The dress lay on the bed like a pool of midnight water. It was silk, long-sleeved, and high-necked—a garment designed to hide every scar, burn, and bruise Grayson had inflicted on me over the last seven years.

"Put it on," Calvin said from the doorway, his back turned to give me privacy. "Tonight, you are not a slave. You are my guest."

My hands trembled as I shed the hotel robe and slid the silk over my skin. It felt alien. For years, I had known only rough cotton and wool that scratched against my raw skin. The silk was cool, smooth, and forgiving. I looked in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back. My cheeks were still hollow, my eyes haunted, but the dress gave me an armor of elegance. I looked like the Luna I was born to be, not the Omega I had been forced to become.

I stepped out into the hallway. Calvin offered me his arm. "Ready to make him squirm?"

"More than anything," I whispered.

We walked down the grand staircase to the dining hall. The scent of roasted venison and rosemary wafted up, a smell I knew intimately because I had cooked this meal a thousand times for the pack. But tonight, I wouldn't be serving it.

The double doors swung open.

Grayson was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table. He was laughing at something Gamma Marcus said, a glass of wine in his hand. But when we entered, the laughter died in his throat.

He stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. His amber eyes locked onto me, widening in shock. He scanned me from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the curve of my waist in the silk dress. For a second, I saw the flash of his wolf—pure, possessive hunger. He took a step toward me, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled my scent, which wasn't masked by mud and blood for the first time in years.

Then he remembered who I was.

His face hardened, the desire replaced by a mask of cold fury. He looked at Calvin’s hand on my arm, and a low growl vibrated in his chest.

"Sit," he barked, gesturing to the far end of the table.

Calvin ignored him, pulling out the chair to Grayson’s immediate right—the seat of honor. "She sits here."

Grayson’s jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He sat back down, his eyes flicking to the empty chair at the other end of the table. Sage’s chair. It had been set with a full place setting, as if she might wake up and walk in at any moment. It was a macabre shrine to the ghost that haunted us all.

The dinner was suffocating. The clinking of silverware sounded like sword strikes. Grayson downed his wine in one gulp, his eyes never leaving my face. He looked like a man starving, furious that the food he wanted was forbidden.

"The ritual begins at dawn," Calvin said, cutting his steak with precise, surgical movements. "I will need access to the patient's medical history."

"You have it," Grayson grunted. He reached for the wine bottle, but it was out of reach. Without thinking, he snapped his fingers at me.

"Wine. Now."

It was the Alpha Command. It hit me like a physical slap. My body jerked, my muscles contracting to obey before my mind could protest. I reached for the bottle, my hand shaking violently. The old conditioning was too strong; the fear was too deep.

"Stop," Calvin said.

"She is an Omega," Grayson snarled, his voice rising, layering the command with more pressure. "Pour the damn wine, Wrenlee!"

My fingers brushed the cold glass of the bottle. I couldn't breathe. The command was crushing my lungs.

*Smash!*

Grayson’s empty wine glass exploded. Shards of crystal flew across the table, some embedding in the expensive tablecloth. Red wine splattered onto Grayson’s pristine white shirt like a gunshot wound.

Silence fell over the room. Grayson froze, wine dripping from his chin. He looked at his hand, then at Calvin.

Calvin hadn't moved. His hand was resting flat on the table, but the air around him was crackling with raw Lycan energy. It was a warning shot, powerful enough to shatter glass without lifting a finger.

"Wrenlee is under Royal protection," Calvin said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "If you use your Alpha Tone on her again, the next thing to shatter will be your jaw."

Grayson wiped the wine from his face, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. The power gap was too wide.

"I... lost my appetite," Grayson hissed. He threw his napkin onto the table and stormed out of the hall, Gamma Marcus scrambling to follow him.

As soon as the heavy doors slammed shut, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Calvin looked at me, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips.

"Now," he murmured. "Go."

I nodded. While the pack was distracted by their Alpha’s temper tantrum, the corridors would be empty.

I slipped out the side door, moving like a shadow in my silk dress. I didn't head to the Blue Suite. I headed down, to the basement levels where the hum of cooling fans filled the air.

The server room.

The keypad was old, a model installed ten years ago. Grayson never updated the security; he thought physical strength was the only defense that mattered. He didn't understand the power of data.

I punched in the code: *0-5-0-5*. My birthday. I had set up the admin backdoor when I was thirteen, just a bored kid trying to bypass the parental controls to watch movies. I prayed the account was still active.

*Access Granted.*

The green light blinked in the darkness. I pushed the door open and hurried to the main terminal. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

*Username: Admin_Wren*

*Password: B-u-s-t-e-r-1*

The screen flickered, and then the desktop appeared. I nearly sobbed with relief. I navigated quickly through the folders. *System Logs. Security Archives. Year: 2017.*

There it was. The folder labeled "INCIDENT_FIRE_CORRUPTED". Grayson’s tech team had tried to delete it years ago, but they were incompetent. They had only corrupted the index file. The raw footage was still there, sitting in the backup partition.

I pulled the USB cable from my pocket, connecting my phone to the terminal. I found the file from Camera 04—the hallway outside Sage’s room on the night of the fire.

*Copying... 45%... 78%...*

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy boots. A guard on patrol.

*99%...*

"Come on," I whispered, sweat beading on my forehead.

*Transfer Complete.*

I yanked the cord out just as the doorknob turned. I ducked behind the server rack, holding my breath. The beam of a flashlight swept over the terminal, then the empty chair. The guard grunted, seemingly satisfied, and the door clicked shut.

I slumped against the warm metal of the server, clutching my phone to my chest. On that screen was a video of Sage Harrison pouring gasoline on her own bedroom floor.

I had the match. Now, all I had to do was wait for the right moment to light the fuse.

