The Alpha Suite faced east, designed so the morning sun would hit the Alpha’s face first, waking them to lead. I was packing my life into a single duffel bag while the sunset bled red across the balcony—the last sunset I would see from this room.

"Leave the furniture," Jackson said from the doorway. He didn't even have the decency to come inside. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with that detached, cold stare that had replaced his warmth. "Mariah wants to redecorate. She says the dark wood is too masculine for a nursery."

A nursery. The word was a calculated strike, aimed directly at the empty space in my womb where a pup should be.

"The basement quarters are damp, Jackson," I said, my voice steady as I folded a silk blouse. "If you want me to die of pneumonia, just use the executioner’s blade. It’s faster."

"The Omega Quarters are sufficient for your rank," he countered, his voice devoid of mercy. "You aren't the Alpha Female anymore, Lina. You're barely a pack member. And Mariah... she carries the future of Silvercrest. She needs space. She needs comfort."

I didn't argue. Arguing with a man drunk on stolen power was useless. instead, I walked to the loose floorboard under the heavy oak dresser. I knelt, ignoring the sharp protest of my damaged knees, and pried it open.

"What is that?" Jackson asked, stepping forward, suspicion narrowing his eyes.

I pulled out a small, battered tin box. Inside was a toy wooden soldier and a silver compass—Timothy’s. The only things I had left of the brother whose death had paved Jackson's road to the throne.

"Just trash," I lied smoothly, shoving the box into my bag before he could see the crest on the compass. I zipped the bag shut and slung it over my shoulder. The weight was heavy, but the weight in my chest was heavier.

I walked past him without looking up. "Enjoy the view, Jackson. The sun sets quickly up here."

The descent was a humiliation in itself. Down the grand staircase, past the whispering maids who averted their eyes, through the kitchen where the cooks went silent, and finally, down the narrow, creaking steps to the basement. The air grew heavy with the scent of mildew and bleach. The Omega Quarters were essentially converted storage cells—concrete floors, no windows, and a cot with a thin mattress.

I threw my bag on the cot and sat down. I didn't cry. Tears were for people who had hope. I had something better: I had a plan.

Hours later, the heavy metal door creaked open. A sliver of light cut through the darkness, followed by the familiar scent of pine and rain. Elias.

He slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him. In his hands, he held a tray of food—roast chicken and warm bread, stolen from the Alpha’s table.

"He’s a dead man," Elias growled, his voice vibrating with a suppressed snarl. He set the tray on the wobbly side table and began pacing the small cell. "Putting a Hudson in the basement? I should tear his throat out tonight."

"Eat first. Kill later," I said, breaking off a piece of bread. My hands were shaking, not from fear, but from the drop in blood sugar. I hadn't eaten since yesterday. " sit, Elias. Tell me what you found."

Elias stopped pacing. He pulled a folded sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and handed them to me. "You were right. The accounts are bleeding."

I squinted in the dim light. The numbers were damning. "He's not just spending it," I murmured, tracing the columns. "He's transferring it. 'Consulting fees' to a shell company in the Obsidian territory?"

"He's paying them off," Elias said, crouching in front of me. "He's selling Silvercrest piece by piece to Mariah’s father to keep his support. If the pack finds out..."

"They won't believe us without proof of something worse," I said. The embezzlement was bad, but it wasn't enough to dethrone an Alpha. We needed the blood. "Elias, do you remember the rumors about Jackson’s old crew? The rogues he ran with before I saved him?"

Elias nodded slowly. "Most were hunted down."

"Not all," I whispered. "There’s a rumor of one called 'The Ghost.' A tracker named Dante Cruz. He was seen near the northern border last week. If anyone knows what really happened the night Timothy died, it’s him."

Elias’s eyes widened. "You want me to hunt a ghost?"

"I want you to bring him to me," I said, gripping his hand. "Alive."

The next morning, I made my way to the infirmary. My wrist was throbbing with a vengeance, the silver scars reacting to the dampness of the basement. I needed painkillers, but more importantly, I needed information.

Vera, the pack Healer, jumped when I entered. She was a small, nervous woman with kind eyes, one of the few who still curtsied when she saw me.

"Miss Lina," she gasped, rushing over to guide me to a stool. "I heard about... the basement. I’m so sorry."

