Backed by the murmured encouragement of the wolves crowded around him, the little pup broke free from his parents' hold and rushed toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and sank his teeth into it. Hard. The pain shot through me instantly, sharp and raw, and he didn't let go. My own wolf flinched beneath my skin, startled, but I held her still.

"Hey—" someone gasped, but no one stepped in.

The more gently Adressa crouched beside him, coaxing him in a soft, soothing voice, the deeper his teeth seemed to press into my skin, as if her words only fueled his stubbornness. Her tone was all concern, all patience, the picture of kindness. Beneath it, white jasmine and copper drifted toward me, that faint too-sweet edge like petals already beginning to turn.

"Sweetheart, let go… okay? You're scaring me," she murmured, reaching out but never quite pulling him away.

I stood there, frozen.

I couldn't exactly throw a pup off me. Couldn't raise my voice. Couldn't bare my teeth without looking like the rabid one they already believed I was.

So I swallowed everything.

Swallowed the pain. Swallowed the humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing the words out as evenly as I could. "I'm sorry, okay?"

The pup finally loosened his grip, stepping back, still sniffling. My hand throbbed where his teeth had broken the skin, a dull, pulsing ache that quickly turned wet.

But Salvar wasn't satisfied.

He didn't notice the blood slowly seeping from the bite mark. Didn't notice the way my fingers trembled slightly from the pain. Didn't even glance at me properly. The scent of my own blood hung in the air between us, and he didn't so much as lift his head to it.

All he cared about was salvaging someone else's dignity.

He reached out and seized my arm just as I turned to leave.

"Selene," he said sharply, his grip tightening. "Apologize. To Adressa."

Adressa immediately put on that same gentle, self-effacing expression, tugging lightly at his sleeve as if trying to stop him. One finger drifted to the moonstone at her throat and touched it, barely, the way a wolf checks the wind before stepping into a clearing full of watching eyes.

"Salvar, it's fine," she said softly. "Really, it's not a big deal. I'm okay." She paused, lowering her gaze with perfect timing, the practiced submission of a she-wolf who knew exactly who was watching. "It's just the little one… he got hurt, and he's probably scared."

Her words were modest.

Her tone was forgiving.

And yet, they only made everything worse.

Salvar's attention shifted instantly.

His eyes dropped to the back of her hand, where a faint red mark had formed, barely noticeable, nothing compared to the blood on mine.

But to him, it was everything.

Something in his expression softened, almost pained.

Then, just as quickly, it hardened again as he turned back to me. Black cedar and cold iron rolled off him, that ash and bitter clove undertone sharpening as his alpha aura pressed down over the table, and every lower wolf in the den dropped their gaze on instinct. Every wolf but me.

Before I could react, he grabbed my injured hand and shoved it straight into the bowl of hot broth that had just been set on the table.

The heat hit me instantly.

The broth wasn't boiling, but it was scalding enough. The liquid soaked into the fresh bite wound, salt and heat combining into a sharp, searing pain that shot up my arm like silver under the skin.

My entire body jerked.

A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.

The pain was unbearable.

It spread, burned, throbbed, every nerve screaming at once. My wolf threw herself against my ribs with a sound I'd never heard her make, low and broken. My fingers curled involuntarily, trembling as I tried to pull back, but his grip held me in place for a second longer. An Alpha's grip. The kind that didn't negotiate.

"Selene, what is wrong with you?" Salvar hissed, his voice low but cutting. "You need to be taught a lesson."

My vision blurred slightly from the pain.

Still, I looked up at him.

"Is that who I am to you?" I asked quietly, my teeth clenched so tightly they ached.

I already knew the answer.

But I still asked.

Maybe some part of me hadn't fully given up yet.

Around us, the whispers grew louder. The other wolves in the family-run den weren't even pretending to look away anymore.

"Wait… so which one is his actual mate?"

"Are you blind? Obviously the one he's protecting."

"Yeah, look at them. Scents all tangled up together, matching everything… it's obvious."

