Rowan stood nearby, a vial of ward-bane clutched in his hand, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"Two whole years you spent weaving that territorial seal. Let's see you show off in front of Aurora now that it's ruined."

My vision went red. My fist connected with his face before I even realized I'd swung.

"You're always spreading rumors that I make you work like a servant?" I grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, hauling him close enough to catch the bitter satisfaction in his scent. "Fine. For the next three days, you will serve me. You're going to clean every inch of this weaving chamber until it's spotless."

That's when the door burst open.

Aurora stormed in, her dominant Alpha presence flooding the room like a cold tide. She took one look at the scene and immediately pulled Rowan behind her like a shield.

"Alaric, can you please get your temper under control?" Her voice dripped with disapproval. "Rowan tries so hard. Yes, he comes from a difficult background—an Omega without pack protection—but why do you always have to target him?"

My chest heaved. "Aurora, you need to understand—he started this—"

Before I could finish, Rowan ducked further behind her, his face crumpling into a mask of wounded innocence. His scent shifted to something pitiful and trembling.

"Aurora, it's my fault. I was just trying to help Alaric organize the weaving chamber, and I accidentally knocked over the ward-bane onto his territorial seal." His voice cracked perfectly. "He said he'd sell me to a rogue pack's pleasure den. And then he—he called my mother a scent-marked whore. Said she gave birth to a little whore who would spread his legs for any Alpha."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I can take the hitting. I can take the yelling. But why did he have to drag my mother into this?"

He was good. I had to give him that. Every sob, every trembling word, every carefully crafted note of distress in his scent—flawless.

Aurora didn't ask me for my side. Didn't investigate. Didn't even hesitate.

She just looked at me with cold disappointment. "Alaric, what's happened to you? I don't even recognize you anymore."

I wanted to howl.

Even with Aurora defending him, I refused to back down. Rowan served those three days as promised.

When it was over, Aurora acted like nothing had happened. She just sighed—light, dismissive.

"Alaric, that temper of yours... when are you going to grow out of it? It was just a ward-weave." She waved her hand. "You've had your revenge. Let it go."

I was naive enough to believe it was over.

A few days later, word spread through the territories that the Frostvein Pack's resources had been frozen by decree of the Pack Council.

Aurora was placed under formal sanction shortly after, leaving me to deal with the wreckage.

At first, I wasn't worried. Even if the Frostvein Pack collapsed, I still had my parents—the Alpha and Luna of House Duskvale.

I sent courier stone messages immediately.

Both connections had been severed. No response. No scent-trace.

Panic clawed at my throat. I rushed to the Duskvale estate—only to have Garrick Ironhollow deliver the news in a hollow voice.

The day the Frostvein Pack's troubles became public, my parents had rushed back across the sea to help. Their traveling party hit a territory collapse on a mountain passage—a ward failure that triggered a landslide.

Neither survived.

My world collapsed overnight.

No parents. No mate to lean on. I sold everything I owned and moved into a damp cellar den, hiding from the rogue enforcers who'd somehow inherited my family's resource debts.

I couldn't sleep. Every creak, every shadow, every unfamiliar scent—I waited for them to find me.

They did.

A group of claw-marked rogues stormed into the cellar with wooden clubs. I curled into a ball, but it didn't matter.

Two ribs, broken. My wrist, shattered beyond what any healer could fully mend.

I would never weave another ward again. My scent-channels were damaged beyond repair.

It took three years for me to accept my fate.

I gave up everything—my art, my pride, my hope—just to survive.

And now I was being told it was all a lie.

Aurora's "Pack Sanction" had stripped me to the bone and rebuilt me into someone I didn't recognize.

A courier stone pulsed with warmth against my palm.

A scent-sealed note from Aurora.

"Alaric, my sanction ends in three days. Don't forget to escort me home."

My hand tightened around the stone until my knuckles went white. A dull ache spread through my chest where the mate bond should have hummed with warmth.