The hallway leading back to the Blue Suite was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the emergency lights near the floor. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear, but from the adrenaline of what I carried in my pocket. The USB drive felt heavy, like a loaded gun.

I turned the corner, my hand already reaching for the door handle, when a shadow detached itself from the wall.

"Where have you been?"

Grayson.

He stepped into the sliver of light, his features sharp and predatory. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the tense muscles of his neck. He smelled of whiskey and agitation.

"I was getting water," I lied smoothly. My voice didn't shake. That was new.

Grayson narrowed his eyes, stepping closer until he was invading my personal space. Usually, his proximity made me cower, my Omega instincts screaming at me to submit to the Alpha. But tonight, the fear was dull, muffled by the ice in my veins.

He inhaled deeply, a frown creasing his forehead. "You smell different."

He leaned in, his nose brushing the curve of my neck. I stiffened, fighting the urge to shove him away. "You don't smell like fear anymore," he murmured, sounding genuinely confused. "You smell like... rain. And ozone."

He planted a hand on the wall beside my head, boxing me in. His amber eyes searched mine, looking for the girl who used to beg for his crumbs. She wasn't there.

"Why are you doing this, Wrenlee?" he asked, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Why bring the Lycan here? Why save Sage after everything?"

He was looking for redemption. He wanted me to say I was doing it for him, or for the pack. He wanted to believe that despite seven years of torture, I was still his loyal little mate.

I looked him dead in the eye. "To give you exactly what you deserve, Alpha."

Grayson blinked, and then a slow, arrogant smirk spread across his face. He mistook my threat for devotion. He thought I meant he deserved his sister back, his happy ending.

"Good girl," he said, patting my cheek with a condescending tap. "Maybe once she wakes up, I'll let you move back into the main house. The basement, of course. But it's warmer than the shed."

He pushed off the wall and walked away, whistling a low tune. I watched his retreating back, my fingers curling into fists.

*Enjoy the tune, Grayson,* I thought. *It's your funeral march.*

***

The next morning, the sky over Seattle was the color of a bruised plum. Heavy storm clouds churned above the territory, threatening a downpour that would wash the world clean.

I didn't wear the servant's gray rags. I didn't wear the silk dress Calvin had lent me. instead, I found a simple black dress in the back of the guest closet—something left behind by a previous dignitary. It fit loosely, the hem brushing my knees.

It was black for mourning. Black for Buster.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Calvin entered, dressed in a ceremonial white tunic embroidered with gold thread. He looked regal, but his eyes were kind as they swept over me.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. "Drink this. It's concentrated Valerian and Moonflower."

I took it, looking at him questioningly.

"The rejection," he said softly. "It's going to feel like your soul is being ripped in half, Wren. This will dull the physical pain. It won't stop the emotional blow, but it will keep you standing."

I downed it in one gulp. It tasted like bitter herbs and honey. "I don't need it to be dull," I said, handing the vial back. "I want to feel it break. I want to know it's gone."

Calvin nodded solemnly. "Let's go. The lion's den awaits."

We walked to the Pack Hospital in silence. The rain had started, a light drizzle that misted my face. The hospital wing was a sterile, white building attached to the main house. Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and anxiety.

The VIP room was crowded. Gamma Marcus stood by the door, arms crossed. Three pack elders sat in the corner, whispering amongst themselves. And in the center of the room, lying on a bed surrounded by machines, was Sage.

She looked peaceful. Her skin was pale as porcelain, her blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. If you didn't know her, you'd think she was an angel. I knew better. I knew the rot that lived beneath that skin.

Grayson was pacing at the foot of the bed. When we entered, he stopped. "It's time. Do it."

"Patience, Alpha," Calvin said coolly. He moved to the bedside, checking the monitors.

I hung back near the wall, where the main diagnostic screen was mounted. It was a massive sixty-inch display showing Sage's heart rate, brain activity, and oxygen levels. A thick bundle of cables ran from the back of it to a console on the counter.

"I need to sync the timestamp for the Royal records," I said, my voice blending into the hum of the machines. No one looked at me. To them, I was just part of the furniture.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. My hands were steady thanks to the potion. I plugged the USB-C cable into my phone, and the other end into the open HDMI port on the side of the diagnostic console.

The screen flickered for a second, then returned to the heart monitor display. Connection established. The video file was queued, ready to play at the touch of a button.

"Begin," Calvin commanded.

The room went deadly silent. Calvin uncorked a crystal flask containing a golden, glowing liquid—the Elixir of Awakening, distilled from rare flowers found only in the Lycan Kingdom. He tilted Sage's head back and carefully poured the liquid into her feeding tube.

"*Excitare, anima dormiens,*" Calvin chanted, his voice resonating with power. "*Redi ad lucem.*"

The air in the room grew heavy, charged with static. The hair on my arms stood up. A golden light began to emanate from Calvin's hands, seeping into Sage's chest.

*Beep... Beep... Beep...*

The heart monitor, which had been a slow, rhythmic sluggish line for seven years, began to speed up. The pitch grew higher, more urgent.

Grayson leaned forward, gripping the bedrail so hard his knuckles turned white. "Sage?"

Color flooded Sage's cheeks, turning the porcelain to a flushed pink. Her eyelids fluttered. A gasp tore through the room as her chest heaved, taking in a deep, ragged breath on her own.

Then, her eyes snapped open.

They were the same icy blue I remembered. The eyes that had watched me scream while she lit a match. She blinked, disoriented, her gaze darting around the room until it landed on Grayson.

"Gray?" she croaked, her voice rusty from disuse.

Grayson let out a choked sob. "I'm here, Sage. I'm here."

I stood by the monitor, my thumb hovering over the 'Play' button on my phone screen. The miracle had happened. Now came the reckoning.