Their voices weren't even hushed anymore.

Their gazes shifted toward me, heavy with something worse than judgment.

Pity.

"Hey, enough is enough," a wolf at a nearby table muttered. "Another few seconds and you're going to scald her hand to the bone."

Only then did Salvar hesitate.

I stood there, my lips pale, my body still trembling slightly from the pain, and yet, somehow, I was smiling.

A faint, fragile smile.

I looked straight at him.

And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Unease.

Just for a moment.

Then he let go.

He released my hand as if nothing had happened, reached for Adressa instead, and took her by the arm.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

And just like that, he walked away with her.

Didn't look back.

Didn't say another word.

His scent thinned and faded toward the door, black cedar and cold iron pulling away from me until the place where he'd stood held nothing at all.

When I got home, the den felt colder than usual. The hall was dark, the inner bolt still drawn the way he always left it, as though guarding the threshold mattered more than the wolf locked inside it.

A notification flickered across my crystal communicator.

He had sent a healer's salve for the burn, ordered through some courier, dispatched to my door like a parcel left for a stranger.

I stared at it for a long moment before opening the message that came with it.

[Selene, please stop being so sensitive and antagonizing Adressa. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other. I hope you'll get along from now on.]

I let out a quiet breath.

So that was it.

That was his solution.

A jar of burn salve in exchange for silence.

For obedience.

For pretending nothing had happened.

For accepting that he would keep both of us in his life, as if we were things he could arrange however he pleased.

I didn't reply.

I worked the salve into the wound silently, the coolness stinging against the scalded skin while my wolf paced low and restless beneath it, then lay down on the bed. Through the wall I could hear the faint tick of the den's ward-panel cycling through its nightly check, the low hum that kept the Alpha's territory sealed. The den was built for his convenience, warded for his safety. Not for mine.

He didn't come home that night.

The next morning, the moment I stepped into the front den of the Nightbane Pack, I could feel it.

The change.

Eyes followed me everywhere I went. Conversations cut off the second I got close, only to resume in hushed whispers the moment I passed. The hostesses. The floor runners. Even the barkeep who usually dipped his head good morning wouldn't look at me. Their scents had soured with something I knew too well, the thin nervous tang of a pack that smelled blood in the water.

It felt like walking into a hive that had been violently shaken.

As I sat down at my desk, Gianessa leaned over almost immediately, the corner of her order slate curling between her fingers as she twisted it tight. Her scent, fresh clover and warm bread, came tight with worry.

"Selene… people are saying you tried to get with the Alpha," she whispered. "And his she-wolf caught you in the act. It's all over the spirit network."

She slid her crystal communicator toward me.

A recording was playing.

The scene from the gathering hall last night.

Someone had caught all of it on a crystal orb.

At some point during the chaos, a new thread had been opened on the network just to spread it. Message after message scrolled past, speculation, accusations, mockery. Whispers on the floor made permanent.

They painted me as some unmarked Omega who'd tried to claw her way into the Pack's good graces and got caught.

I stared at the screen, my expression calm, even as something inside me went completely still. Somewhere deep down, my wolf had gone silent too, the way she did when a wound went bone-deep.

Before I could take it in further, the front doors opened.

Salvar walked in.

With Adressa right beside him.

The Alpha's lion-crest ring of succession turned slow and idle across his knuckles, catching the overhead light once, twice. His scent reached me before his voice did, black cedar and cold iron, ash and bitter clove, the way it always had.

"Everyone," he said, his voice clear and carrying the weight of an Alpha used to obedience, "let me introduce our new front-den overseer. Adressa."

So that was what he meant.

When he said we would be seeing a lot of each other.

He hadn't been exaggerating.

He had brought her directly into the Pack's front den.

As my superior.

The room fell silent. Heads lowered, shoulders dropped, the floor going quiet under the press of his aura.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

For the past few weeks, ever since the last overseer severed ties and vanished beyond the border grounds, I had been the one carrying most of the responsibilities. Everyone assumed I would move up in the ranks.