Even now, she was still playing her part.

She was already at the celebration gathering. I'd seen it with my own eyes—her arms around Rowan, the massive feast spread across the table, the beautiful decorations of moonflowers and silver ribbons, everyone celebrating her supposed release.

And she was still treating me like a fool.

I stared at those words until tears blurred my vision.

I blinked them away and read the message again.

I pressed my claw-tip to the courier stone, letting my scent seal the reply:

"Understood. I'll meet you at the boundary in three days."

When the third dawn broke, I said nothing of Aurora's deception. I traveled to the edge of the Outcast Grounds where they released wolves who had served their bond-sentences.

I caught her scent before I saw her—deliberately muted, layered with false notes of suffering. She stood near the boundary marker dressed in torn furs, playing the part of a she-wolf broken by three years of isolation and resource rationing. She'd even used ash and herb-paste to paint a false scar across her muzzle.

When her eyes found me, she limped forward and threw herself against my chest.

"Alaric!"

She pressed into me, her eyes glistening with practiced tears.

"I worked so hard to prove my worth during the sanction. The Pack Elders said my behavior was beyond reproach, so they lifted my sentence early." Her voice shook with rehearsed emotion. "Alaric, these past few years must have been so difficult for you."

She gazed up at me with such devotion—as if she had truly endured three years of pack exile.

I eased her back, keeping my expression still as stone. "It's good you're free."

Aurora hesitated. Something flickered behind her golden eyes. She seemed to sense the wrongness in the air between us. But then, in the next heartbeat, she seized my wrist.

"Alaric, what happened to your arm?"

Her concern appeared genuine. The worry creasing her brow didn't seem false.

But I found it hollow.

Aurora, what game are you playing now?

You're the one who sent those wolves—the rogue enforcers disguised as outsider claw-gangs who beat me until my bones cracked and my flesh tore.

And now you pretend you didn't know?

A deep weariness settled into my chest. Or perhaps I was simply afraid to face what would happen when her lies finally collapsed around us.

"It's nothing. I fell during a hunt." I pulled my hand free from her grip. "The den-healers said it will mend with time."

Aurora let out a breath, her shoulders dropping with visible relief. "That's good to hear."

She reached for my hand again, threading her fingers through mine with exaggerated tenderness.

"The damage is to your weaving hand. If it worsens and affects your scent-work, you'll be devastated." Her voice dripped with honeyed concern.

Every word cut deeper than claws.

I used to possess extraordinary talent. My ward-weaves had won recognition across territories. Pack leaders sought my work to stabilize their borders. Everyone said I had a brilliant future as a scent-weaver.

But for the experimental healing trials. For the territory resources.

To secure Aurora's early release from her sanction.

I let them damage my scent-channels and shatter the bones in my weaving hand.

Now I can't even hold a marking brush. My ability to weave wards is gone.

And it turns out all of it—every sacrifice I made—was just part of some twisted punishment game Aurora had designed.

How pathetic I must seem.

I stayed silent the entire journey back to the den. Aurora grew visibly nervous, filling the quiet with a stream of chatter—stories about her time in isolation, carefully rehearsed tales she'd clearly gathered from other wolves or pulled from old pack records.

All to convince me she'd really spent three years locked away from the world.

I listened without truly hearing. When she finally paused, I asked quietly:

"Aurora."

"Did I do something to wrong you?"

She went rigid. Her eyes reddened as she turned to face me.

"What do you mean, Alaric? Why would you ask such a thing?"

My mind drifted to the last time I'd been permitted to visit her supposed isolation den.

I'd been so happy. I'd saved my meager hunting portions for weeks, traded what little I had for fresh meat and herbs, prepared everything with my own hands, and brought it to her.

No wonder she'd wrinkled her nose and refused to eat.

The food was too common for her refined palate.

Of course it was. I thought she'd been suffering in exile for three years.

