Two warriors moved toward me. I recognized them both. Garrett, a Delta who'd been with Ironmaw since before Lawson became Alpha. And Marcus, younger, who'd joined the pack two years ago and always nodded respectfully when I passed.

Neither of them looked at my face as they reached for my arms.

Their hands closed around my wrists. Firm. Not brutal, but not gentle either. The kind of grip that said they'd been given an order and would follow it.

I didn't struggle. Didn't pull away. Just let them position my arms where Mckenzie wanted them.

The bond in my chest was still hemorrhaging. Still draining. Every breath felt like I was inhaling broken glass. But my wolf—my wolf was awake now, slamming against the wolfsbane cage with a fury I hadn't felt in three years.

I looked past the warriors. Past Mckenzie standing there with her satisfied smile and the glowing iron in her hand. Past the ranked wolves watching with their carefully neutral expressions.

I looked at Lawson.

He was still standing beside the Alpha seat with his arms folded. Still watching me like I was a problem that had already been solved. Like the three years we'd spent together—the mornings I woke up next to him, the nights I fell asleep listening to his heartbeat, the moment he took a blade meant for me during that border raid—meant nothing.

"Do you remember," I said quietly, my voice so low it shouldn't have carried across the hall but somehow did, "what you swore at our Mate Ceremony?"

The question landed in the silence like a stone dropped into still water.

Several older wolves shifted in their positions. I could see it in my peripheral vision—the slight movement of bodies that had been perfectly still a moment before. Wolves who'd attended our Mate Ceremony three years ago. Who'd witnessed the vow Lawson made when he marked me.

Lawson's jaw tightened. For a fraction of a second something flickered behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not regret. Just irritation. The kind of irritation someone feels when reminded of a version of themselves they've already discarded.

Then he laughed.

Not the loud, genuine laugh from earlier. This was shorter. Sharper. A contemptuous exhale through his nose.

"You should be grateful," he said, his voice carrying the same flat certainty it had when he spoke the rejection vow, "that I kept you as long as I did. Given that you couldn't even shift."

He turned back to Mckenzie. Nodded once.

The warriors' grip on my arms tightened.

Mckenzie lifted the silver iron from the brazier. The metal glowed white-hot in the torchlight. Heat radiated from it in waves I could feel from where I stood.

She stepped closer. Close enough that I could see the exact shape of her smile. The way her eyes tracked over my face looking for fear.

"Kneel," she said.

I didn't move.

The warriors were still holding my arms. Mckenzie was standing three feet away with a heated iron. The entire pack was watching. Every wolf in the hall waiting to see what I would do.

I stood exactly where I was.

Not dramatically. Not defiantly. I simply did not kneel.

Mckenzie's smile faltered. Just slightly. Just enough that I could see the performance crack at its edges.

"I said kneel," she repeated. Louder this time. The command in her voice sharper.

I met her eyes. Held her gaze with the same stillness I'd maintained through three years of silent endurance. Through every dismissive comment. Every quiet insult. Every moment the pack looked at me and saw nothing worth respecting.

I did not kneel.

The hall was so quiet I could hear the brazier's flames crackling. Could hear someone's breathing near the back of the room. Could hear the faint rustle of fabric as wolves shifted their weight.

Mckenzie's performance required submission. Required me to lower myself before the pack so she could stand above me. So she could brand me while I was on my knees and every wolf present could witness my humiliation.

The submission wasn't coming.

She looked at Lawson. Her smile was gone now. Replaced by something harder. Something that needed his authority to function.

"Make her kneel," she said.

Lawson's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward. The Alpha tone in his voice was sharper than it had been all night.

"Kneel," he ordered.

The command hit me like a physical force. The Alpha tone—the one I used to think was attractive, the one that used to make my wolf respond with instinctive recognition—crashed against the wolfsbane cage where my wolf was screaming.

My knees didn't buckle. My head didn't lower.

I stood exactly where I was, arms held by warriors, and looked at my mate—my ex-mate, the bond still hemorrhaging in my chest—with the same quiet stillness I'd carried since the moment he walked into the hall with another woman's scent all over him.

Lawson's face darkened. He crossed the distance between us in three strides. His hand came up fast.

The backhand caught me across the mouth.

My head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my jaw. I tasted copper. Blood.

The warriors' grip on my arms was the only thing that kept me standing.

And my wolf—

My wolf, who I'd kept buried under wolfsbane for three years, who I'd poisoned into silence every morning—

She detonated.

The wolfsbane cage shattered. Not cracked. Not weakened. Shattered.

My body locked. Every muscle went rigid. The warriors holding my arms stumbled backward as something inside me tore free with a force that made the stone floor crack beneath my feet.

My bones began to break.