It seemed obvious.

Until now.

Salvar added Adressa to the den's internal thread right there in front of everyone. Almost at once, both of them sent messages.

Their portraits appeared side by side.

Matching.

A mated pair.

Smiling.

Perfect.

The implication couldn't have been clearer.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of whispers and sidelong glances. No one was really working. Everyone was watching.

Talking.

Judging.

But I didn't care anymore.

I was leaving.

Before midday, I drafted my letter severing ties from the pack and sent it through the proper channels.

With nothing left binding me here, I stood and walked to the back room.

I needed something warm. Something simple.

I brewed myself a cup of honeyed grapefruit tea, watching the steam rise slowly, the scent soft and calming. Sweet. Light. Nothing like the bitterness I had just left behind.

I had barely taken two sips when the door opened again.

Adressa walked in like she owned the den.

Confident. Unhurried.

She poured herself a coffee, then crossed to me and sat down right beside me, folding one leg over the other as if settling onto a throne that had always been hers. White jasmine drifted off her, copper beneath it, and something faintly too-sweet, like petals beginning to turn.

Her presence filled the room.

Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth and sweet, but underneath it, there was something sharp.

"Selene," she said, her lips curving slightly, "I know you've been Salvar's little secret for five years."

She tilted her head, studying me.

"But I'm his she-wolf now. Out in the open, where the whole pack can see."

There was a pause.

"I'm back," she continued softly, "and it's time for the mistress to know when to leave."

Her smile didn't waver.

"As long as you keep your mouth shut like you always have," she added lightly, "I won't make things harder for you."

The threat was gentle.

Polite.

But unmistakable.

As she spoke, Adressa casually unlocked her communicator and tapped a voice message, holding it just close enough for me to hear.

The recording played.

It was the little boy from yesterday.

His voice was bright, sweet in that practiced, childish way, but there was something smug underneath it, something that didn't belong to innocence at all.

"Auntie Adressa, wasn't I awesome? Don't forget the toy you promised me!"

The message ended with a soft click.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

Every detail. Every movement. Every perfectly timed reaction from last night.

It hadn't been an accident.

None of it had.

My instincts screamed at me to leave. To get out of there immediately before things escalated further. But before I could even take a step back, Adressa moved.

Fast.

She snatched the cup of tea straight out of my hands.

Before I could react, she tilted it and poured it over her own head.

The liquid splashed down her hair, soaking through the strands and dripping over her face, her neck, her blouse. It wasn't hot anymore, the tea long gone cold, but that didn't matter. The effect was exactly what she wanted.

Then, without hesitation, she slammed the ceramic cup onto the ground.

Right at my feet.

It shattered instantly.

The sharp crack echoed through the den as fragments of porcelain exploded outward. Several pieces skidded across the floor, a few slicing lightly into my ankles.

A sharp sting followed, but I barely registered it.

Adressa stood there, drenched, her hair clinging to her face in messy strands, her blouse soaked and sticking to her skin. The white jasmine of her scent had gone sharp, almost too-sweet, the copper underneath rising as she worked herself toward the picture she wanted. She looked utterly disheveled.

Pitiful.

Humiliated.

Perfect.

This she-wolf wasn't just ruthless. She was terrifying.

Before I could move past her, she stepped forward, blocking my path completely.

And then she screamed.

"Selene! What are you doing?! Why would you hurt me like this?!"

Her voice was high, shrill, and filled with raw, trembling emotion.

It carried. Through the front den, past the half-open doors where Nightbane wolves nursed their morning brews, into the back rooms where enforcers and runners kept their heads down and their ears pricked. Within seconds, the whole den began to stir. Doors opened. Chairs scraped. Wolves rushed in from every direction, drawn by the commotion, nostrils flaring to read the air.

But Adressa wasn't done.

Not even close.

She picked up her coffee, her hand trembling just enough to make it look real, and splashed it across her own chest.