"It’s fine, Vera," I said, offering her my scarred wrist. "Just the usual ache. Do you have the salve?"

She busied herself with jars and bandages, her hands trembling slightly. "The Alpha... he ordered me to prioritize the Luna’s care. Supplies are being diverted to the Alpha Suite."

"Of course," I said softly. "Pregnancy is delicate. How is the heir coming along? Have you heard the heartbeat yet?"

Vera froze. The jar in her hand clattered onto the metal tray. She looked around the empty clinic before leaning in close, her voice barely a whisper.

"I haven't examined her, Lina."

My pulse quickened. "What do you mean? You're the Head Healer."

"She refuses," Vera hissed, her eyes wide with fear. "Every time I try to get near her with the ultrasound or even just to check her vitals, she throws a fit. She says she has her own specialist from Obsidian. And... the smell."

"The vanilla?" I asked.

"It’s not just vanilla," Vera said, wrinkling her nose. "It’s layers of it. Industrial strength. Masking agents. Usually, by now, I’d be able to smell the change in her hormones. The scent of milk and new life. But on her? Nothing. Just perfume and... emptiness."

A cold, sharp smile touched my lips for the first time in days.

"Thank you, Vera," I said, sliding off the stool. "That is the best medicine you could have given me."

Jackson thought he had buried me in the dark. He forgot that wolves can see in the dark. And now, I knew exactly where to aim my bite.

The silver platter was heavy, but the weight of the humiliation was heavier. I walked into the dining hall, my eyes fixed on the polished oak floorboards. The room was silent, save for the clinking of silverware against fine china. The pack elders sat in rigid rows, their gazes darting between their plates and the head of the table where Jackson sat like a king on a stolen throne.

"Pour the wine, Omega," Jackson commanded. He didn't look at me. He was busy slicing into a rare steak, the blood pooling on his plate mirroring the violence in his aura.

I moved to his side. My hand, the one with the withered wrist, trembled slightly as I lifted the heavy crystal decanter. I poured the vintage red into his glass, careful not to spill a drop. I moved to Mariah next. She was lounging in the Luna’s chair—my mother’s chair—wearing a silk dress that cost more than the annual budget for the pack orphanage.

As I tilted the bottle, Mariah’s hand shot out. She jerked her glass upward, hitting the spout.

Red wine splashed across the pristine white tablecloth, dripping onto the floor and splattering the hem of her dress.

"You clumsy bitch!" Mariah shrieked, jumping up. She looked at Jackson, her eyes wide with feigned shock. "Look what she did! She ruined it on purpose!"

Jackson stopped chewing. He slowly placed his knife and fork down. "Clean it up, Lina."

I stared at the puddle of wine, red like fresh blood. "She hit the glass, Jackson. You saw it."

"I said," he growled, his voice dipping into that dangerous, vibrating register, "clean it up."

Mariah smirked, pointing a manicured finger at the floor. "On your knees, cripple. Where you belong."

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't the anger of a moment; it was ten years of silence breaking at once. I dropped the heavy linen napkin I was holding. It fluttered to the floor, landing right in the spilled wine.

"No," I said softly.

The silence in the hall was deafening. Even the servers froze against the walls.

Mariah’s face twisted into a snarl. She lunged forward, her hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back with supernatural strength. "You do not say no to your Luna!"

Pain exploded in my scalp, but instinct took over. I didn't have a wolf, but I knew anatomy. I knew leverage. As she pulled, I stepped into her space, grabbing her wrist with my good hand. I twisted her arm down, using her own momentum against her, and slammed her hand onto the heavy oak table.

*Crack.*

The sound of breaking bone echoed through the hall like a gunshot.

Mariah screamed, a high, piercing sound that shattered the tension. She stumbled back, clutching her mangled fingers, her face draining of color.

"Enough!"

The roar hit me like a physical wave. Jackson stood up, his chair crashing backward. His eyes were glowing a furious, unnatural yellow.

"**SUBMIT!**"

The Alpha Command slammed into my skull. It felt like a hydraulic press crushing my brain. Without a wolf to shield my mind, my body betrayed me instantly. My knees buckled, hitting the hardwood floor with a bone-jarring thud. I gasped for air, my vision swimming, every nerve ending screaming at me to bow, to bare my neck, to surrender.

