Chapter 30

Amelia

The next morning, I threw myself into forum preparations like my life depended on it—because in some ways, it did. If David wanted to paint us as unstable, we were going to give him stability in full color. We weren’t just making a statement—we were building something that couldn’t be ignored. Pack leaders, community reps, younger voices who’d never had a seat at the table.

I reached out to minor pack heads, especially the ones who had historically been excluded from summit affairs. I organized back-to-back video calls with frustrated regional leaders, translating their concerns into practical agenda points. I kept a running doc of every idea and question, every boundary we could push.

"They’re actually listening?" Emma asked during one of our shared lunch breaks, which was really just us eating granola bars next to the printer.

"Some of them," I said. "Some are waiting to see if it’s real."

"Let’s make it real then."

Emma took over logistics, hammering out bunking arrangements and security sign-offs like it was her full-time job—which it was now. Nathan kept the internal lines running, making sure nobody accidentally double-booked or left a name off the press list. The forum was going to be livestreamed across the territories. We were threading a needle, but I’d take that over silence any day.

Emma popped into the planning room with two coffees and a map half-folded under her arm. "Do you want the good news or the deeply frustrating news first?"

I took one look at her face and sighed. "I’ll take the coffee and pretend it’s both."

She handed me the mug, then dropped the map over my laptop. "Nathan got the central wing cleared for the youth reps—so your breakout sessions are happening whether they like it or not."

I blinked. "Seriously? That’s the good news?"

Emma opened her mouth to deliver the bad when the door swung open.

I looked up expecting an intern or maybe a courier, someone carrying supply updates or a misplaced badge roster. Instead, I froze.

She stepped through the door like a blade.

Jenny.

It didn’t register at first. She had changed—her hair pulled back in a sleek, severe bun, her makeup understated but surgical, her blazer crisp and perfectly tailored. The last time I’d seen her, she was shouting in Richard’s office and refusing to meet my eye. Now she looked composed, cold, and terrifyingly prepared.

The air shifted. Emma's words caught in her throat mid-sentence. The whole room turned, like gravity had tilted.

And then she smiled. Just slightly.

"Well," Jenny said, surveying the room with effortless precision, "this feels cozy."

It wasn’t until the second figure stepped in behind her that my stomach truly dropped.

Adam. Grinning. Confident. Like he belonged here. Like he’d been summoned.

Of course she’d brought him.

She hadn’t been seen around the summit at all. Most Alpha families were already here—wandering the gardens, attending social mixers, standing just out of frame in photo ops. And Jenny had always been part of that crowd. Every summit year until now, she’d been visible and present, lingering on the edges of power like it was her birthright. I hadn’t even realized she wasn’t here this time—hadn’t noticed her absence at all. But now, suddenly, obviously, I did.

So her sudden appearance wasn’t just unexpected—it was unnatural. Disruptive. Like someone flipping a chessboard halfway through the game. Emma froze mid-sentence. I felt the whole room shift. Heads turned. Posture straightened. The air thickened with the unspoken question: Why now?

Jenny’s eyes flicked to Emma and then back to me. "Where’s my father?"

"Council chambers," I replied evenly.

"Perfect," she said, and spun on her heel. Adam gave us a little wave before following her out.

Emma muttered, "I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

It didn’t take long for it to land. Ten minutes later, Richard messaged me: Adam’s being added to the forum team. Jenny’s request. Under your oversight.

My reply was one word: Seriously?

I didn’t get a response.

I scheduled a planning session for 3 p.m. sharp. Emma and Nathan helped pull together the agenda, and we gathered a few junior advisors and three outspoken youth reps I’d interviewed earlier in the week. There was real momentum in the room—fast-paced notes, exchanged updates, voices rising with purpose.

And then Adam strolled in ten minutes late, iced coffee in hand, folder visibly untouched. He walked like he owned the room. Like this wasn’t bizarre. Like he hadn’t just been shoehorned into something that wasn’t his. Everyone paused.

It was so weird—him being here. Awkward in a way that didn’t have a name. He hadn’t been part of this project. He hadn’t earned his place. He didn’t belong in the dynamic, or the cause, or the fight we were all deeply buried in.

I couldn’t stop wondering: How had Jenny even convinced Richard to do this? What pressure had she used, what strings had she tugged? Was there something I didn’t know—some deal, some past promise? Was Richard playing an angle I hadn’t seen? Or had Jenny blackmailed him somehow? It felt like we were missing part of the game—and Adam was the piece being slid across the board without explanation.

He nodded toward the screen like he was settling into a casual brainstorm. Like he was just another name on the roster. But everyone else knew better. We all did.

"Okay, so hear me out," he said, settling into a chair and spinning once. "We do branding. Like, movement slogans, maybe a color-coded badge system, hashtags. Something polished. Eye-catching. Viral."

I blinked at him.

"This forum is about substance," I said, voice steady but sharp. "If you want clicks, pitch a dating app."

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve.

One of the youth reps quietly put their pen down.

Adam flushed. "I was just brainstorming."

"We’re building representation. Not a marketing campaign."

Jenny stood, visibly seething. "You’re not being reasonable."

"I’m being honest. And I don’t have time to waste."

She stormed out. Adam didn’t say another word the rest of the meeting.

That night, I paced my suite like a ghost. The frustration wouldn’t leave my bones. My third lap ended with the soft sound of a door opening.

"You look like you’re about to start biting railings," Richard said, appearing in our shared doorway.

I didn’t try to laugh it off.

"Jenny’s pushing her way into every conversation, Adam’s dead weight, and the only thing people are whispering about more than David’s campaign is me. And I don’t get it—I don’t get how you let this happen."

"Why him?" I asked. "Why now?"

His eyes flicked to the floor, then back to me. "It’s done."

That was all he said. No explanation. No justification. Just a full stop. And the look on his face made it clear: he wasn’t going to elaborate.

So now I’m left wondering what game we’re all playing. And who’s already lost.

He stepped closer, gaze steady.

"You’re not here because of whispers. You’re here because you’re the best at this. I trust you. Keep doing it your way."

Our hands brushed. Not quite touching, like always. Then the moment passed.

The next morning, Emma cornered me between back-to-back calls.

"David met with the elder council. He dropped a line about ‘conflicts of interest in Richard’s team.’ It was vague—but pointed."

"Toward me."

"Toward both of you. Be careful. We don’t even know how much they know."

“There’s nothing to know!”

I updated every log, saved my edits to two separate servers, backed up every email.

That afternoon, I returned to my suite and nearly tripped over a folder someone had slid under the door.

Inside: yellowing war records, old scanned documents, and at the back—a handwritten note.

Clearwater didn’t die in battle. Start with Sector Delta.

The air left my lungs.

I stood there in silence for a full minute, rereading the words, until my hands stopped shaking.

Then I slid the folder into my notebook, squared my shoulders, and walked back to the planning room.

Richard looked up from a stack of reports. Our eyes met and held.

And for a second, everything else dropped away.

No politics. No pressure. Just him.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.