Morning light filtered through the high windows of the pack house as I made my way to the dungeons. My father had spent the night in silver-lined cells—a thought that made my wolf pace restlessly inside me. Each step down the stone staircase felt heavier than the last.

Two guards blocked the entrance, their postures rigid with newfound authority. I recognized them as Vance's men—wolves who had risen quickly under his protection.

"Luna Celine," the taller one greeted me with a slight bow that didn't reach his eyes. "Gamma Vance left strict orders—no visitors without his approval."

"I don't need his approval," I replied, letting my Luna aura flare. "I need to see my father."

"Alpha Ryland's orders were clear—"

"Alpha Ryland is my mate," I cut in, my voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "And I am still your Luna. Now stand aside."

The guards exchanged glances, clearly torn between following Vance's instructions and obeying the Luna command that still flowed through my veins. Finally, they stepped aside, though their expressions made it clear this temporary submission was noted.

The dungeon air hit me like a physical blow—damp, cold, and heavy with the acrid smell of silver burning flesh. My father sat on a simple wooden bench, his back straight despite the pain I could see etched across his face.

"Father," I whispered, rushing to his side.

"Celine." His voice was steady, though I could see the silver burns already blooming across his wrists where the cuffs had been. "You shouldn't be here."

"I had to see you." I knelt before him, gently examining the angry red welts. "This is inhumane."

"It's protocol," he said simply, though his eyes flashed with brief anger. "But something isn't right about this accusation."

"I know." I squeezed his hand carefully. "I'll find out what happened."

"Don't fight Ryland," he warned, his voice dropping lower. "He's still your Alpha."

"He's not using his authority to help you," I countered, bitterness creeping into my tone.

My father studied my face, his eyes softening. "Then you must find the truth yourself, daughter. You are my only hope."

The weight of his words settled over me like a mantle. In that moment, I realized how alone we both were—how much depended on me.

---

"The security logs are currently being processed," Vance informed me, not bothering to look up from his desk. "There's an administrative backlog."

I leaned against his office doorframe, arms crossed. "How convenient. And the evidence room?"

"Restricted access until the investigation is complete." He finally met my gaze, a smile playing at his lips. "Pack protocol, Luna."

"This is absurd," I snapped. "I need to see the evidence against my father."

"Take it up with Alpha Ryland," Vance suggested, his tone making it clear he knew exactly where Ryland would be.

I closed my eyes, reaching for the mind-link that connected me to my mate.

*Ryland, I need access to the security footage and evidence room. Vance is stalling.*

I waited for his response, but instead of his voice in my head, I encountered a wall—a deliberate blockage.

*Do not disturb* was all that came through before the connection went silent.

My eyes flew open, rage and hurt surging through me. He had blocked me out—something that should be impossible between mates unless deliberately forced.

"Still waiting for Alpha Ryland's response?" Vance asked, his amusement barely concealed.

"He's busy," I replied coldly, turning to leave.

---

The pack house was silent at 2 AM as I slipped through the shadows toward the archives. My father had trained me well—I knew every corridor, every hiding place in this building.

The evidence room was locked, but I had prepared for that. The small silver key I'd taken from the Beta's office earlier would do the trick.

Inside, the room smelled of dust and old paper. I moved quickly to the evidence bag containing my father's cloak.

Under the fluorescent lights, I examined it closely. The fabric was familiar—my father's favorite traveling cloak. But something was off.

I buried my face in the material, inhaling deeply. Beneath the heavy layer of Rogue pheromones—clearly planted—was another scent. Faint but distinct.

My eyes widened as I recognized it: a specific mix of lavender and synthetic musk. A cheap perfume sold only at the pack's general store.

No Rogue would wear such a thing.

I closed my eyes, letting my superior tracking abilities isolate the scent further. There—beneath the perfume was something else. Something familiar.

A scent I knew belonged to someone in this pack.

Someone who wanted my father gone.

And suddenly, I knew exactly where to look next.

I tucked the evidence bag under my arm as I made my way to the small general store at the edge of pack territory. The morning sun cast long shadows across the wooden porch, where an elderly Omega was sweeping dust into neat piles.

"Silas," I called out, my voice carrying the authority of Luna despite my exhaustion.

The shopkeeper—not to be confused with the pack healer of the same name—jumped at the sound of his name. He was a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down his nose.

