I didn't knock. I shoved the door open so hard it slammed against the wall, and every head in Dereck's office snapped toward me. My Alpha—my mate—sat behind his desk with his Beta and Gamma flanking him, mid-discussion about border patrol rotations. His eyes flashed amber, irritation flickering across his face before he saw what I held in my trembling hands.

The burner phone.

"Alora, I'm in a—"

"They have her." My voice cracked. I crossed the room in three strides and shoved the screen toward him. "Rogues. They sent this twenty minutes ago."

The footage played on loop. My mother, bound to a chair in some concrete room, duct tape across her mouth. Her eyes were wide, terrified. A rogue in a black hood stood behind her, one hand fisted in her hair, the other pressing a silver blade to her throat. The voice that spoke was distorted, mechanical. "Wolfsbane antidote stores. Safe passage through Shadowcrest territory. Twelve hours. Or she dies."

Dereck watched the video once. Twice. His jaw tightened, but his expression remained controlled. Too controlled. He set the phone down on his desk with deliberate care.

"It's a trap," he said flatly.

I stared at him. "What?"

"Rogues don't negotiate. They kill or they run. This—" He gestured at the phone. "—is extortion theater. They want us to panic and hand over resources."

"Dereck, that's my mother—"

"I know who it is." His tone sharpened. "And I know rogue tactics. They're counting on you reacting emotionally."

My wolf howled inside me, clawing at my ribs. "Then send warriors. Track the signal. Do something."

"We will." He leaned back in his chair, his Alpha aura pressing against the room like a weight. "But we do it smart. Not reckless."

Before I could argue, the door opened. Delaney stepped inside, her pale blonde hair pulled back, her expression soft with concern. She wore a cream sweater that made her look fragile, delicate. She always looked like that. Breakable.

"I heard shouting," she said quietly, her gaze flicking between Dereck and me. "Is everything okay?"

Dereck's posture shifted slightly. Softened. "Rogues made a ransom demand. Alora's mother."

Delaney's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Alora. I'm so sorry." She crossed to me, reaching for my arm, but I jerked away. Her eyes widened, hurt flickering across her face. "I just want to help."

"Then help me convince him to send warriors," I snapped.

Dereck's Alpha tone cut through the room like a blade. "Enough."

I froze. The command locked my muscles, forced my mouth shut. My wolf whimpered, submission flooding my veins against my will. I hated it. Hated that he could do that to me.

Delaney stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Dereck, maybe I could handle the exchange. I've dealt with rogue negotiations before, back when my father was Beta. I know how they think."

Dereck's gaze shifted to her, considering. "You're wolfsbane-sensitive. It's too dangerous."

"I'll be careful," she said, her tone soft but steady. "And if it helps bring Alora's mother home safely, it's worth the risk."

Something twisted in my chest. I wanted to scream that Delaney had no business negotiating for my mother's life, but the Alpha command still pressed against my throat. I could only watch as Dereck nodded slowly.

"All right. You'll lead the exchange. Take two enforcers. Report back every hour."

Delaney's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Of course, Alpha."

She left the room, and Dereck finally released the command. I gasped, my lungs filling with air as my wolf surged back to the surface.

"You just handed my mother's life to Delaney?" I hissed.

"I handed it to someone who won't let emotion cloud her judgment," Dereck said coldly. "You're too close to this, Alora. You can't think straight."

"She's my mother—"

"And you're my Luna." He stood, rounding the desk. "Which means you trust my decisions. Delaney will handle it. Go back to the pack house and wait."

I stared at him, my mate, the wolf the Moon Goddess chose for me. And I didn't recognize him.

I turned and walked out.

---

The hours crawled. I paced the pack house living room, my phone clutched in one hand, the burner in the other. I tried reaching Dereck through the mind-link. Once. Twice. Ten times.

Each time, his response was clipped. *Delaney's handling it. Stay put.*

My wolf snarled, restless and furious. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones, a crawling dread that tightened with every passing minute.

The twelve-hour deadline came and went.

No update. No call. Nothing.

Then, at hour thirteen, a pack enforcer arrived at the border. He carried a second burner phone. The screen was cracked, the casing smeared with dirt. He handed it to me without a word, his face pale.

I turned it on.

The video loaded slowly. My mother, still bound to the chair. The rogue behind her. And then—

One brutal motion.

Ten seconds of the camera holding steady.

Then black.

I don't remember dropping the phone. I don't remember the sound I made. I only remember my wolf screaming, a howl that tore through my mind and shattered everything.

The wolfsbane made time strange. Hours stretched into days, or maybe minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. The injection came every morning—or what I thought was morning. A healer in scrubs would unlock my cell, grip my arm, and press the needle into my vein. The burn spread fast, silver fire through my blood, and my wolf would whimper and retreat deeper inside me until I couldn't feel her at all.

