The Mellifer scout's intelligence arrived at dawn—complete breakdown of Viktor's forces, positions, capabilities.
"Thirty mercenaries. Professional, combat-rated, experienced with Wesen targets." Sarah spread photographs across the council table. "Ten remaining Verrat operatives. Various specialty roles. And one unknown asset."
The final photograph showed a young woman in chains. Her eyes were silver.
"Another Grimm." Monroe's voice was quiet. "He's got another Grimm."
[INTELLIGENCE: VIKTOR'S FORCES]
[MERCENARIES: 30 (PROFESSIONAL COMBAT)]
[VERRAT: 10 (SPECIALTY OPERATIONS)]
[UNKNOWN: 1 GRIMM (FEMALE, YOUNG, APPARENTLY CAPTIVE)]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: SIGNIFICANT]
"Her name is Trubel." I studied the photograph. The young woman's expression was wrong—empty, mechanical, the look of someone whose will had been systematically destroyed. "Eastern European Grimm, awakened early, captured before she understood what she'd become."
"You know her?"
"I know of her. The Bestiary has records of Grimms who were captured by Royal forces, conditioned through torture, turned into weapons." I set down the photograph. "She's not evil. She's a victim."
"A victim who's going to try to kill you." Angelina's voice was pragmatic. "Does that change our approach?"
"It means I won't kill her if I can avoid it." I met the council's eyes. "Killing a broken Grimm serves no one. Freeing her serves everyone—including us. Another Grimm liberated from Royal control is another ally against future threats."
"That's a significant tactical limitation." Scalpel spoke carefully. "If she's as dangerous as the records suggest—"
"She is. But constraints can inspire creativity." I turned to Adalind. "Your enhanced abilities. Could you contain a Grimm? Suppress her movements long enough for me to reach her?"
"Possibly." Adalind considered. "Her silver eyes mean she can see through my woge. But if I'm not trying to hide, if I'm just applying direct force..." She nodded. "I can give you thirty seconds. Maybe a minute."
"That's enough."
The council session continued, mapping positions, assigning roles, calculating probabilities. By the time we finished, every Pack member had their assignment, every contingency had been planned.
The door opened without warning.
Kelly Burkhardt stepped into the council room, her presence immediately shifting every calculation we'd made.
"Another Grimm being used as a weapon." Her voice was flat. "That ends tonight."
Monroe rose, instinctively positioning himself between Kelly and the more vulnerable council members. "This is a private meeting."
"This is a war council. And I'm offering to join it." Kelly moved to the table, studying the photographs we'd spread across its surface. "Trubel. I've heard of her. Captured in Prague, conditioned in Vienna, deployed against targets the Royals wanted eliminated without political cost."
"You know her?"
"I know what was done to her. The conditioning programs the Royals use." Kelly's expression darkened. "They break Grimms systematically. Torture, isolation, forced kills until compliance becomes reflex. She's not a person anymore—she's a program running on a human body."
"Can the programming be broken?"
"I don't know." Kelly met my eyes. "But I know it can't be broken if she's dead. And I know the Royals don't get to own Grimms like property." She straightened. "I'm not here for your Pack, Cross. I'm here for her."
"And Viktor?"
"Viktor dies too. But that's secondary."
[ALLY ACQUISITION: KELLY BURKHARDT]
[STATUS: COMBAT ALLIANCE (LIMITED)]
[OBJECTIVE: TRUBEL LIBERATION]
[NOTE: NOT PACK MEMBER - INDEPENDENT AGENT]
The council watched in silence as Kelly Burkhardt—legendary monster hunter, decades of experience, the woman who'd tested us just weeks ago—took her place at our planning table.
"Two Grimms fighting together against the Royals." Monroe's voice held something like wonder. "That's unprecedented."
"Everything about this situation is unprecedented." I gestured at the assembled council. "We might as well add one more impossibility to the list."
The final battle plan took another four hours to complete.
Pack forces would engage Viktor's mercenaries in three waves—Blutbaden leading the assault, Dämonfeuer providing fire support, Mellifer swarms handling reconnaissance and harassment. The goal was to overwhelm Viktor's defensive lines, creating chaos that would allow penetration to his command position.
Kelly would move independently, targeting Trubel specifically. Her objective was capture, not kill—subduing the conditioned Grimm, extracting her from the combat zone, beginning the long process of deprogramming.
I would face Viktor directly.
"His Zauberbiest heritage gives him some magical capability." Adalind provided the briefing. "Telekinesis, enhanced strength, some defensive abilities. But he's never been a front-line fighter—he's a politician, a schemer. He'll rely on his forces to protect him."
"And when those forces are gone?"
"Then he's a desperate Royal with nothing to lose." Her expression was serious. "That makes him dangerous. Unpredictable."
"Good." I gathered the final planning documents. "I prefer enemies who make mistakes."
The night before battle, the Spice Shop was quiet.
Most Pack members had returned to their positions, preparing for tomorrow's deployment. Only the core group remained—Monroe and Rosalee, Adalind, the council members who'd become something closer to family than allies.
I walked through the empty spaces, memorizing faces, remembering conversations.
Monroe, sitting with Rosalee, their relationship having grown from partnership into something more during the chaos of the past months. She'd stabilized him; he'd protected her. Together, they'd become the emotional center of a Pack that could have fractured a dozen times.
Adalind, enhanced and transformed, no longer the manipulative Hexenbiest who'd served Royals but something new—a hybrid, a partner, someone who'd chosen to stand beside me despite every reason to maintain distance.
Ariel, watching over Maya, the daughter she'd almost lost to Verrat kidnapping. The Dämonfeuer had become fierce advocate for Pack members who had nowhere else to belong.
Scalpel, still nervous, still hovering near medical supplies, but no longer the terrified Geier who'd submitted to dominance out of survival instinct. He'd chosen to stay. That meant something.
The Pack had grown from nothing—from a desperate first alliance with Monroe, from the careful cultivation of contacts and assets and loyalties. Now it stood as something unprecedented. Something worth protecting.
Something worth fighting for.
Adalind found me on the roof as midnight approached.
"You're not sleeping."
"Neither are you."
"I can feel you through the blood bond." She moved to stand beside me. "Worry. Determination. Something else I can't quite identify."
"Probably fear. I've gotten better at hiding it."
"You're afraid of tomorrow?"
"I'm afraid of losing people." I watched Portland's lights. "The Pack has become more than a survival strategy. If we lose tomorrow—if Viktor wins—everyone who trusted me dies."
"Then we don't lose."
"Simple as that?"
"Nothing about this is simple." Adalind took my hand. "But you've built something real. Something that fights together, protects each other, chooses loyalty over fear. That's not nothing, Cross. That's everything."
The blood bond pulsed between us—warmth, connection, the tangible evidence of what we'd become to each other.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," I said, "thank you. For believing this could work. For becoming part of it."
"Thank me after we win." She pulled me toward the stairs. "Tonight, you need rest. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"I'm a hybrid Hexenbiest with blood bond access to your nervous system. Close enough."
I let her lead me inside, away from the city lights, toward whatever sleep I could manage before dawn.
Tomorrow, the battle would begin.
Tonight, there was still peace.
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