The maître d' led us through Le Lune's elegant dining room, his practiced smile never wavering as he guided us toward the private booth. Nash's small hand clutched mine tightly, his eyes wide with wonder at the crystal chandeliers and white tablecloths. He'd dressed carefully for this dinner—a miniature version of an Alpha in his formal suit, the Silverclaw emblem pinned to his lapel.

"Mommy, do I look okay?" he'd asked for the third time as we left the pack house.

"Perfect," I'd assured him, straightening his tie. "Your father will be proud."

My own dress—a silver silk that matched our pack colors—felt like armor. Tonight was supposed to be our chance to rebuild what Joseph had broken. For Nash's sake, I had to try.

"This way, Luna Sophia," the maître d' said, gesturing toward the secluded booth. "Alpha Joseph has arranged everything."

I nodded my thanks, squeezing Nash's hand as we approached. "Remember to sit up straight," I whispered. "This is a formal dinner."

But as we rounded the corner, my steps faltered. The private booth wasn't empty.

Carla sat primly in what should have been my seat, her floral perfume—now unmasked—filling the space. Talon was beside her, already coloring on the children's menu. They both looked up as we approached, Carla's eyes flashing with triumph before she quickly composed her features into a mask of innocence.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as if surprised to see us. "You're here!"

Joseph stood abruptly, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Sophia, Nash—I was just explaining to the server that we'll need to add two more places."

I stared at him, unable to form words. Nash's grip on my hand tightened painfully.

"But you promised," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "No Carla. No Talon."

Joseph ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I once found endearing but now recognized as his tell when lying. "I know, I know. But Carla had a panic attack when I told her we were going out. She was alone with Talon, and after yesterday's incident with the rogue..."

"You couldn't leave them," I finished flatly.

"It'll be fine," he insisted, gesturing to the server who had appeared with menus. "Just a group dinner. We can still talk as a family."

I looked at Nash, whose face had fallen but who was trying so hard to be brave. For his sake, I slid into the booth, though it killed me to do so.

---

The Tomahawk Steak arrived with flourish—a massive ribeye bone-in, sizzling on a wooden platter. The server placed it before Joseph with a bow.

"Your centerpiece, Alpha," he announced. "The finest cut in the house."

In werewolf culture, the Tomahawk held special significance. The Alpha always served the Luna first, presenting her with the prime center cut as a symbol of respect and partnership. It was a ritual as old as pack hierarchy itself.

I watched as Joseph picked up the carving knife. Nash sat straighter beside me, his eyes following his father's movements. Even at five, he understood the importance of this moment.

"This looks amazing," Joseph said, his attention darting between his plate and Carla's anxious face.

The first cut should have been mine. The second to Nash. Then Joseph could serve himself and finally offer portions to guests or lower-ranking wolves.

But Joseph's knife veered away from my expectant plate. Instead, he carved a generous slice from the center—the choicest part—and placed it on Carla's plate.

"Thank you, Alpha," she murmured, her eyes downcast in false modesty.

Joseph nodded, already cutting another piece. This one went to Talon.

"Here you go, buddy," he said warmly. "The best for you."

I sat frozen, watching as my mate—my Alpha—violated one of the most basic tenets of pack hierarchy. Nash's small hand found mine under the table, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Finally, Joseph looked up, seemingly noticing our empty plates. He quickly carved two more portions—smaller, with more gristle and fat—and placed them before me and Nash.

"Sorry," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. "Got distracted."

The server hovered nearby, his professional demeanor slipping just enough to reveal his confusion. Even he understood what had just happened.

---

I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped against the floor. Without a word, I reached across the table and took Nash's untouched plate. His eyes met mine, understanding passing between us.

"Mom?" Joseph's voice held a note of panic. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I turned and walked toward the exit, Nash's small hand in mine.

"Sophia!" Joseph called, scrambling to his feet. "Don't be ridiculous!"

But I kept walking, my back straight despite the weight crushing my chest. Behind us, I heard Carla's voice, soft and concerned: "Maybe they're just tired from yesterday's accident."

The valet brought my car around quickly. I helped Nash into his booster seat, then slid behind the wheel. Through the restaurant window, I could see Joseph arguing with the maître d', gesturing wildly.

"Should we wait for Dad?" Nash asked quietly as I pulled away from the curb.

"No," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "He's made his choice."

We drove in silence for several minutes before Nash spoke again, his voice small but clear in the darkness of the car.

