The hallway blurred through my tears. I pressed one hand against the wall, the other still cradling my stomach like I could protect the tiny life inside from the words that had just shattered my world.

Then the alarms screamed.

The sound pierced through my grief, sharp and urgent. Red emergency lights flooded the corridor, turning everything the color of blood. Somewhere below, glass shattered. Voices shouted. The building groaned like a wounded animal.

"Rogues! Rogues at the perimeter!"

I stumbled forward, trying to orient myself. The servant stairs—I needed to get to the servant stairs. My feet tangled in the hem of my stupid dress, the one I'd bought thinking tonight would be different.

The explosion hit before I could reach the stairwell.

The world turned sideways. The floor buckled beneath me, and I was falling, arms flailing for something, anything to grab. My shoulder slammed into the wall. Then something massive crashed down from above.

Pain exploded across my back and legs as a wooden beam pinned me to the floor. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Dust filled my lungs, choking me as I tried to scream.

The beam was crushing me. I clawed at the floor, trying to drag myself forward, but my legs wouldn't respond. Panic flooded through me, cold and sharp.

The baby. Oh god, the baby.

"Help!" My voice came out as a rasp, barely audible over the chaos. "Someone—please!"

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Fast. Inhumanly fast.

Sebastian appeared through the smoke, his Alpha speed making him blur at the edges. His eyes found me, widened. For one heartbeat, I saw something human there—horror, maybe even regret.

"Sebastian." I reached out, my fingers stretching toward him. "Please."

He took a step forward.

Then Arielle's scream cut through the air.

I watched his head snap toward the sound. Watched him calculate. Watched the moment duty won over whatever flicker of feeling he might have had left.

"Sebastian, I'm pregnant," I gasped out. "Your child—"

But he was already moving. Away from me. Toward her.

He scooped Arielle into his arms like she weighed nothing, her perfectly styled hair barely mussed, her designer dress still pristine. She wasn't even injured. Just scared.

I was dying, carrying his child, and he chose her.

"Sebastian!" The word tore from my throat, raw and desperate.

He didn't look back.

The ceiling groaned above me. Chunks of plaster rained down, and I threw my arms over my head, trying to protect my stomach. The beam shifted, pressing harder. I felt something warm and wet spreading beneath me.

No. No, no, no.

I don't know how long I lay there. Seconds? Minutes? Time stretched and compressed, marked only by the sound of my own ragged breathing and the distant screams of pack members fleeing.

Then I heard footsteps again. Lighter this time. Careful.

Hope flared in my chest. "Help—"

Arielle's face appeared through the smoke.

She looked down at me, and there was nothing in her expression but cold calculation. She crouched beside me, close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume mixing with the acrid smoke.

"You know," she said conversationally, like we were discussing the weather, "I could smell it on you. In Sebastian's study. That mate bond." Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It clings to you like cheap perfume."

I tried to speak, but only managed a wheeze.

"There can only be one Luna," she continued, standing. Her heel crunched on broken glass as she moved past me, toward something I couldn't see. "And it's going to be me."

Metal scraped against concrete. The smell hit me a second later—sharp, chemical. Gas.

She'd severed the line.

"No—" I choked out. "Please—"

But she was already walking away, her silhouette disappearing into the smoke. The gas hissed louder, filling the hallway with its poisonous promise.

I was going to die here. Alone. Crushed and bleeding, with Sebastian's child still inside me.

The mate bond I'd felt earlier—that beautiful, terrible recognition—now felt like a noose around my neck, pulling tighter with every breath.

I closed my eyes.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard more footsteps. Running. Shouting. But they were too far away, and I was so tired.

The last thing I thought before the darkness took me was that I hoped, somehow, my baby wouldn't feel any pain.

I woke up screaming.

Not the first time. Wouldn't be the last.

Hands pressed against my shoulders—firm but gentle. "Wren. You're safe. You're in the Capital."

Rhett's voice cut through the nightmare, anchoring me back to reality. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus on the sterile white ceiling of the medical wing instead of the collapsing hallway that still haunted my sleep.

Three years. Three years since that night, and my body still remembered the weight of the beam crushing my spine, the smell of gas, the sound of Sebastian's footsteps walking away.

"Your vitals spiked," Rhett said quietly, releasing my shoulders once I'd stopped thrashing. "Same nightmare?"

I didn't answer. Didn't need to.

He moved to the window, giving me space to collect myself. That was Rhett—always knowing exactly how much distance I needed. The High Healer who'd spent three years putting me back together, piece by broken piece.

"Get dressed," he said, his back still turned. "Your father wants to see you."

Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my quarters, barely recognizing the woman staring back.

The scars were gone. Rhett's healing magic had erased every physical mark Sebastian and Arielle had left on my body. My face was the same, but sharper somehow. Harder. My dark hair fell in sleek waves instead of the tangled mess it used to be. The tailored black suit I wore cost more than a year's wages in the Omega quarters.