I stopped counting days after the first week. What was the point? Dereck wasn't coming. No one was.

The cell was concrete. Grey walls, grey floor, a metal cot bolted to the corner. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, never turning off. The only break in the monotony was the slot in the door where they shoved a tray of food twice a day. I ate because my body demanded it, not because I cared.

But then I heard the growling.

It came through the wall to my left. Low, feral, barely more than a vibration in the concrete. At first I thought I'd imagined it—another trick of the wolfsbane fog. But it came again. And again. A wolf in pain, fighting something I couldn't see.

I pressed my palm against the cold wall. "Hello?"

Silence.

I tried again the next day. And the day after that. My voice felt strange, unused. "Is someone there?"

Nothing.

On the fourth day—or maybe the fifth—I gave up asking questions. I just started talking. About my mother. About the video. About Dereck's face when he told me to trust him, and how that trust had killed her. The words spilled out, raw and broken, and I didn't care if anyone heard. I needed to say them. Needed to prove I still existed.

The growling stopped.

Then, after a long stretch of silence, a voice came through the wall. Rough, cracked, like it hadn't been used in months. "They lied to you."

I jerked upright on the cot, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Who—"

"Your Alpha," the voice said. "They all lie. It's what they do."

My throat tightened. "Who are you?"

Another pause. Then: "Maverick."

The name meant nothing to me, but the way he said it—flat, detached, like he'd forgotten it belonged to him—made my chest ache. "Why are you here?"

"My father put me here." His tone didn't change. "I refused to be his weapon. So he made me disappear."

I stared at the wall, trying to picture the wolf on the other side. "Your father?"

"Lycan King." He said it like a curse. "Doesn't matter now. I've been here long enough that I barely remember what the sky looks like."

My wolf stirred faintly, a flicker of recognition at the word Lycan, but the wolfsbane smothered her before she could surface. I swallowed hard. "How long?"

"Months. Maybe a year. Hard to say." He exhaled, the sound scraping through the concrete. "What about you? What did you do to end up in here?"

"I told the truth," I whispered. "And my mate didn't believe me."

Maverick didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was quieter. "Then he's a fool."

Something inside me cracked. I pressed my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. "They killed my mother. And he let them."

"I'm sorry." The words were simple, but they carried weight. Like he understood what it meant to lose everything. "You didn't deserve that."

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

After that, we talked every day. Small things at first. He told me about the throne he'd walked away from, the father who valued power over blood. I told him about my mother's pendant, the way Dereck had crushed it under his boot like it was nothing. Maverick described the northern woods beyond Greyhaven's walls, the sound of wind through pine trees, the way moonlight looked on snow. I clung to those images, let them fill the grey void the wolfsbane left behind.

He never asked why I was really here. Never pushed for details I wasn't ready to give. He just listened. And when the silence stretched too long, he'd start talking again, his voice a thread pulling me back from the edge.

"There's a drainage system," he said one night—or maybe it was day. "Beneath the compound. Old tunnels that lead to the woods. The guards don't patrol them anymore. Too narrow."

I opened my eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're going to need it," Maverick said. "When the time comes."

"When what time comes?"

He didn't answer.

But something in his tone had shifted. There was an edge to it now, sharp and deliberate. Like he'd made a decision.

I pressed my hand against the wall again, wishing I could see his face. "Maverick?"

"I've been mapping this place for months," he said quietly. "Guard rotations. Injection schedules. Weak points. I was waiting for the right moment. But I think—" He paused. "I think the right moment just found me."

My pulse quickened. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we're getting out of here." His voice was steady now, certain. "Both of us. Soon."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to feel hope. But the wolfsbane had stolen that too. "They'll catch us."

"Maybe," Maverick said. "But I'd rather die trying than rot in this cell."

I closed my eyes and let his words settle over me. For the first time since Dereck had thrown me in here, I felt something other than despair.

I felt anger.

And anger, I was learning, could burn just as bright as hope.

The storm hit at midnight.

I knew because Maverick told me through the wall, his voice low and urgent. "Thunder's shorting the perimeter sensors. We go now."

My legs felt like water. The wolfsbane had hollowed me out, left me a shell, and my wolf was nothing but a weak flicker somewhere deep inside my chest. But I stood. I pressed my palm flat to the wall one last time, and I nodded even though he couldn't see me.

"Ready," I whispered.

Something slammed against his cell door. Once. Twice. On the third hit, metal screamed, and I heard the groan of a frame giving way. Then footsteps in the hall. The lock on my door clicked, and the door swung open.