"Why does Alpha Joseph love Talon more?" he asked, using his father's rank title instead of "Dad" for the first time.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, fighting back tears as my son's words cut deeper than any knife could.

A week passed in cold silence. The weight of Nash's words—"Why does Alpha Joseph love Talon more?"—hung between us like an invisible barrier. I moved through the pack house like a ghost, avoiding Joseph's attempts at conversation, focusing instead on preparations for Nash's Coming of Age ceremony.

In werewolf culture, the ceremony marked a pup's transition from childhood to preparation for future leadership. The ancestral Silverclaw Dagger—passed down through generations of Alphas—would be presented to Nash as a symbol of his heritage and destiny.

I was arranging ceremonial flowers in the great hall when Joseph cornered me, his eyes desperate.

"Sophia, we need to talk." He glanced around to ensure we were alone. "About Nash's ceremony."

I continued placing white lilies in the silver vase. "What about it?"

"I know things have been... difficult." He ran a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture that once made my heart flutter but now only irritated me. "But I want to make this right."

I finally looked up at him. "Make what right, Joseph? The fact that you abandoned our son's birthday? That you protected another child over your heir? Or perhaps you're referring to the restaurant incident where you humiliated us both?"

"All of it," he said quietly. "I've been... wrong."

The admission hung between us, unexpected enough that I set down the flowers and gave him my full attention.

"The dagger is polished and ready," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "In my safe, where it's been for weeks. I've been preparing for this ceremony since Nash turned four."

I narrowed my eyes. "The ceremony that's happening tomorrow?"

"Yes." He stepped closer, his scent—once so comforting—now making my wolf bristle. "This will be solely about Nash. About us. No distractions."

"No Carla?" I asked flatly.

"No Carla," he confirmed. "I promise."

I wanted to believe him. For Nash's sake, I needed to believe him.

---

Later that night, I slipped out of bed and padded silently through the darkened pack house. Something about Joseph's promise felt wrong, and my wolf was restless.

As I passed Carla's cabin on the edge of the territory, a light flickered in an upstairs window. Curiosity drew me closer.

The window was cracked open, and through the gap, I saw Carla standing at her bathroom sink. Her back was to me, but I could see her hands working methodically over a small vial.

"Just a little more," she murmured to herself. "Enough to make you sick, not enough to kill you."

She was carefully measuring a clear liquid into a juice box—the kind children carry to school. My blood ran cold as I recognized the distinctive purple tint of diluted Wolfsbane.

"For Uncle Alpha," she continued, her voice taking on a singsong quality. "He needs to save you again."

She turned toward the bedroom where Talon slept, and I ducked behind a tree. When I looked back, she was leaning over her son's bed, her fingers pinching his arm with calculated precision.

Talon woke with a cry of pain. "Mommy, why did you—"

"Hush now," she whispered, producing the poisoned juice box. "Drink this. It will make you feel better."

The boy took the box obediently, his eyes wide with trust as he drank the poisoned liquid.

My stomach churned with horror. Not only was Carla manipulating Joseph, but she was actively harming her own child to maintain her hold on him.

---

The morning of the ceremony dawned bright and clear. I helped Nash into his ceremonial robes—silver and white, embroidered with the pack emblem over his heart.

"You look so handsome," I whispered, adjusting the collar. "Like a true future Alpha."

Nash's eyes shone with excitement. "Will Dad be proud?"

"Of course he will," I assured him, though my confidence was wavering. "Now, let's go get your dagger."

We found Joseph in his study, reviewing ceremony protocols. He looked up as we entered, his expression carefully composed.

"Perfect timing," he said, setting down the papers. "I was just heading to get the dagger."

"Good," I replied. "Nash is ready."

Joseph hesitated, then moved toward the wall safe behind his desk. "Just... give me a minute."

I watched as he punched in the combination—our mating date—and opened the heavy door. His hand disappeared inside, rummaging through the contents.

"Joseph?" I asked after a moment. "Is there a problem?"

"No," he said quickly, too quickly. "Just... looking for the right box."

But I could see the growing panic in his eyes as he continued searching, his movements becoming more frantic. When he turned back to us, his face had drained of color.

"Sophia, I can't find it," he admitted, unable to meet my gaze. "It was right here. I swear it was right here."

Nash's small hand found mine, squeezing tightly as his father's words registered.

"The Silverclaw Dagger," Joseph continued, his voice rising with desperation. "It's... it's gone."