"Want to know?" I asked, glancing down at her. Rosaline bit her lip, nestling deeper into my arms as she looped her hands around my neck. "Just tell me already." "You're so clever and beautiful—maybe you can guess?" I teased, deliberately baiting her. She huffed, turning her face away—then suddenly burst into laughter against my ear. I watched, amused, as she giggled against my chest. When she finally looked up, her eyes were glistening. "Mr. Holbrook, should I take your earlier words as ... jealousy?" My silence was confirmation enough. "Can't even let someone compliment me? So stingy." She pouted, putting on an exaggerated show of grievance. "I am stingy," I admitted freely. "Hearing others praise you—even look at you—makes me furious." I'd heard every word of her exchange with Connor. That flirtatious tone? Of course, it grated on me. "Then Mr. Holbrook should praise me more often," she shot back, cheeks puffing adorably. "That way, others' compliments won't faze me." "That depends on your performance." My gaze dipped pointedly. Rosaline pinched my waist in retaliation. Chuckling, I held up my palm, showing her the unhealed wound. Her eyes widened. "You mean ... " "The drug wasn't airborne. It likely entered through the wound." I said faintly. Others had been present that night. If only my blood carried traces, then the method was obvious. Rosaline fell silent, brow furrowing in thought—until Phoebe's message interrupted. We'd expected drug analysis results. Instead, someone demanded to see me."Who is it?" I was slightly surprised. "He refused to say. Insists you'll know when you meet." Phoebe sounded exasperated. I acknowledged it, but Rosaline—close enough to overhear—pulled a face. "Again?" I pursed my lips, stood up, and prepared to leave. I wanted to see who it was. Rosaline immediately followed. "I'm coming. If you get drugged again, I'm the one who'll suffer." Guilt flickered through me. I kissed her temple, but she cut off my apology. "Let's just go." The meeting place was a private café booth. Two black-clad werewolves stood guard outside—obvious at a glance. They eyed me indifferently before turning their attention to Rosaline. In the end, they stepped aside, granting entry. Inside, a lone figure sat shrouded in an oversized coat, face obscured. At our arrival, he set down his untouched coffee. I took a seat, waiting for him to speak. Rosaline studied him too, but his disguise revealed nothing. After a weighted pause, the stranger spoke, "Caden, I'm only here for one thing." His voice was raspy with age. "This is not how one asks favors." I let his name drop like a blade. "Melvin Prescott." The man stiffened. Even Rosaline was startled. Is thisthefugitivewantedacrosstheentireWerewolfContinent? Exposed, Melvin shed his disguise by taking off his hat and mask, revealing a middle-aged face. "I hate dealing with smart-asses like you." His tone was odd—almost shaking. "Risking capture for your lackeys?" I feigned ignorance. After all, the wolves I'd caught were mere foot soldiers. His palm slammed the table. He said grimly, "I don't care about them. I only want one werewolf." "Oh?" I chuckled lightly. "You already know who. Release him, and I'll talk. I'll trade you secrets worth knowing." Melvin continued.Upon hearing that, I remained unfazed. "If you know me," I said coolly, "you'd know there's nothing I can't uncover myself." I was not boasting. The Eclipse Pack's intelligence network spanned too deep. If I wanted to, I could get my hands on any elusive information.