So did five police officers.

Ronan picked up the label maker.

"Do you want me to make one that says NOT HIS?"

"Shut up," Bell snapped.

"So that's a yes."

Bell tugged his trouser leg down. "Backup weapon."

Bishop held up the equipment declaration the officers had signed on entry. "It isn't listed."

"You photographed police documents?" Mercer demanded.

"The copy you made us sign," Bishop said.

Miriam closed the warrant. "An undeclared firearm with an obliterated serial number entered my client's property on an officer's body. No one moves until an outside agency secures it."

Mercer leaned toward Silas. "Turn off the cameras and we can resolve this without making it ugly."

"You turned them off," Silas said.

Ronan's phone vibrated on the bar.

He showed Mercer the screen. Nine thousand, four hundred and twelve viewers watched the raid through the legal feed Miriam had authorized for release when the network was cut.

Comments raced beneath Bell's frozen face.

One viewer had already titled the clip COP BRINGS HIS OWN EVIDENCE.

Ronan looked wounded. "That's better than mine."

Bell lunged for the phone.

Ronan stepped aside. Bell struck the bar and exposed the hidden gun completely.

The clubhouse doors opened.

Briar Ward entered with two Pine Hollow county deputies and a representative from the district attorney's public-integrity unit. Rain darkened her braid; the body camera on her coat blinked red.

"Officer Bell," she said, "keep your hands away from your ankle."

"You have no authority here," Mercer said.

"Neither do you beyond the warrant. We received live footage of an undeclared weapon entering the premises."

Bell backed toward the refrigerator.

One deputy moved behind him.

"Hands."

Bell looked at Mercer.

Mercer found the floor fascinating.

Slowly, Bell raised his arms. The deputy removed the pistol. Where its serial number should have been, bright scratches scarred the metal.

Ronan printed EVIDENCE and offered the label to Briar.

She stared at him.

"No? I respect your process."

For the first time, the corner of her mouth moved.

Bell's face went gray. "You think jokes make you clean? You're still animals in vests."

Silas's wolf surged, delighted by the invitation. One step would put Bell within reach. Two seconds would put him on the floor.

Then Silas remembered Evelyn's hand crossing the hospital threshold.

Watch what I do.

He leaned back in his chair.

"And you're still carrying the evidence."

Ronan winced. "Not funny, but effective."

Both deputies caught Bell when he lunged. The arrest he had come to manufacture closed around him instead.

"Witnesses?" Briar asked.

Every Reaper raised a hand.

Ronan raised the label maker too.

Bell was escorted outside. Mercer tried to continue the search, but his officers moved differently now. They announced each drawer. They placed objects down gently. No one touched the doughnuts without permission.

The search produced registered weapons, tax records, motorcycle parts, and one coffeepot still free of kidnapped children.

No illegal arsenal.

No Sophie.

No victory for Grant.

Forty minutes later, Mercer dropped the signed inventory on the bar.

"This isn't finished."

"It should never have started," Silas said.

Ronan printed GOODBYE.

Mercer tore the label in half and walked out.

The Reapers waited until the last cruiser cleared the gate before the room erupted. Men reset tables, collected broken frames for the civil claim, and replayed Bell's expression on three different phones.

Ronan approached carrying the warrant attachments.

He was no longer smiling.

"There's a problem."

He spread the property plan across the bar.

Beneath the old chapel, a narrow rectangle had been marked CONCEALED HOLDING CELL.

The den.

It had no municipal permit, no recorded entrance, and no place on any public blueprint. During winter storms, it sheltered injured wolves who could not safely shift in public.

Only patched members knew it existed.

"Grant didn't draw this," Ronan said.

Silas looked at the brothers gathering broken photographs. The men who had laughed together. The men who had raised their hands together.

One of them had given the police a map.

Ronan turned the label maker over in his palm.

"What do I print for a traitor?"

Silas folded the blueprint along the line that hid the den.

"Nothing yet."

Grant had failed to plant a gun inside the Blackwood Reapers.

Someone inside the Blackwood Reapers had already planted a knife in their back.