I gritted my teeth, tasting copper. *I will not.*

Jackson stormed around the table, his aura suffocating. "You dare hurt her? You dare attack my mate in my house?"

He raised his hand, ready to strike.

Through the haze of pain, I saw the boots of a pack guard to my right. He was young, terrified, his hand hovering over the holster at his hip. The holster that held the emergency sidearm—loaded with silver bullets for rogue attacks.

I didn't think. I lunged.

I snatched the gun from the guard’s belt before he could process the movement. The cold steel was heavy in my hand, grounding me. As Jackson stepped forward, his hand raised to backhand me, I leveled the barrel at his chest.

"Lina, don't—" Elias shouted from the doorway.

I pulled the trigger.

The recoil jarred my damaged wrist, sending a fresh spike of agony up my arm. The deafening *bang* was followed instantly by the sickening sizzle of silver hitting Alpha flesh.

Jackson roared, stumbling back. He clutched his left shoulder, blood dark and thick seeping between his fingers. The smell of burning meat filled the air—the toxic reaction of silver on werewolf blood.

The entire dining hall gasped. Elders stood up, chairs scraping. I had just committed the ultimate crime. I had shot an Alpha.

Jackson looked at the blood on his hand, then at me. Shock warred with fury in his eyes. His healing factor was already trying to push the silver out, but the poison would slow him down, weaken him.

"You..." he wheezed, his face pale. "You shot me."

I kept the gun raised, though my hand was shaking violently. "I saved your life once, Jackson. Consider the debt paid."

"Seize her!" he bellowed, spit flying from his mouth. "Get this traitor out of my sight!"

Three guards were on me instantly. They wrenched the gun from my hand and twisted my arms behind my back. I didn't fight them. I had made my point.

Jackson leaned heavily against the table, Mariah sobbing beside him over her broken hand. He glared at me, his eyes black with the wolf's influence.

"Lock her in her room," he snarled, his voice thick with pain. "Bar the windows. Put a guard on the door."

He limped toward me, stopping inches from my face. I could smell the ozone of his anger and the metallic tang of his blood.

"You have forty-eight hours, Lina," he hissed. "Forty-eight hours to stand before this pack and beg for forgiveness. If you don't... I will strip you of your name. I will exile you to the rogue lands, and I will let the hunters finish what they started ten years ago."

"I'd rather run with rogues than serve a false King," I spat.

He signaled the guards. They dragged me out of the hall, past the horrified faces of the people I was born to lead. As the heavy door of my room slammed shut and the lock clicked into place, I didn't feel fear.

I looked at my hands. They were trembling, but they were free of wine stains.

The war had finally begun.

The silence in my room was absolute, but the noise in my blood was deafening. I lay curled on the rug, my back pressed against the cold draft of the balcony door. The aftershocks of Jackson’s Alpha Tone still rattled through my bones, a phantom vibration that made my teeth ache. But it was the fever that scared me.

For ten years, my body had been a quiet, empty vessel. The silver poisoning in my wrist was a dull, constant ache, a reminder of the wolf I had sacrificed. But tonight, the ache wasn't dull. It was searing. It felt like someone had lit a match inside my veins, the heat traveling from the scarred tissue of my wrist up to my shoulder, curling around my heart.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gasping as a spasm of pain twisted my gut. I waited for the darkness to swallow me, for the exhaustion to win.

Instead, something snapped.

It wasn't a sound I heard with my ears. It was a ripple in the void where my wolf used to be. A pressure. A presence.

*Hunt.*

The word didn't come from my thoughts. It growled from the base of my spine, ancient and hungry. My eyes flew open, staring into the dark. My breath hitched. For a decade, I had been alone in my own skin. Tonight, for the first time, I wasn't.

*Hunt.*

Before I could process the terrifying, exhilarating return of that voice, static exploded in my head. It was a mental link—weak, crackling like a bad radio connection, but distinct.

*"Lina... Lina, answer me."*

Elias.

I pressed my forehead against the floorboards, focusing all my energy on that slender thread of connection. Usually, wolfless pack members couldn't mind-link at all. The fact that I could hear him meant the silver blockade was cracking.