I looked like I belonged in the Lycan Capital. Like I'd been born to wear power instead of scrub floors.

The Omega was dead. Good riddance.

A knock at the door. Rhett entered without waiting for permission, carrying a manila folder that looked too thin to contain anything important.

It contained everything.

"Medical clearance," he said, handing me a signed form. "You're officially fit for active duty." His amber eyes searched my face. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I've been ready for three years."

"That's not what I asked."

I took the folder from him, our fingers brushing. Even that small contact sent warmth through me—not the burning intensity of a mate bond, but something steadier. Safer. Rhett had never pushed, never demanded. He'd just been there, patient as stone, waiting for me to heal enough to let someone in again.

I wasn't there yet. Might never be.

I opened the folder. The Silverclaw Pack's financial records stared back at me, page after page of discrepancies and suspicious transactions. But it was the summary on top that made my pulse quicken.

*Pack stability: Critical. Birth rate: Zero in thirty-six months. Warrior strength: Declining. Alpha Sebastian Stone's mate bond status: Severed. Recommendation: Full Council investigation.*

The pack was dying. Without a true Luna, without the mate bond that should have anchored Sebastian's power, the Silverclaw Pack was collapsing from the inside out.

And the Council had appointed me—Wren Russell, daughter of Judge Russell, formerly known as the wolfless Omega—as Special Prosecutor.

"When do I leave?" I asked.

Rhett's jaw tightened. "Tomorrow morning. I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm coming." His tone left no room for argument. "As your assigned Healer and protective detail."

I should have protested. Should have insisted I could handle this alone. But the truth was, I didn't want to face Sebastian without someone at my back. Someone who wouldn't abandon me when things got hard.

Someone who'd already proven he'd pull me from the rubble instead of walking away.

"Fine," I said. "But I'm driving."

The convoy of black SUVs rolled through the Silverclaw territory gates at exactly nine a.m.

I sat in the back of the lead vehicle, watching familiar streets pass by through tinted windows. The pack house loomed ahead, rebuilt after the attack but somehow smaller than I remembered. Less impressive. Just a building, not the palace I'd once thought it was.

The SUVs stopped in perfect formation. Rhett exited first, scanning the area with a Beta's tactical precision before opening my door.

I stepped out into the morning sun.

The effect was immediate. Pack members who'd been going about their business froze. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence.

I let my aura unfurl—just a fraction of it, just enough to remind them what real power felt like. The air around me shimmered with suppressed energy, the kind that came from Lycan royalty, from bloodlines that predated their little territorial pack by centuries.

An older wolf I recognized—he used to laugh when I slipped in the kitchen—dropped his gaze immediately, his shoulders hunching in instinctive submission.

Good.

I didn't acknowledge any of them. Just walked straight toward the pack house entrance, my heels clicking against the pavement with the rhythm of a countdown.

Rhett fell into step beside me, his presence a solid wall of protection at my back.

The guards at the door moved to block our path, then saw the Council insignia on my jacket and practically tripped over themselves getting out of the way.

The Alpha's office was on the third floor. I knew the way by heart—had walked it a hundred times in the dark, sneaking up the back stairs like a guilty secret.

Not anymore.

I took the main staircase, letting everyone see me. Letting them wonder. Letting the whispers spread like wildfire: *The dead Omega isn't dead. And she's coming for the Alpha.*

Outside Sebastian's office, I paused. My hand hovered over the door handle.

Three years ago, I'd stood in this same spot, pregnant and desperate, believing love could save me.

Now I stood here with the full weight of the Lycan Council behind me, carrying nothing but cold purpose.

I pushed open the door without knocking.

Sebastian sat behind his desk, head bent over paperwork. He looked up, irritation flashing across his face at the interruption.

Then he saw me.

The color drained from his face. Papers slipped from his fingers, scattering across the desk. He stood so fast his chair crashed backward.

"Hello, Sebastian," I said, my voice steady as steel. "We need to talk about your pack's future."

Or lack thereof.

The conference room reeked of desperation masked by expensive cologne.

I stood in the doorway, watching Sebastian argue with his council of elders. They sat around the massive oak table like vultures circling a dying animal, their faces tight with barely concealed panic.

"The western fields are barren again," one elder said, his voice sharp. "Three seasons now. The soil won't take seed."

"And the nursery remains empty," another added. "Not a single pup born in three years. The pack is dying, Alpha."

Sebastian's jaw clenched. He stood at the head of the table, hands braced against the wood, looking every inch the powerful Alpha he was supposed to be. But I could see the cracks now—the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled slightly before he curled them into fists.

Good.

