I lunged forward, my shoulder slamming against Alaina's chest. "Move!" I shouted, my voice raw with desperation. "This isn't a game! Margaret is dying!"

Alaina stumbled backward, her eyes widening in surprise. For a moment—just a moment—I saw uncertainty flicker across her face.

"Ryan," I pleaded, turning to my mate. "Please, just listen to me. Just for a second."

I closed my eyes, focusing all my energy on re-establishing the mind-link with the hospital. If I could just connect, if the pack could just hear the truth...

"Emergency room to Dr. Lawson," I whispered, projecting my thoughts outward. "We have a Code Red trauma alert. The former Luna has been hit by a car. We need you immediately."

I felt the faintest connection forming—a thread of consciousness reaching out toward the hospital. Hope fluttered in my chest.

Then Ryan's hand clamped down on my shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"Enough of this charade," he growled, his Alpha aura expanding around us like a suffocating cloud.

I felt it coming—the crushing weight of his Alpha command. But I wasn't prepared for the violence of it.

"SILENCE!" he roared, his voice reverberating through my skull.

The command hit me like a physical blow. I staggered, my knees buckling as the force of his power slammed into my consciousness. Inside me, Lily howled in agony as our connection to the outside world was violently severed.

"Sylvia!" Lily's voice echoed in my mind, growing fainter with each passing second. "Sylvia, I can't reach you anymore!"

I tried to respond, but my thoughts felt thick and sluggish, trapped inside my own head.

"Ryan," I gasped, clutching at my temples. "What have you done?"

His eyes were cold, unmoved by my suffering. "I've blocked your mind-link completely. You won't be able to communicate with anyone—not the hospital, not the pack, not even your precious wolf."

Alaina stepped forward, her lips curved in a triumphant smile. "Now you can't spread your lies."

"I need to get to the hospital," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "Please, Ryan. If you won't believe me, at least let me go."

Ryan's grip tightened on my arm. "You need to learn your place in this pack," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You need to understand that there are consequences for your behavior."

"I'm the Luna!" I protested, my voice breaking. "I'm your mate!"

"No," he said simply. "You're a liar and an embarrassment."

Alaina moved to my other side, her manicured fingers digging into my flesh. "We need to teach her a lesson about pack obedience," she murmured to Ryan.

Before I could react, they began dragging me away from the gala floor. I struggled against their grip, but Ryan's hold was unbreakable.

"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly. "You're making a terrible mistake!"

The pack members parted before us, their faces a blur of curiosity and discomfort. Some looked away, embarrassed by the spectacle. Others watched with undisguised fascination.

"Stop this!" I begged, my voice hoarse from screaming. "His mother is dying!"

Ryan and Alaina ignored my pleas as they hauled me through the crowd. The whispers followed us like shadows:

"Is this really necessary?"

"What did she do?"

"Poor Luna..."

But no one intervened. No one dared to challenge their Alpha.

They dragged me down the grand staircase, away from the music and laughter of the gala. The further we moved from the ballroom, the more my hope faded.

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded, my voice trembling.

Neither of them answered as they pulled me down a narrow corridor toward the packhouse kitchens. The sounds of the gala grew fainter with each step.

"Ryan, please," I sobbed, my strength fading. "I'm begging you. Your mother's chest cavity is crushed. She needs immediate surgical intervention. Without it, she'll die."

For a moment—just a moment—something flickered in his eyes. Doubt? Fear?

But then Alaina tightened her grip on my arm. "Don't listen to her," she hissed. "She's just trying to manipulate you."

Ryan's expression hardened once more. "Save your breath, Sylvia," he said coldly. "You should have thought about the consequences before you decided to embarrass me tonight."

The kitchen doors loomed ahead, heavy and industrial. Beyond them lay the service corridors—and the commercial walk-in freezer where the pack stored meat for their gatherings.

"You can't do this," I whispered, realizing their intention. "You can't keep me from the hospital."

Alaina's laugh echoed in the empty hallway. "Watch us," she said, her voice dripping with malice.

They dragged me forward, my heels scraping against the polished floor as I fought against their grip. Behind us, the sounds of the gala continued—oblivious to the tragedy unfolding just steps away.

The heavy steel door of the walk-in freezer loomed before me, its surface gleaming under the harsh kitchen lights. I struggled against Ryan's iron grip, my heels scraping uselessly against the polished floor.