"L-Luna Celine," he stammered, immediately dropping his broom and bowing his head. "What brings you to my humble shop?"

I stepped inside, noting how the bell above the door jingled with my entrance. The store smelled of dried herbs and cheap perfume—including the particular lavender-musk scent I'd detected on my father's cloak.

"I need information," I said, placing the evidence bag on the counter between us. "About a purchase made recently."

Silas's eyes darted nervously to the bag, then back to my face. "I... I don't understand, Luna."

"This scent," I said, opening the bag slightly and letting him catch a whiff. "Who bought it?"

His face paled. "I-I can't disclose customer information."

I leaned forward, letting my Luna aura flare. The air around us thickened with power, making Silas's breath catch.

"My father sits in silver-lined cells while you protect someone who planted evidence," I said quietly. "Is that how you show loyalty to your pack?"

Silas swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "It was a masked figure," he finally whispered. "But..."

"But?" I prompted.

"But I noticed something," he continued, voice barely audible. "A limp. The customer walked with a distinct limp—dragged their right foot slightly."

My eyes narrowed. "Like Gamma Vance?"

Silas nodded almost imperceptibly. "I didn't want to say anything. He's been... generous with shop protection since becoming Gamma."

---

The dining hall buzzed with activity as I approached Ryland's table. He sat alone, scrolling through his phone while picking at his lunch. Perfect timing—I needed to present my findings before Vance could interfere further.

"Ryland," I said, sliding into the seat across from him. "I have evidence that—"

"Not now, Celine," he cut me off, not even looking up. "I'm reviewing the security reports."

"This will only take a minute," I insisted, placing my folder on the table. "The perfume on my father's cloak was traced to—"

A commotion erupted across the room. Every head turned toward the sound—including Ryland's.

Everly Morgan stumbled through the doorway, clutching her chest. Her face was pale, lips trembling as she took faltering steps into the dining hall.

"Help," she gasped, her voice carrying dramatically through the space. "I can't... breathe..."

Ryland was on his feet instantly, rushing to her side as she collapsed into his arms with perfect timing.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, cradling her against his chest.

"My heart," she whispered, her eyes finding mine across the room. For just a moment, I caught a flash of triumph in them before they rolled back dramatically. "It's racing... I need help..."

Ryland lifted her effortlessly, turning to glare at me as I approached. "We need to get her to the hospital wing."

"Ryland, wait," I said, reaching for my folder. "This evidence—"

"Stop bothering me with trifles while a life is at risk!" he snapped, his Alpha tone vibrating through the air. Several nearby wolves flinched at the force of it.

He strode away, carrying Everly while she nestled her face against his neck. My folder of evidence lay forgotten on the table, pages scattering as other wolves moved around it.

---

I found Silas Gray in the hospital wing's storage room, counting medical supplies. The pack healer jumped when I closed the door behind me.

"Luna Celine," he stammered, nearly dropping his clipboard. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Clearly," I replied, leaning against a shelf of bandages. "I have questions about Everly Morgan's condition."

Silas paled. "I... I'm not at liberty to discuss patients."

"I'm not asking about her health," I said, stepping closer. "I'm asking about her illness."

He blinked nervously. "I don't understand."

"Her 'wolf sickness,'" I clarified. "The condition that requires our Alpha's constant attention. The one that conveniently flares up whenever I need to speak with him."

Silas's eyes darted to the door, then back to me. "Luna, please... I could lose my position."

"Or," I suggested, picking up a bottle of pain medication, "I could audit the medical supply inventory. I've heard there's been some... discrepancy."

His face drained of color. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," I challenged. "Now tell me about Everly's condition."

Silas swallowed hard. "She's healthy," he finally admitted. "Completely healthy."

"But she takes something," I pressed. "Something to make her heart race?"

He nodded reluctantly. "Herbs. Innocent ones separately, but combined they induce temporary irregular heartbeats. She takes them before... before she knows Alpha Ryland will be near."

I closed my eyes, the final piece falling into place. Everly wasn't just manipulating Ryland—she was systematically destroying my position as Luna.

And my mate was letting her do it.

The moon hung low in the sky as I slipped through the shadows of the forest, my senses alert to every sound and scent. The pack border stretched before me—a boundary I'd crossed countless times as Luna, but never alone at night with such purpose.

I needed proof. Concrete evidence that would clear my father's name and expose whoever had planted that cloak.

