Chapter 131

Richard

The fever had woken me before the light did. It started as a prickling under the skin, a restless heat with no patience for blankets or air. When I opened my eyes, the ceiling felt too near, the room too loud with the sound of the fan.

My pulse carried a new, blunt weight. Every beat landed lower in my body, and the air held too much information. Soap on my hands. Ink from last night’s notes. A faint sweetness in the fibers of my shirt that didn’t belong there. Amelia. I folded the shirt away with more care than it deserved, sealed it in a canvas bag, and tied the cord twice.

The rut had hit earlier than expected, early enough that I couldn’t waste a morning pretending nothing was wrong. I tested my palms against my thighs. They were steady enough to sign orders, but not steady enough to be seen by anyone.

I stood, drank water, and called Nathan.

He answered on the second ring. “You sound like you already know what’s happening. That heat, the restlessness, it’s the rut starting, isn’t it?”

“We follow protocol,” I said. My voice was rougher than it should have been. “Effective now. I want the Pack House on confinement schedule until I clear. You hold the outside. Emma runs the rotation inside. Simon covers medical and decontamination.”

“Copy. How fast do you want the locks changing?”

“Not a lock,” I told him. “A timetable. Door seals staggered by wing. East galleries closed, too many excuses for inspections there. Bring your book.”

We met in the strategy room. He came with his ledger tucked under his arm. I brought a folder and a sealed envelope that sat heavier than paper should have.

“External security’s yours,” I told him. “If David’s bunker probes the border, you hold to thresholds.”

“Define them.”

“If enemy scouts push from the eastern border for more than three hours, or if a single confirmed bite happens inside our third ring of defense, you pull everyone back and lock the gates. If any Council messenger shows up without warning, you don’t open the seal or read their orders unless Simon’s standing next to you. If Darius moves any supplies or crates without a signed order, you detain him immediately in plain view of others. And if my voice goes silent for eighteen hours, you release the calm announcement. If it’s thirty-six, you release the emergency one.”

He wrote fast. When he finished, he glanced at the envelope. “And that.”

I slid it toward him. The label read: If I lose control. “You open it only if you can’t reach me. It also explains evacuation routes if containment fails. You don’t wait for a vote.”

Nathan lifted it carefully. “You think it comes to that?”

“No. But we plan before the fever does.”

We finished the checklist. His pen clicked shut. He studied me. “The staff trust you. Even like this, they trust you.”

“They trust the position,” I answered.

“No,” he said. “They trust you. There’s a difference.”

My private room waited a floor below. Blackout curtains, filtered water, cooling fans, no mirrors. I had built it for this, though I never liked admitting why. I ran my fingers along the vent grilles. Clean. Tight screws. But when I leaned close, the taste hit, bitter, metallic, wrong. Wolfsbane. Not strong, not fresh, but enough to leave the back of my throat burning.

Someone had touched this room.

The second vent showed a bright nick on one screwhead, a newer tool. A thin fiber clung to the lip, too white for Pack linen. Maintenance. Sabotage creeping through the ducts now. I bagged the sample, labeled it, and called Nathan back.

“Quiet sweep of all vents,” I told him. “Three rooms at a time. Only your people. Maintenance staff stay out unless supervised. Have Simon test these. If it’s wolfsbane, I want compounds. If it’s not, I want to know what mimics it.”

“Copy. You want me to pull the maintenance lead?”

“Not yet. Shadow him. See who he eats lunch with.”

I ended the call and stood in the doorway. The heat was getting worse. My skin felt too tight. Still, there was work to finish.

The comms room hummed with quiet lights. We recorded the calm address first, the one meant for order, not fear. I sat straight on the stool and looked into the camera.

“Good afternoon,” I began. “I’m stepping away for private health. The House stays under standard protocol. Nathan has the exterior. Monroe the halls. You have my trust. If you need me, the channel’s open. If not, that means the system works.”

We recorded the crisis address next. It was shorter. “If you’re watching this, there is an emergency and you haven’t heard from me in over a day. Lock the gates. Keep civilians from the atrium. No improvisation. Nathan acts in my stead, by my order. You hold the core and wait. I’ll be back.”

Both messages were set to release automatically. The confirmation prompt asked twice, and I said yes both times.

Back in my office, I closed circles. The false panel opened with a press of my thumb. Inside, I stored what no one could touch, Darius’s invoices, the sigil rubbings, signal traces, a list of names that might turn. The real master keys were elsewhere. I placed only decoys here. If anyone broke in while I was gone, they’d walk away proud and useless.

Then I wrote one last message. To the Council’s archives, encrypted under my authority. To Liora Pell, an archivist who remembered everything.

Request: certified copies of Hollow Council session summaries, bronze seal with intersecting lines. Cross-reference with requisitions under Henderson Relief Fund. Include page count, redaction levels, and confirmation of any matching ledger codes.

I added: If this triggers alerts, assume I already know.

I sent it. That anger steadied me better than any sedative.

The pen with Amelia’s name still lay on my desk. I shouldn’t have touched it. I touched it anyway, rolling it between my fingers. I could almost smell her again, soap and salt and something electric that didn’t fade. I slid it under the blotter, where I couldn’t see it.

Nathan knocked once and stepped inside. “You’re pale. Time to go.”

“It was time an hour ago,” I said.

He watched me. “Monroe’s posted the rotation. Simon has your kit. Staff are gossiping, but no panic. They’ll settle once they see you follow procedure.”

“And Amelia?”

He folded his arms. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“That I’m in isolation. Nothing else.”

“She’ll try to see you.”

I hesitated. “I know,” I said quietly. “Part of me wants her here, but it’s better this way. If she’s starting her first heat, she might not even realize it. Her wolf’s still too weak, and I don’t want her to feel broken if it barely touches her. It’s easier if she doesn’t know what’s happening to me, or to her. If we’re apart, she can ride it out thinking it’s just a restless few days. I can’t risk putting her through something she isn’t ready for.”

He nodded slowly. “You keep saying it’s about stability. But you’re scared for her.”

“Those are the same thing.”

He almost smiled. “You’ve built something real, Richard. People see it. They trust you more for it. That’s your outside perspective.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited report.”

“Anytime.”

He stepped closer. “Look at me.” I did. “We have the House. You get to just be a body for a few days. That’s allowed.”

I pressed my hand to his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. “Go,” he said.

On the way down, I passed the rehearsal corridor. The boards creaked like they remembered. That room still smelled faintly of her. I stood outside until I could walk again without reaching for the door.

At the north wing, the isolation door waited. I laid my palm on the scanner, entered the code, and chose Seal. The system chirped once. The fans inside started automatically. The lights dimmed to dusk. I stepped through and let it close behind me.

The room was small and exact. A cot, a shelf, a water line, and silence. I tested the vents, double-taped them, checked the saline packs. I took out my phone, typed three words, deleted them. Typed three more, deleted again. Finally, I left it blank.

Nathan had been right. There was a difference between a door closing on you and a door you closed yourself. I pulled it shut. The seal hissed. The fans hummed. The world narrowed to breath and heat and heartbeat.

Outside, footsteps faded. Nathan’s, steady as always. He would brief the others, tell Amelia I was fine, and she would try to believe him.

I lay back, cloth over my eyes, air moving cool across burning skin. The fever climbed, steady and certain. I focused on breathing evenly, on holding until the instinct broke or I did. Either way, the door would hold.