Maverick stood in the frame.

I'd pictured him a hundred ways. None of them were this.

He was mid-shift—half-transformed, caught between man and wolf. Black fur ran down one side of his face and chest. His left arm had elongated into something clawed and brutal. His jaw was wrong, teeth too long, lips pulled back in a snarl. Blood streamed from his shoulder where the partial shift had torn through his own muscle, and his silver eyes burned through the dim light like coins at the bottom of a well.

"Run," he rasped.

I ran.

The hallway blurred. A guard came around the corner and Maverick hit him so hard the man's body folded. The second guard got off one shout before Maverick's claws silenced him. I didn't look. I kept moving, my bare feet slapping concrete, following the map he'd whispered through the wall for weeks.

Left. Right. Down three flights. The drainage grate was already pried open, metal teeth bent back where he'd clearly worked at it over months with nothing but his hands.

I dropped into the tunnel first. Ankle-deep water, black and freezing. Maverick landed behind me with a grunt of pain. I turned to help him and he waved me off.

"Go," he growled. "Keep going."

We ran through the dark. I couldn't see anything. I could only hear his ragged breathing behind me and the slap of water around my shins. My wolf was silent. Dead silent. I'd never missed her more than I did in that tunnel, feeling my way through pitch black like a human.

The tunnel ended at a rusted grate half-swallowed by mud. Maverick tore it loose with his half-shifted arm, and then we were out.

The woods swallowed us. Rain came down in sheets, cold enough to steal breath. Lightning cracked somewhere behind us and lit the trees in blue-white flashes. I kept running until my lungs burned, until my legs gave out, until Maverick caught me by the elbow and pulled me behind a fallen pine.

He'd shifted back. Mostly. His face was human again, pale and bloodied. But the wound on his shoulder was bad—a wet, red tear where his own transformation had ripped him open.

I pressed my hands against it without thinking.

And something happened.

A spark, faint as a struck match, somewhere deep behind my ribs. Not my wolf. Something older. Something that recognized the warmth of his blood under my palms and *leaned toward it.*

I yanked my hands back like I'd been burned.

Maverick's eyes found mine through the rain. He didn't say anything. But I saw it—the way his pupils blew wide, the way his nostrils flared like he was catching a scent through the storm.

"We need to move," I said quickly.

He nodded once. We moved.

---

The safehouse was a sagging two-room cabin on the edge of a town I didn't know the name of. Maverick had contacts, apparently. People who owed him favors older than my imprisonment. A woman with grey braids opened the door, took one look at us, and shoved us inside without a word.

It was there, by the woodstove, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of someone else's pack, that Maverick told me who he was.

"Lycan Prince," he said. Flat. Matter-of-fact. "Son of King Roger. He locked me away because I wouldn't mate the woman he picked for his dynasty."

I stared at him. I should have been shocked. I wasn't. Nothing surprised me anymore.

"Then help me," I said. "Help me go through the Council. Formally. On the record."

He studied me a long moment. "Alora, the Council isn't—"

"I have the footage. I have my account. I'm the Luna of Shadowcrest, and my mother was murdered because of Delaney. The regional Alpha Council has to hear this."

He exhaled slowly. Then he nodded. "All right. We'll file."

We filed within forty-eight hours. Maverick's fringe contacts walked the paperwork into the regional seat themselves. The execution video. My sworn statement. Timestamps, mind-link logs, every piece of evidence I could still prove existed.

I slept that night for the first time in months. Really slept.

---

I should have known better.

The response came three days later, and it wasn't a hearing date. It was a formal notice: *Grievance tabled pending further review of material credibility.*

Maverick read it over my shoulder. His jaw tightened.

Then the dossiers started leaking.

Every allied pack on the eastern seaboard received the same package. Doctored medical records. Fabricated statements from Shadowcrest healers. Photographs of me looking wild-eyed and gaunt—easy enough to produce, since Greyhaven had made me look exactly like that. The language was surgical. *Unstable. Wolfsbane-addled. Rogue-sympathizing. A grieving she-wolf who fabricated evidence to slander her Alpha's trusted advisor.*

Dereck's Beta had moved faster than I had.

I sat at the cabin's little table and read the smear sheet twice. Then I set it down very carefully, because my hands were shaking too hard to hold it.

"The system protects its own," Maverick said quietly behind me. "I warned you."

"I thought the truth would be enough."

"It isn't. Not against an Alpha with reputation and a Beta with reach." He crouched beside my chair, his silver eyes level with mine. "We need Delaney to condemn herself, Alora. Out of her own mouth. On a recording no one can edit."

I looked down at my hands. At the faint silver streaks the wolfsbane had left in my skin.

"Then that's what we'll get," I said.