But the whole time, she'd been traveling across distant territories with her omega aide—feasting at alliance gatherings and tribute galas.

Why would she ever lower herself to share my hardship?

Even that den visit had been theater. She'd paid off the guards to stage the scene and play her part.

Three years. Three years I'd been their fool, their plaything, running in circles while they laughed at my devotion.

Tears slid down my face before I could stop them.

Aurora's composure cracked. She lunged forward, dabbing at my cheeks with her sleeve.

"Alaric, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"

I looked into her eyes.

"If someone hurt me, what would you do?"

"Would you still protect me like you swore in our bond-vows—no matter the cost, even if it meant your life?"

Aurora's hands trembled as she reached for a cloth to wipe my tears.

She didn't hesitate. Just nodded, fierce and certain.

"Anything, Alaric. Whatever you need—just say it. I'll make it happen."

I held her gaze. Those eyes, so earnest. So sincere.

"Really?"

"Then I want you to kill Rowan."

Her head snapped up. She stared at me, frozen.

"What did you just say?"

Panic flickered across her face. "Did something happen? Did you misunderstand something?"

She was terrified I'd caught on.

Her whole body went rigid.

"After the pack territory was seized, Rowan left his position as liaison and crossed the sea to another territory. I haven't had any contact with him in three years."

"Did he come after you during your sanction? If he did, I swear I'll make him pay—"

I caught her wrist. Let out a soft laugh.

"I'm kidding."

"Taking a pack member's life without elder approval carries blood-debt, you know."

"You just finished serving your outcast sentence. How could I bear to see you marked again?"

"I was just teasing."

I turned away to grab something, keeping my expression hidden.

She couldn't see my face. Couldn't see what was really there.

She thought it was just a joke. I heard her exhale—relief bleeding out of her.

"Alaric, I'm sorry."

"These three years... you've suffered so much."

I didn't turn around.

But in my heart, I thought:

It's fine.

Your reckoning is coming.

After Aurora's public disgrace ended, I started making frequent trips to the Den-Healers' Hall.

The healer pulled me aside, her voice low. "Are you really not going to tell your bonded mate?"

"This isn't some minor wound. Your mate has a right to know what's happening to your body."

I shook my head, smiling faintly.

"Let's leave it. I don't want her to know. And I don't want treatment anymore."

Aurora was lurking in the stone corridor, catching fragments of the conversation through the walls. But not enough to piece together.

When I walked out, she was waiting.

"How did it go?" Concern painted her features. "What did the healer say?"

I smiled and shook my head, about to answer—

When a courier stone in her pocket hummed with Rowan's scent-sealed message.

"Aurora, I've got way too much sweet-root wine at my den. Come help me finish it?"

"Oh, and I had a silk robe made for you. Want to come try it on?"

"Sure. I'm on my way."

Her lips curved upward—just slightly—as she replied, voice perfectly calm.

She thought I hadn't heard. Covered the stone with her palm and turned to me, expression serious.

"Alaric, remember that alliance pact I mentioned? I'm going to discuss it now. If it works out, we might actually restore our standing in the territory."

I stared into Aurora's eyes.

When she'd claimed me as her mate, those same eyes had been filled with sincerity.

Now they held that same sincerity.

But the lies spilling from her lips? She didn't even blink.

My gaze must have unnerved her. She started to fidget, nearly tripping over her own composure.

"Alaric, are you... is something wrong?"

"Go ahead."

"If you can turn things around, you won't have to worry about those rogue enforcers anymore."

Those rogue enforcers—every single one of them sent by Aurora herself.

They'd cornered me in that dead-end passage between the outer dens.

Stripped our dwelling of anything worth taking.

Most days, I went three days between meals. When the hunger became unbearable, I'd drink from the well until my stomach stopped screaming.

Aurora let out a breath of relief, grabbed her cloak, and walked out.

I watched her retreating figure. Felt my gaze turn cold.

I thought about last night—waking up in tears, asking Aurora—