*"I'm here,"* I projected back, the mental words feeling heavy and sluggish. *"I'm alive."*

*"Barely,"* Elias’s voice was tight with suppressed rage. *"I heard the shot. The whole pack is in chaos. Jackson is in the infirmary getting the silver dug out of his shoulder. He’s furious, Lina. He’s planning to move up the ceremony."*

*"Let him plan,"* I thought, my mind sharpening through the fever. *"Did you find the ghost?"*

*"I found him."* The static cleared for a moment, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. *"Dante talked. It wasn't just an ambush, Lina. Jackson paid them. He paid them to herd Timothy into the canyon. He watched from the ridge."*

A sob threatened to choke me, but the voice in my spine growled again, swallowing the grief and leaving only cold, diamond-hard fury. *Hunt.*

*"Proof,"* I demanded. *"Dante’s word won't stand against an Alpha."*

*"Dante didn't keep the money,"* Elias replied. *"He kept the leverage. He said Jackson didn't pay in cash; he paid in uncut diamonds stolen from the pack vault. Jackson kept the receipt of the transfer and the original hit order in a safe deposit box. But the key... Dante says Jackson never trusts banks with the key. He keeps it on him. Or near him."*

I looked toward the door. *"He keeps his trophies close,"* I realized. *"The Alpha's Study. My father's old desk. There's a false bottom in the center drawer. He thinks I don't know about it because I was 'just a girl' when he moved in."*

*"The guards are doubled outside your door,"* Elias warned.

*"Then give them a reason to leave."*

There was a pause, then a dark chuckle echoed in my mind. *"Give me two minutes. Get to the study. Find that key."*

The link severed. I dragged myself up, my legs trembling. I moved to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. I could hear the heavy breathing of the two enforcers stationed outside.

One minute passed. Then two.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek tore through the Pack House. The fire alarm. Not just the sound, but the sprinklers hissed to life in the hallway, followed by shouts of "Fire in the kitchen!" and the thundering of boots.

"Secure the prisoner!" one guard shouted.

"The smoke is coming from the vents! We need to evacuate the wing!" the other yelled back. "Go help the suppression team, I'll hold the position!"

I heard one set of footsteps run off. One guard remained.

I knelt by the door. I didn't have a key, but I had a bobby pin I’d pulled from my hair, and I had a skill set that didn't belong to a princess. Jackson had taught me how to pick a lock when he was just a rogue boy trying to impress me. *"Always leave a back door, Lina,"* he’d said, guiding my hands. *"You never know when you'll need to run."*

The irony tasted like ash in my mouth.

I slid the pin into the lock, feeling for the tumblers. My hands, usually shaky from the nerve damage, were steady now. The voice in my head was an anchor. *Click. Click.*

*Snap.*

The lock turned. I waited for the guard to shift his weight, the squeak of his boot masking the sound of the latch opening. I cracked the door. The hallway was filling with white smoke—flou from the kitchen, I guessed, not real fire. Elias was dramatic, but efficient.

The remaining guard was coughing, waving his hand in front of his face, his back to me.

I slipped out. Barefoot. Silent.

I moved like a shadow through the smoke, bypassing the main staircase and taking the servants' corridor toward the Alpha's wing. The house was in pandemonium. Maids were running with towels; warriors were shouting orders. No one looked at the 'wolfless cripple' pressing herself into the alcoves.

The door to the Alpha's Study—my father’s study—was ajar.

I slipped inside and closed it softly. The room smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and *him*. Jackson’s scent was everywhere, overlaying the comforting smell of my father. It made my stomach turn.

I didn't waste time. I went straight to the massive mahogany desk. I fell to my knees, ignoring the sharp pain in my caps, and pulled open the center drawer. It was filled with pack ledgers and Jackson’s expensive fountain pens.

I felt under the drawer, my fingers tracing the wood grain until I found the small imperfection. A tiny latch. I pressed it.

*Click.*

The false bottom popped up.

My heart hammered against my ribs. There, resting on a bed of velvet, was a single, silver key. It wasn't a modern bank key. It was old, ornate, and marked with a symbol I recognized—a private vault in the city that catered to the supernatural underground.

I snatched the key, my fingers curling around the cold metal.

"Got you," I whispered.

*Hunt,* the voice purred, satisfied.

Then, the doorknob turned.