"Ryan, please!" I sobbed, my voice breaking. "This is insane! Your mother is dying!"

His eyes were cold, devoid of any emotion as he and Alaina dragged me toward the freezer. The industrial handle felt like ice against my skin as Ryan wrenched the door open.

"Consider yourself lucky," he growled, his breath hot against my face. "If you weren't my Luna, you'd be facing worse than this."

Alaina's laugh echoed in the empty kitchen. "Much worse," she agreed, her fingers digging into my arm.

I thrashed wildly, fighting against their grip. "You can't do this! I'm your mate!"

"You're a liar and an embarrassment," Ryan spat, his Alpha aura expanding around us like a suffocating cloud.

Together, they shoved me forward. I stumbled, my sequined gown catching on the freezer's threshold. For one desperate moment, I clung to the doorframe, my nails scraping against the metal.

"Let me go!" I screamed, my voice raw from pleading.

Ryan's hand slammed into my back, pushing me into the darkness. I fell forward, my knees hitting the frozen floor with a painful crack.

"Maybe an hour or two in here will teach you some respect," Alaina said, her voice dripping with false concern.

The heavy door swung shut behind me. I heard the decisive click of the external lock being thrown.

"Ryan!" I pounded on the door, my fists already growing numb from the cold. "Don't do this!"

Their footsteps receded down the corridor, leaving me alone in the pitch-black freezer.

"Ryan!" I screamed again, my voice echoing off the metal walls. "Your mother needs me!"

Silence was my only answer.

I spun around, my eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. The freezer was massive—a commercial unit designed to store meat for the pack's gatherings. Rows of hanging carcasses surrounded me, their frozen flesh gleaming faintly in the darkness.

"Margaret," I whispered, my teeth beginning to chatter. "Hold on. Please hold on."

The cold hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't the natural chill of winter or even the controlled temperature of an operating room. This was something else entirely—a violent, aggressive cold that seemed to seep into my bones.

"Lily," I called internally, reaching for my wolf. "Lily, we need to shift."

Inside me, Lily stirred weakly. "Sylvia," she whimpered, her voice fainter than I'd ever heard it. "I can't... it's too cold..."

I stumbled forward, my arms wrapped around myself. "We have to try. We'll freeze otherwise."

Werewolves could normally shift to regulate their body temperature, our wolf forms better equipped to handle extreme conditions. But the cold in this freezer seemed to target Lily specifically, suppressing her presence in my mind.

"Sylvia," Lily's voice grew fainter, "I can't reach you anymore..."

Panic surged through me as I realized what was happening. The extreme cold was suppressing my wolf, trapping me in my human form with its limited ability to withstand such temperatures.

I stumbled forward, my breath coming in short, painful gasps. The cold bit through my thin gown, gnawing at my flesh. My fingers were already growing numb, my toes losing sensation.

"Got to... find a way out," I muttered, my words slurring slightly.

My eyes caught a faint glow from the far wall—the internal intercom system. A lifeline.

I staggered toward it, my legs trembling beneath me. The cold seemed to press against me from all sides, a physical weight that made each step a battle.

"Almost... there..." I gasped, reaching out with trembling fingers.

The intercom panel was mounted at chest height, its buttons glowing faintly in the darkness. I pressed the button with numb fingers, praying it would work.

"Hello?" I called, my voice shaking. "Can anyone hear me?"

Static was my only answer.

I pressed the button again, harder this time. "Ryan!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "If you can hear me, check your mind-link! Call the hospital!"

I leaned my forehead against the cold metal wall, my breath forming clouds of vapor in the frigid air.

"Please," I whispered, no longer sure if anyone could hear me. "Please, just check. Your mother's life depends on it."

The cold seemed to intensify around me, creeping deeper into my bones with each passing second. My right hand—my surgical hand—felt like a block of ice, the fingers barely responsive to my commands.

"Margaret," I murmured, my vision beginning to blur at the edges. "I'm so sorry. I tried..."

The intercom remained silent, offering no hope of rescue. In the distance, I could hear the faint sound of music from the gala, muffled but unmistakable.

They were celebrating while I froze. While Margaret died.

I slumped against the wall, my strength fading as the cold continued its relentless assault. My wolf was silent now, suppressed by the extreme temperature.

How long had I been in here? Minutes? Hours?