The dark liquid spread quickly across the fabric, staining it unevenly.

Then, just like the night before, she lifted her hand to her neck and began scratching. Hard.

Red marks bloomed instantly across her skin, raw and irritated, as if someone had grabbed her violently.

I stood there, watching.

Something inside me finally snapped. My own wolf, who had crouched silent and seething through every second of this, surged once against my ribs.

Enough.

Before I could think it through, before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and slapped her.

Hard.

The sound rang out, sharp and clear.

Everything went silent. The kind of silence that only falls in a den run by wolves who understand violence. The kind where nobody breathes until they know whose side to take.

And that was the exact moment Salvar walked in.

He saw everything.

Or at least, what it looked like.

Me, standing there, upright, composed.

And Adressa, soaked, disheveled, trembling, like a fragile creature that had just been attacked.

There wasn't even a second of hesitation.

His hand came down across my face.

The force sent my head jerking to the side, a sharp sting blooming across my cheek. Black cedar and cold iron flooded my senses, his Alpha aura crashing down over the room like a dropped weight, pressing every lower wolf toward the floor.

"Selene!" he snapped, his voice cold with anger. "If you don't want to be here anymore, then get the hell out."

He didn't wait for a response.

Still visibly furious, he shoved me aside, his shoulder hitting mine hard enough to make me lose my balance. Then, without another glance in my direction, he bent down, scooped Adressa up into his arms.

A perfect bridal carry.

Like a male rescuing someone who needed saving.

And carried her straight into his office. The heavy door slammed shut behind them, and the silver lighter he'd left on the edge of his desk didn't so much as rattle. It just sat there, still.

I staggered back from the force of his shove, my body colliding with the edge of a nearby desk. Pain shot up my spine instantly, sharp and blinding. My vision blurred for a second as tears welled up in my eyes.

But I didn't cry.

I just stood there.

The front-den overseer, who had been hesitating over my severance papers just minutes ago, now stepped forward without a word. His expression had changed completely.

He picked up the document.

Signed it.

Stamped it.

Approved.

No questions asked. No delay.

Salvar didn't even come out. He didn't look at the form. Didn't ask anything. Someone brought it into his office, and while he was busy soothing Adressa, he scribbled his signature across the page without even glancing at it.

Then tossed it aside like it meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

The ledger-keepers moved quickly after that.

Too quickly.

Always eager to stay on the good side of whoever held power in the pack's front den, they rushed to process my final pay, efficiency driven not by duty but by their desire to please the Alpha's favorite.

I still had work to finish. A stack of client materials from the border-route accounts that needed to be handed over properly. So I sat down, sorted everything, organized the files carefully, and prepared to send them to Salvar.

But the moment I tried to log into my account, access denied.

I tried again.

Nothing.

My account had already been deleted. Completely wiped.

There was only one wolf who had the authority to do that.

Salvar.

I paused for a second, staring at the screen.

Then I pulled out my communicator.

I sent him a message.

No response.

I called.

The call didn't even go through.

Blocked.

The spirit-link channel.

Blocked.

Everything. Every possible way of reaching him, gone. And beneath it all, the place where his scent should have lingered in my memory had gone cold, as if even that thread had been cut clean. My wolf made no sound at all. She had simply gone still, the way a creature goes still when it understands the den it trusted is no longer its own.

I stood there for a moment, completely still.

Stunned.

But only for a moment.

Then I exhaled slowly.

I smoothed the edge of my skirt until the crease was sharper than anything I could bring myself to say.

Picked up my bag. Packed the last of my things. Cleared every trace of myself from what I could still access in the system.

And walked out.

No hesitation.

No looking back.

Past the wolves who wouldn't meet my eyes. Past the corridor where an enforcer held the door open for me with the careful neutrality of a male who had already chosen whose name to forget. Past the front entrance of the Nightbane den, where the awning cast its shadow over the path like a territory line.

I didn't go home.

I went straight to the airfield.