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.

The key felt like ice in my palm, burning against my feverish skin. I didn't waste a second. I knew exactly where the wall safe was hidden—behind the heavy portrait of the first Silvercrest Alpha, my great-grandfather, whose painted eyes seemed to watch me with grim approval.

I moved the frame aside, my muscles screaming in protest, and jammed the silver key into the hidden lock. The mechanism turned with a smooth, silent *click* that sounded louder than a gunshot in the quiet study.

The heavy steel door swung open.

Inside, stacks of cash were rubber-banded in careless piles, sitting next to leather-bound ledgers that I knew would contain the damning proof of his embezzlement. I grabbed the books, my hands trembling, but then I froze.

Tucked in the back, almost forgotten in the shadows of the safe, was a small velvet pouch. It was dusty, the midnight blue fabric worn thin.

My breath hitched. I reached for it, my fingers brushing the soft material. It felt heavy. Too heavy for jewelry, too light for gold bars.

I loosened the drawstring and tipped the contents into my hand.

The air left my lungs in a rush.

It was a ring. Heavy gold, set with a massive onyx stone carved with the crest of our pack—a howling wolf against a shield. The band was thick, scratched from years of wear.

Timothy’s Alpha Signet Ring.

The world tilted on its axis. Jackson had told us the ring was lost in the ambush. He had told my grieving father that the rogues had severed Timothy’s finger and taken it as a trophy, that he had barely escaped with his own life. We had buried an empty casket because there was nothing left of my brother to find.

But here it was.

He didn't just let Timothy die. He didn't just watch from the ridge. He had walked down to my dying brother’s body and stripped him of his birthright before the blood was even dry.

*Kill,* the voice in my head snarled. It wasn't a whisper anymore. It was a roar that vibrated in my marrow. *Kill the usurper.*

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and angry. I squeezed the ring until the gold bit into my palm, grounding me. I shoved the ledgers down the front of my oversized shirt and pocketed the ring.

"Clear the floor!" a guard shouted from the hallway. "The smoke is clearing!"

I slammed the safe shut, replaced the painting, and ran.

The run back to my room was a blur of adrenaline and terror. I moved through the servants' passages, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. I slipped back into my room just as the heavy boots of the guards stopped outside my door. I threw myself onto the rug, shoving the ledgers and the ring under the loose floorboard beneath the dresser—right next to Timothy’s toy soldier.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird when the lock clicked.

The door swung open.

I didn't look up. I stayed curled on the floor, feigning the exhaustion that was only half-fake.

"Get up," a voice growled.

I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position. Jackson stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the harsh hallway light. His left arm was in a sling, bulked up with fresh bandages where I had put a silver bullet through his shoulder. The smell of burnt flesh and potent healing herbs clung to him, barely masking the scent of his fury.

He kicked the door shut with his heel.

"You're lucky I didn't let the guards drag you to the cells," he said, his voice tight with pain. He walked over to the window, looking out at the territory he had stolen. "But I suppose it wouldn't look good for the Alpha to cage his childhood savior on the eve of his wedding."

"Is that what this is?" I asked, my voice raspy. "Mercy?"

He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Strategic necessity. The pack is restless, Lina. Shooting an Alpha... it’s shaken them. They need to see unity tomorrow."

He turned to face me, his eyes hard. "That is why the Mate Ceremony will be... expanded."

A cold dread settled in my stomach. "What have you done?"

"I've arranged a merger," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Silvercrest has been weakened by... internal strife. To ensure our survival, I have agreed to merge our pack with the Ironwood Pack."

I stared at him, horror dawning. Ironwood was a bottom-tier pack, known for their brutality and lack of lineage. But they had numbers. "You can't. The Hudson bloodline—"

"—is finished," Jackson cut in, his voice dropping to a hiss. "By tomorrow night, the Silvercrest name will be gone. We will be the Iron-Silver Pack. A new legacy. *My* legacy."

He was erasing us. He wasn't just taking the throne; he was burning the history books so no one would remember who built it.

"You're insane," I whispered. "The elders will never agree."

"The elders will do what they are told," he sneered, stepping closer. He loomed over me, his good hand gripping my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the black bleeding into the whites—his wolf was close to the surface, drunk on power.

"And as for you," he murmured, his thumb digging into my jaw. "I realized I can't have you here. You're a distraction. A reminder of a weak past."

He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "Alpha Kade of the Obsidian Pack has always had a taste for... broken things. He's agreed to take you off my hands. Once I mark Mariah and seal the merger, you will be handed over to him. A gift. A bed slave for his warriors."

He pulled back, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Pack your bags, Lina. You're leaving Silvercrest in a cage."

He turned and walked out, the door locking behind him with a finality that should have crushed me.

I sat in the silence, the moonlight stretching across the floorboards.

He thought he had broken me. He thought the fear of slavery, of erasure, would make me cower. He didn't know about the ring in the floorboards. He didn't know about the ledgers. And he certainly didn't know about the voice in my head that was currently sharpening its claws.

He gave me a deadline. Twenty-four hours until the ceremony.

I touched the scar on my wrist, feeling the pulse beneath it. It wasn't weak anymore. It was a drumbeat of war.

"Let him plan his wedding," I whispered to the empty room.

*Yes,* the white wolf purred, her presence filling my mind like smoke. *Let him gather the sheep. It makes them easier to slaughter.*