The rain had cleared, leaving the forest floor damp and fragrant with pine and earth. Perfect conditions for tracking.

"Focus," I whispered to myself, closing my eyes and letting my wolf's enhanced senses take over. The world around me sharpened—every rustling leaf, every subtle scent became clear.

There—a faint trace of the lavender-musk perfume. I followed it like a ghost through the trees, my footsteps silent as I'd been taught since childhood.

The trail led me deeper into the border territory, where the trees grew thicker and the shadows darker. My wolf stirred restlessly inside me, sensing danger.

*We're not alone,* she warned.

I froze, scenting the air. Two distinct wolf scents—unfamiliar but carrying Silver Fang markings.

"Border patrol," I murmured, ducking behind a large oak.

Two Deltas emerged from the darkness, their postures aggressive as they sniffed the air. I recognized them immediately—Vance's men.

"Well, look what we have here," the taller one sneered, his eyes glowing with malice in the darkness. "The Luna, all alone at the border."

"Step aside," I commanded, letting my Luna aura flare. "I'm conducting official pack business."

The shorter Delta laughed. "Says who? We have orders to detain anyone suspicious near the border."

"Especially someone who might be looking for evidence to save a traitor," the other added, circling me slowly.

My heart raced, but I kept my expression calm. "You're trespassing on Luna territory."

"We're just doing our job," the first Delta growled, lunging forward suddenly.

I sidestepped quickly, using the combat techniques my father had taught me since childhood. His hand missed my shoulder by inches.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," I warned, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

The second Delta charged from behind. I spun, using his momentum to throw him against a tree trunk. He hit with a sickening thud.

"You'll regret that," the first one snarled, shifting partially—his claws extending from human hands.

I met his attack with a flurry of precise strikes—my father's signature defensive pattern. Within seconds, both Deltas lay groaning on the forest floor.

"Tell Vance," I said, standing over them, "that I'm not so easily intimidated."

---

The hollow tree stood just off the main patrol route—a perfect hiding spot. I'd tracked the scent here after disposing of the two Deltas.

My hands trembled slightly as I reached inside the hollow trunk. Something cold and glass touched my fingers.

I pulled out a small vial filled with dark liquid—Rogue pheromones, concentrated and potent.

"Just like I thought," I whispered, examining the label. The handwriting was distinctive—sharp, angular strokes that matched Vance's signature on pack documents.

But there was more. Behind the vial lay a small leather-bound notebook. Inside were detailed plans—dates, locations, even notes on my father's patrol schedule.

"This wasn't random," I realized, flipping through the pages. "This was calculated."

One page caught my eye—a list of names. The "old guard"—wolves loyal to my father and the traditional ways. Next to each name was a strategy for removal.

And at the bottom: "E.M. - perfect distraction. Keep Alpha occupied."

E.M. Everly Morgan.

My fingers tightened around the notebook. This wasn't just about removing my father—it was about consolidating power. Vance and Everly were working together.

---

"Father?" I whispered, kneeling beside the cot in the dungeon infirmary. Seven days had passed since his imprisonment, and the silver burns had spread across his chest and arms.

His eyes fluttered open, cloudy with fever. "Celine..."

"The healer says the silver toxicity is affecting your organs," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "We need to get you out now."

"Ryland..." he murmured. "He'll do the right thing."

I closed my eyes, gathering my strength. There was only one option left.

I reached for the emergency mind-link—the Code Red channel reserved for war declarations or pack invasions.

*Ryland!* I called out, pouring desperation into the connection. *Code Red! Medical emergency with Elder Hunter!*

For a moment, there was silence. Then his voice came through—distant and annoyed.

*I'm in the middle of a healing session with Everly,* he replied. *What's the emergency?*

*My father is dying,* I transmitted, my mental voice shaking with emotion. *The silver is killing him. You need to release him now.*

*I can't just—*

*He's dying, Ryland!* I screamed through the link. *Your mentor is dying because of silver burns, and you're with HER?*

There was a pause, then a sigh. *I'll look into it tomorrow.*

*Tomorrow might be too late,* I warned, tears streaming down my face as I looked at my father's deteriorating condition.

*It will have to wait,* Ryland replied coldly. *Everly needs me right now. She's having another episode.*

The connection went silent, leaving me alone with my dying father and the bitter realization that my mate had chosen—again.