From Ashes to Alpha

The conference room has transformed overnight. What was once a space filled with tension and uncertainty now crackles with focused energy.

Maps and diagrams cover nearly every surface, digital screens display surveillance footage, and three separate tactical teams huddle around their respective station points.

I stand at the center of it all, laser pointer in hand, directing attention to the projection screen where our operation has been meticulously mapped out. Even Riggs, seated in the back with arms crossed over his chest, watches with reluctant interest.

"The operation has three synchronized phases," I explain, clicking to the next slide showing a detailed timeline. "Phase one is intelligence confirmation. Reed's team will verify our intel on these distribution centers 24 hours before we move."

I circle three locations on the map with the red laser dot. "Phase two is asset disruption. Each team will approach their designated target using these routes," I trace paths through the city grid, "during the 30-minute window when police patrols are redirected to the southeast district due to the scheduled demonstration at City Hall."

Victoria raises an eyebrow. "How certain are you about this patrol window?"

"Very," I respond confidently. "The department is already stretched thin, and with the budget protest happening, they'll follow standard procedure—pull units from low-crime neighborhoods to fortify downtown presence."

Daniel nods, adding credibility to my assessment. "Our sources in the department confirm this tactical approach."

I continue, outlining each team's specific responsibilities. "Remember, our goal isn't destruction—it's disruption. We're not burning down buildings or shooting up storefronts. We're simply ensuring that these three supply chains experience... unfortunate complications."

I click to the next slide showing potential risks and contingencies. "Each team has three exit strategies depending on how the situation evolves. The most important rule: no casualties. Gray Pack can't claim victimhood if there's no blood spilled."

Morgan studies the plan with intense concentration, his ringed fingers tapping rhythmically on the tabletop. "And how much intelligence support can we expect from Jones connections?"

The room grows quieter at the mention of the powerful family. All eyes turn to me, evaluating my response.

"Enough to know police movements with certainty," I answer calmly, maintaining eye contact with Morgan. "This means we can operate in the gray areas without fear of interference."

Riggs leans forward, disbelief etched across his scarred features. "You can get police patrol schedules?"

I allow myself a slight smile. "I have my methods."

"Which you conveniently refuse to elaborate on," Riggs challenges, though his tone lacks its earlier hostility.

"Operational security," I counter smoothly. "The fewer people who know my sources, the safer those sources remain."

Reed, the tattooed enforcer leading the second team, studies the mapped routes with professional scrutiny.

"These approach vectors minimize exposure. Clean work." He nods appreciatively. "You've done this before."

"Theoretical planning only," I respond, neither confirming nor denying any past operations.

"Theory translates well to practice here," he comments, tapping one of the exit routes. 

"Especially this contingency. Most planners forget the secondary extraction point."

The endorsement from someone of Reed's experience further shifts the room's energy in my favor. Even those who viewed me with skepticism now lean forward, engaging with the details of my strategy.

"Phase three," I continue, moving to the final slide, "is perhaps the most important. We document the supply disruption and anonymously leak information to Gray Pack's overseas suppliers suggesting internal theft. When product starts disappearing and accusations fly, their organization will fracture along its weakest lines—the division between old blood wolves and new human recruits."

Riggs grunts, finally voicing grudging approval. "Making them destroy themselves. There's... elegance to it."

"More importantly," Daniel adds, "it's virtually untraceable. Gray Pack will be too busy with internal witch hunts to investigate external causes."

Morgan rises from his seat, commanding attention. "The plan is solid. Teams will move in 48 hours." He surveys the room with authoritative presence. "James has demonstrated strategic insight that complements our traditional strengths. Any objections to him overseeing this operation?"

The silence that follows speaks volumes. Even Riggs offers no challenge, merely a resigned nod.

"Then it's settled," Morgan concludes. "Team leaders will coordinate directly with James. Daniel will handle resource allocation." He fixes me with a meaningful stare. "And James will ensure our Jones intelligence remains timely and accurate."

The meeting shifts into detailed preparations as team leaders break away to brief their personnel. I find myself in the unexpected position of authority—werewolves who would have sneered at me days ago now approaching with questions and seeking guidance.

As the room gradually empties, Morgan gestures me to follow him into a small adjoining office. Daniel joins us, closing the door behind him.

"Impressive performance," Morgan comments once we're alone. "You've won over most of them."

The Crimson Fang looks entirely different tonight. Where it usually broods with shadows and whispered conspiracies, now it pulses with celebration.

The private back room has been transformed—tables pushed aside to create open space, bottles of premium liquor lining the bar, and a small jazz quartet playing in the corner.

The smooth saxophone notes flow through the room like honey, creating an atmosphere of rare relaxation among people who live perpetually on edge.

I stand somewhat awkwardly near the bar, still processing the rapid evolution of my status. Three days ago, I was merely a courier. Tonight, I'm the architect of an operation that has united Morgan's fractious inner circle.

"Not much of a party person?" Daniel appears beside me, two glasses of amber liquid in his massive hands.

"Not used to being the guest of honor," I admit, accepting the offered drink.

Daniel chuckles. "Better get used to it. Success in our world is rare enough to merit celebration when it happens."I take a sip, the smooth whiskey warming my throat. "The operation hasn't even started yet."

"The plan itself is the victory," Daniel explains. "Getting this many stubborn wolves to agree on anything is harder than the actual execution."

Across the room, I notice Riggs watching me while conversing with two older members. His expression remains guarded, but lacks the open hostility of our earlier encounters.

Morgan makes his entrance, immediately commanding attention without effort—a trait of natural leadership that transcends his official position.

He navigates through the crowd, exchanging brief words with key lieutenants before making his way directly to me.

"The man of the hour," he declares, reaching for a bottle of what appears to be extremely aged scotch from behind the bar. He personally pours three glasses, handing one to me and one to Daniel, keeping the third for himself.