The cold was winning. And with each passing second, Margaret's chances of survival diminished.

"Ryan," I whispered into the intercom one last time, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "Please..."

The darkness closed in around me as consciousness began to slip away.

The intercom crackled to life, jolting me from my half-conscious state. I lifted my head, ice crystals clinging to my hair, and stumbled toward the sound.

"—just need to teach her a lesson," Alaina's voice drifted through the speaker, followed by the delicate clink of glass against glass.

I pressed my ear against the intercom panel, my skin sticking to the frozen metal.

"To Sylvia's lesson," Ryan's voice came through, cold and distant. "May she learn her place."

More clinking. They were toasting. Toasting while I froze. While his mother died.

"Ryan," I croaked into the intercom, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "Please... I'm begging you..."

Static was my only answer for a moment. Then Alaina's laughter filtered through, high and mocking.

"Oh, is someone still talking?" she asked, her voice dripping with false concern. "How pathetic."

I pounded my fist against the panel, my knuckles splitting open. Blood froze on my skin.

"Your mother is dying!" I screamed, my voice breaking. "This isn't a game!"

"Actually," Ryan's voice came through, eerily calm, "it is a game. And you're losing."

The intercom went silent for a moment. I could hear the faint sound of music in the background—the gala continuing without me.

"When you're ready to stop throwing tantrums," Ryan finally said, his voice cutting through the silence, "you can come out. Until then..."

Another clink of glasses.

"Until then," Alaina finished for him, "enjoy your timeout, Luna."

The intercom went dead.

I slumped against the wall, my body shaking uncontrollably. My surgical hand—my right hand—felt like a block of ice, the fingers barely responsive to my commands.

"Margaret," I whispered, my teeth chattering. "Hold on..."

But even as I said it, I knew it was too late. The golden hour—that critical sixty minutes after trauma when surgical intervention could mean the difference between life and death—was slipping away.

I checked my watch through frost-covered eyelashes. The numbers blurred together, but I could make out enough: 10:47 PM. I'd been in here for nearly an hour.

"An hour," I moaned, the word barely intelligible through my chattering teeth. "One hour gone..."

Lily stirred weakly within me. "Sylvia," she whimpered, her voice fainter than I'd ever heard it. "I'm trying... but I can't reach you..."

"Don't try," I murmured internally. "Save your strength."

My muscles began to spasm, another sign of severe hypothermia. I curled into myself, trying to conserve what little body heat remained.

"Think," I told myself, forcing my foggy brain to work. "Think..."

But there was nothing to think about. I was trapped, freezing, and helpless while the woman who had once saved my life bled out on an operating table.

Tears froze on my cheeks as I began to weep—silent, bitter sobs that shook my already trembling body.

"Forgive me," I whispered to Margaret, to Lily, to myself. "I tried..."

The cold intensified around me, creeping deeper into my bones with each passing second. My vision blurred at the edges as consciousness began to slip away.

Time lost all meaning in the darkness.

Was it minutes? Hours?

I no longer knew.

All I knew was cold. Endless, merciless cold.

And then—

A sound.

Metal grinding against metal.

Light spilled into the freezer as the heavy door swung open.

I blinked against the sudden brightness, my eyes watering painfully.

"Look who's ready to rejoin the land of the living," Alaina's voice cut through my fog, sharp and mocking.

I tried to stand but my legs buckled beneath me. I collapsed onto the kitchen tiles, my body trembling violently as the warmer air hit my frozen skin.

"Ryan," I gasped, looking up at him through frost-covered lashes. "Hospital... please..."

He stared down at me, his face unreadable. Behind him, Alaina's smile was wide and satisfied.

"Can you walk?" Ryan asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

I tried to nod but my neck muscles spasmed. Instead, I began to crawl, dragging my half-frozen body across the kitchen tiles toward the exit.

"The hospital," I repeated, my voice a broken whisper. "I need to get to the OR."

Alaina's laughter echoed off the kitchen walls. "Still delusional, I see."

I ignored her, focusing on moving forward. One inch at a time. One painful, agonizing inch.

Behind me, Ryan made no move to help.

Ahead of me, the kitchen door beckoned—a promise of escape, of salvation.

If I could just reach it... if I could just make it to the hospital...

Margaret might still have a chance.

I might still have a chance.

My right hand—my surgical hand—left smears of blood on the tiles as I dragged myself forward.