The war room felt different. The air, once charged with the scent of ozone from holographic maps and the sweat of military planning, now smelled of cold kolfa and the faint, metallic tang of data corruption. Finn's domain of blinking servers and light-code projections had become the new front line.

Elias Hale stood before the central holotable, his posture straighter than it had been in weeks. The lingering stiffness from his injuries was now masked by a coiled readiness. He was no longer just Lyra's recovering brother; he was an asset, and the intelligence packet Finn had just shown him was his target.

"The document is authentic," Finn explained, his fingers flying across a keyboard, pulling up the damning roster. "It's a standard Crimson Paw personnel file from that period. But its dissemination… that's the work of a professional. Ghost protocols, encrypted pings, the works." He glanced at Elias. "This didn't come from some disgruntled warrior shouting in a tavern. This came from someone with access and skill."

Kael leaned against the table, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Elias. "We need the source, Elias. Not just Thorne. We know he's the architect. We need the hand that gave him the weapon. Who inside Crimson Paw's bureaucracy is feeding him this information?"

Lyra stood slightly apart, her arms wrapped around herself. Seeing the official proof of her past life, the cold, clinical assessment of her as an asset codenamed Wraith, was like having a ghost walk through the room. She felt exposed, the hard-won respect of the pack feeling suddenly fragile.

Elias's eyes, the same shade of amber as his sister's, scanned the data. He didn't flinch from it. He was, after all, listed just a few lines below her, his own codename—Specter—staring back at him.

"It's not a clerk," Elias said, his voice low and certain. "A clerk could access the file, but not with this level of operational security. This is someone who knows intelligence protocol. Someone who knew how to extract it without leaving a digital fingerprint." He looked up, meeting Kael's gaze. "Silas has a spymaster. A man named Vorlan. Cold, efficient, and utterly loyal to the institution of Crimson Paw, not necessarily to Silas himself. If Vorlan believes Thorne's rebellion is the best chance for Crimson Paw's survival, or if Thorne has promised him power, he would be the one."

"Can you get to him?" Lyra asked, her voice tight.

Elias gave a grim smile. "Vorlan was my handler for two years. He trusts me about as far as he can throw a grown wolf, but he respects competence. And he has a weakness. He's a purist, but he's also a pragmatist. He loves old-fashioned, physical dead drops and coded messages. He thinks digital is too traceable. That's our in."

The plan was set in motion with ruthless efficiency. Elias would slip across the border, posing as a disillusioned Silverfang operative, leveraging his known history and his sister's "fall from grace" to get Vorlan's attention. Finn would provide tech support—untraceable comms, tracking beacons so small they were practically dust. Valen would have a rapid-reaction team on standby, close enough to respond but not so close as to spook the prey.

As Elias prepared to leave that night, Lyra found him in the armory, checking over a compact, non-standard issue pulse pistol.

"You don't have to do this," she said, leaning against the doorway. "We can find another way."

Elias slid the charge pack into the pistol with a definitive click. "There is no other way. This is what I'm good at, Lyra. It's what I am. I can't be the Luna's brother, sitting in the gardens. This…" he gestured with the weapon, "this is how I contribute. This is how I protect my family."

He looked at her, his expression softening. "He's attacking you because you're the heart of this whole thing. Kael is the strength, but you're the soul. Thorne knows that. So we protect the soul."

He pulled her into a quick, hard hug. "I'll be back with your answers, little sister."

As Elias vanished into the night, the propaganda war escalated. Finn fought back with every tool at his disposal. He flooded the networks with counter-narratives. He released declassified, vetted reports of Lyra's heroic actions during the war. He amplified testimonials from Silverfang warriors, pure-bloods who swore on their honor that Lyra had saved their lives.

But Thorne's campaign was insidious. New "leaks" appeared. A doctored audio file, supposedly of Lyra speaking to a Crimson Paw contact, her voice distorted but recognizable, saying, "The Alpha is wrapped around my finger. The pack will be ours by winter." It was a crude fake, easily debunked by Finn's audio forensics, but the damage was done. The lie was out there, a weed growing in the fertile soil of doubt.

Then came the pictures. More long-lens shots of Lyra, but these were different. They showed her in intense, private-looking conversations with Ronan. The angles were carefully chosen to suggest intimacy, a conspiracy between the Luna and the Beta. Another showed her speaking with Finn, his hand on her arm in a gesture of camaraderie that the caption twisted into something more.

Is the Luna building her own power base? the headlines screamed. Who does the half-breed truly serve?

The poison was working. Lyra could feel it. When she walked through the Keep now, the bows were a fraction slower, the eyes lingered a moment too long. The unity she had worked so hard to build was developing hairline fractures.

The strain began to test even the strongest bonds. During a strategy session, Ronan, frustrated by a report of declining morale in the eastern garrison, snapped.

"We are spending all our resources putting out fires set by this fanatic! We should be consolidating our rule, not constantly defending against slander!"

"This is consolidation, Ronan," Lyra fired back, her own patience worn thin. "If we let this narrative stand, there will be nothing left to rule. You can't build a stable empire on a foundation of distrust."

"And what if the distrust is warranted?" The words came from Elder Thorne, who had been silently observing. All eyes turned to him. "What if we are focusing all our efforts on defending one person, while the entire structure weakens around us? Perhaps… perhaps the pack needs stability above all else."

The implication hung in the air, toxic and devastating. He was suggesting that Lyra herself was the problem. That removing her would solve the crisis.

Kael was on his feet in an instant, his power flooding the room, a physical pressure that made the Elder stagger back a step. "Choose your next words with the knowledge that they will be your last as a member of this council," Kael growled, the sound purely lupine. "Lyra is not a subject for debate. She is your Luna. My mate. The mother of the future you claim to want. Anyone who suggests otherwise is an enemy of this pack. Is that understood?"

The room went deathly quiet. Elder Thorne, pale and trembling, gave a curt nod and looked away. The line had been drawn, but the cost was a deeper, more frightening division.

That night, in the solitude of their chamber, the pressure finally cracked Lyra's composure. She stood by the window, watching the moon, her body trembling with a mixture of rage and a profound, soul-deep weariness.

"He's winning, Kael," she whispered, her voice breaking. "He's not landing a killing blow. He's just… unmaking me. Piece by piece. Every look, every whispered doubt, it's like a thousand little cuts. I can feel them erasing everything I've done, everything I am, until all that's left is that ghost in the file. Wraith."

Kael came up behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He simply turned her around and pulled her into his chest, holding her as the tremors wracked her body.

"They cannot unmake you," he said into her hair, his voice a low, steady vow. "Because I know who you are. Ronan knows. Finn knows. The pack that matters, knows. This is the hard part, Lyra. This is the price of changing the world. The old order doesn't die quietly. It fights back with lies and fear." He tilted her chin up, his stormy gray eyes blazing with conviction. "But we will not break. We will not bend. We will find this Vorlan, we will sever Thorne's supply line, and then we will destroy him."

Just then, a single, encrypted ping sounded from the nightstand. Finn's personal channel.

Kael retrieved the tablet and decoded the message. It was brief, from Elias.

Contact made. Vorlan is wary but interested. He's testing me. But he confirmed it. He's Thorne's source. Meeting set for tomorrow at the old mill on the Serpent River. He wants proof of my 'defection'. I'll give him what he wants. Stand by.

Lyra read the message, the tears drying on her cheeks, replaced by a cold, sharp resolve. The ghost had a name. Vorlan. And soon, he would have a face.

"The hunt is on," Kael said, a predator's smile finally touching his lips.

Lyra nodded, her own amber eyes hardening into chips of gold. "Then let's finish it."

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