“If the change was permanent,” continued Hank, “you wouldn’t need rehabilitation camps anymore. If wolves can’t shift, they can’t infect. You could put them in hospitals and mental wards with reg patients.”
The screech of metal against linoleum cut me off as Eve pushed her chair back and surged to her feet. “Dex is in the sanatorium and there are dozens of Eumon in the camp.” She leaned forward and gripped the table. “Curtis, you have to do something. If you don’t . . .”
“Do you hear that?” muttered Jason, gently nudging me away from the window.
I edged over, barely registering his words. I was too focused on my father and Eve. A week ago she had worshipped him; now she stared at him as though desperately hoping he could be the man she once thought he was.
She swallowed. “Please, Curtis.”
“Mac . . .” Jason tugged on my sleeve.
Annoyed, I opened my mouth to ask what was so important, but then I heard it: engines. What sounded like an entire caravan. I spun to the window just in time to see the dust kick up as dozens of cars and motorcycles flooded the park.
“The pack?” I turned and stared at my father. Jason and I had driven to the trailer with Eve, but Hank had followed in his own truck. “You called them before we got here. You already made the decision to hit the camp.” My voice was soft, wondering. I was used to people surprising me, but the surprises were rarely good.
The slam of car doors filled the air as Hank met my gaze. “Sinclair brought the fight to me when she tried to kill you and frame my pack. Even if she hadn’t, what she’s doing at Thornhill is too dangerous to go unchecked.”
He stood and headed for the door.
“Thank you,” I said, throat tight, as he reached for the handle. “Thank you for helping us.”
Hank pushed open the door. “Not necessary. But there is no ‘us,’ Mackenzie. You’re staying here.”
In an old, cobweb-filled community center in the middle of the park, twenty werewolves—along with Jason and me—had gathered to plan a mass prison break. After four hours, three arguments, and one fistfight, we had come up with something that might work. If we were lucky.
I tried not to think about how seldom luck had been on my side.
Hank hadn’t wanted me at the meeting—as far as he was concerned, the less I was involved, the better— but I had seen parts of Thornhill Eve had never gotten near. Jason could have filled in those blanks, but Hank didn’t entirely trust him and the other wolves didn’t trust him at all.
Unfortunately—at least from their perspective—they needed him.
Jason had managed to memorize an incredible amount of information about Thornhill’s security systems and protocols during his short time behind the gates. Guard rotations, the number of staff who carried HFDs, even how and under what circumstances the camp would contact the LSRB for help—all details the wolves needed to strengthen their strategy.
If he applied that same focus to school, he would save his father tens of thousands of dollars in future Ivy League bribes—assuming he lived long enough for college to be an option.
Given that he had just pissed off a room full of werewolves, that might have been a big assumption to make.
“I didn’t say not to defend yourselves.” Jason pushed himself to his feet and stared down the length of the long table.
Actually, he had. Three minutes ago, when he had reminded one of the wolves that she could survive a Taser to the chest and warned her against “overreacting” and “retaliating” against the guards if she was hit.
“Shut up, Jason.” I hissed the words out of the corner of my mouth and tugged on his sleeve, trying to get him to sit back down as twenty wolves—including Eve—stared at him with open hostility.
He pulled free of my grip and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just saying the fewer the casualties, the better. The counselors and the orderlies—hell, even most of the guards—don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. They’ve always been told the camps were a solution, not a problem. Most of them don’t know what Sinclair is really doing. They don’t deserve to get annihilated.”
“Do you have any idea how many people their ‘solution’ has hurt?” demanded a man sitting at Hank’s right hand. With a thick red beard and massive forearms, he looked like he’d be most at home swinging an ax at a redwood. “Do you know how many wolves are trapped in the camps?”
“Sixty-three thousand one hundred eighteen.” Jason didn’t even need time to think about the answer. “Officially, at least.”
The man crossed his arms and glanced at my father. “We’re wasting time here. We don’t need anything else from him. There’s no reason for him to stay.”
Hank didn’t reply. He just stared at Jason, waiting to see what else he’d say or do as though this was some sort of test.
Jason pulled in a deep breath and sat back down. He started to reach up and scratch his tattoo, but caught himself and put his hands flat on the table. “For the last twelve years, the LSRB and the Trackers have been doing everything they can to convince the rest of the world that werewolves are all time bombs waiting to go off.” He spoke slowly and distinctly, with way more care than I had ever heard from him. “If you swarm Thornhill and don’t do everything you can to limit the number of reg deaths, you’ll be doing them a favor. You’ll give them all of the ammunition they need to convince every last reg that locking up wolves is the only way to keep the public safe. They’ll call it the Thornhill Massacre. It’ll be on the news all day, every day, for months, and by the time it falls off the front page, the damage will be irrevocable.”
I stared at Jason in shock. I hadn’t thought beyond getting the wolves out. I had known the LSRB would try to find them—that was a given—but the idea that the agency could spin the breakout to gain more public support had never crossed my mind.
A quick glance at Eve’s face and open mouth showed that it hadn’t occurred to her, either. In fact, almost every wolf around the table was staring at Jason in stunned silence as they absorbed the full implications of his words. A few were even nodding in agreement.
The Trackers had recruited him, in part, in the hope that he would become a poster boy for the group. I suddenly understood why. When Jason wanted to, he was capable of exuding the sort of magnetism shared by really good politicians and cult leaders. In just a handful of sentences, he had taken a room of angry werewolves and thrust them so deep in thought that they heard his words without seeing the tattoo on his neck.
Only one person around the table remained completely unfazed.
Hank didn’t look at all surprised by Jason’s words. After a long moment, he pushed his chair back and stood. “We’ve got six hours. I suggest you each try to find a quiet space and rest up. Those of you on the recon team: meet me back here in four.”
“Curtis . . .” Eve tried to get his attention as he walked past, but Hank didn’t spare her so much as a glance as he strode across the room and out the door.
The gathering began to break up. A few wolves left while others lingered and talked in small groups of twos and threes. Jason was pulled into a debate about whether a guard could tase a wolf moving at full speed. It no longer looked like he was in immediate danger of being torn apart, and for the moment, he wasn’t paying attention to me.
No one was.
I slipped out of the community center and went looking for Hank.
He wasn’t hard to find.
I stepped into the trailer we had used earlier. Twilight was falling outside, but two Coleman lanterns lit the interior with a soft glow.
“Guess I didn’t teach you to knock.” Hank popped the cap off a bottle of beer and took a seat at the table.
I closed the door and leaned against it. “You never used to drink before a job.”
“I didn’t always have a werewolf metabolism.”
“Fair enough.” It was just one more thing that seemed to have changed. I pulled in a deep breath. “That