"We've discussed this," Sebastian said, his voice carrying that Alpha authority that used to make me shiver. "The rogue attack damaged our infrastructure. We're rebuilding—"

"It's been three years!" The elder slammed his palm on the table. "This isn't about infrastructure. Something is fundamentally wrong with this pack."

I chose that moment to step inside.

The click of my heels on hardwood cut through the argument like a blade. Every head turned. But I only had eyes for Sebastian.

The scent hit him first.

I watched it happen in slow motion—the way his nostrils flared, his eyes going wide. The glass in his hand slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor in a spray of whiskey and crystal.

Rain and wildflowers. The mate bond scent that should have died with me three years ago.

Sebastian's face went white. His lips moved, forming my name, but no sound came out. His wolf surged to the surface—I could see it in the flash of gold overtaking his hazel eyes, in the way his whole body went rigid.

"Wren Russell, Special Prosecutor for the Lycan Council," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I'm here to conduct a formal investigation into the Silverclaw Pack's declining stability."

The elders erupted into confused murmurs, but Sebastian didn't seem to hear them. He stared at me like I was a ghost. Like I'd crawled out of my grave just to haunt him.

Maybe I had.

"You're dead," he whispered. "You died. I saw—"

"You saw what you wanted to see." I moved further into the room, letting them all get a good look at the Omega who used to scrub their floors. "You saw an inconvenience eliminated. A problem solved."

One of the elders stood abruptly. "Alpha, do you know this woman?"

Sebastian's throat worked. "I... we..."

"We have history," I said smoothly. "Ancient history. Now, gentlemen, I'll need access to all pack records dating back three years. Financial statements, birth records, territorial agreements—"

"This meeting is over," Sebastian said suddenly, his voice rough. "Everyone out."

The elders exchanged glances but didn't move fast enough.

"NOW!" The Alpha command cracked through the air like a whip.

They scrambled for the door, practically tripping over each other. I stayed exactly where I was, watching Sebastian watch me. When the last elder fled, silence fell like a hammer.

"Wren." My name on his lips sounded like a prayer and a curse. "How—"

"I have work to do," I said, turning toward the door. "We'll schedule a formal interview—"

His hand closed around my arm.

The touch burned. Not with the mate bond—I'd learned to suppress that particular torture—but with the memory of every time he'd touched me before. Every whispered promise. Every lie.

I looked down at his hand, then up at his face.

"Let. Go."

"Not until you explain." His grip tightened, and I felt the Alpha power rolling off him in waves, trying to force my submission. "You died. I felt it. The bond—"

"The bond you rejected?" I smiled, and it wasn't kind. "That bond?"

His wolf was right there, just beneath the surface, making his eyes flash gold. "Submit. Tell me what happened. That's an Alpha command."

The command hit me like a physical force, trying to drive me to my knees. Three years ago, it would have worked. Three years ago, I was nobody.

Now, I let my own power rise.

My eyes flashed silver—not the gold of a regular wolf, but the brilliant, royal silver of Lycan bloodline. The air around us crackled with energy as I channeled every drop of my heritage, the power that had been sleeping inside me all along.

Sebastian's command shattered like glass.

I twisted out of his grip effortlessly, stepping into his space instead of away from it. He stumbled back, shock written across his face.

"Touch me again," I whispered, close enough that only he could hear, "and I'll have your hand mounted on my wall."

His breath caught. For a moment, we stood frozen, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, smell the familiar scent of him beneath the whiskey and desperation.

Then he moved.

Fast. Alpha-fast. His hand shot out to slam me against the wall, wolf instinct overriding human reason.

He never made contact.

Rhett appeared between us like smoke, catching Sebastian's wrist mid-strike. There was no dramatic show of force, no roar of challenge. Rhett simply held Sebastian's arm, his fingers positioned with surgical precision over pressure points only a healer would know.

Sebastian's face contorted in pain.

"Rhett Bishop," Rhett said calmly, as if he wasn't currently immobilizing an Alpha. "High Healer and Beta to the Lycan King. Also Ms. Russell's personal guard and partner."

The word 'partner' hung in the air like a blade.

Sebastian's eyes darted between us, his wolf howling in his mind—I could see it in the way his whole body trembled with barely contained rage.

"You're making a mistake," Rhett continued, his voice still that infuriating calm. "Assaulting a Council Prosecutor is grounds for immediate arrest. I'd hate to have to break your wrist before we've even started the investigation."

The pressure on Sebastian's nerves increased just slightly. Enough to make him gasp.

"Let him go," I said quietly.

Rhett released him immediately, stepping back to my side. Sebastian cradled his wrist, staring at us both with something wild and broken in his eyes.

"Three years," he said hoarsely. "Three years, Wren. Where were you?"

I smiled. "Becoming someone you can't touch."

Then I walked out, Rhett's solid presence at my back, leaving Sebastian alone with the ghost of the girl he'd left to die.