is whether I can protect Morgan from the fallout when my rejection ignites a war.
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