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.

The morning light streamed through the windows of the Alpha's office as I pushed open the heavy oak door. Vance sat behind the massive desk, his fingers tapping impatiently against the polished surface. Beta Marcus and two other high-ranking pack members were seated nearby, reviewing documents. The perfect audience for what I was about to do.

"Luna Celine," Vance acknowledged with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "What an unexpected pleasure."

I didn't bother with pleasantries. Instead, I strode forward and slammed the evidence onto his desk—the vial of Rogue pheromones, Silas's signed testimony, and the notebook with Vance's distinctive handwriting.

"Explain this," I demanded, my voice carrying the full weight of my Luna authority.

Vance's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing into slits. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Evidence," I replied coldly. "The perfume from the general store that matches the scent on my father's cloak. The vial of concentrated Rogue pheromones hidden in the hollow tree near our border. And your notebook detailing how you planned to frame my father."

Beta Marcus rose slowly from his chair, picking up the notebook. His eyes scanned the pages, his expression growing darker with each line he read.

"This is treason," he stated flatly.

Vance shot to his feet. "This is absurd! She's fabricating evidence because her traitorous father was caught conspiring with Rogues!"

"The shopkeeper identified your limp," I countered. "And Silas confirmed you purchased the perfume."

Vance's face contorted with rage. He lunged across the desk, claws extending toward my throat. "You'll regret this, you worthless—"

Before he could reach me, Beta Marcus intercepted, pinning Vance against the wall with a strength that surprised everyone in the room.

"Touch her again," Marcus growled, "and it won't be silver cells you'll be visiting."

---

"Father, hold on," I whispered as Beta Marcus and I rushed through the dungeon corridors. The silver burns had spread across my father's chest and arms, angry red welts that blistered his once-proud skin.

The guards stepped aside without question when they saw the Beta's grim expression. We found my father unconscious on the cot, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Get the healer," Marcus ordered one of the guards. "Now!"

I gently lifted my father's head, trying to avoid the worst of the burns. "Can you hear me? We're getting you out."

His eyelids fluttered but didn't open. The silver toxicity had progressed faster than I'd feared.

As we carried him toward the infirmary, a familiar scent reached me—pine and rainwater mixed with something floral and cloying. Everly's perfume.

Ryland appeared at the entrance, his hair disheveled and his clothes wrinkled. The scent of Everly clung to him like a second skin.

"What's happening?" he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of my father's broken body.

"He's dying," I replied, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "The silver is killing him."

Ryland's gaze dropped to the burns covering my father's chest. "I didn't think it was this bad."

---

The infirmary was quiet except for the steady beep of monitors and my father's shallow breathing. I sat beside his bed, holding his hand while the healer worked silently in the background.

Ryland paced at the foot of the bed, running his hands through his hair. "Celine, you have to understand—"

"Understand what?" I interrupted, my voice dangerously soft. "That you let my father rot in silver cells while you played nursemaid to Everly?"

"That's not fair," he protested. "Everly needed me. She's fragile."

"And I'm not?" I stood, turning to face him fully. "My father is dying because you couldn't be bothered to review evidence that would have freed him days ago."

"I had other priorities," Ryland insisted. "Everly's condition—"

"Is fake," I cut in. "I have proof of that too."

His eyes widened slightly before narrowing. "You're being ridiculous. Everly is genuinely ill."

"She takes herbs to induce panic attacks," I said flatly. "The healer confirmed it."

Ryland's jaw tightened. "She needs special care. You're strong, Celine. You can handle things on your own."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Three years of neglect, of being taken for granted, of watching him fawn over another woman while I maintained his pack—all of it crystallized in that moment.

"I had the authority to release him to house arrest days ago," Ryland admitted, his voice dropping. "But Everly had a panic attack when I mentioned it, and I... I forgot."

Something snapped inside me then—a final thread of loyalty and love severing clean. My wolf surged forward, her rage and pain flooding through me until my vision blurred gold around the edges.

"You forgot my father was dying?" My voice was barely recognizable, deeper and more powerful than before.

Ryland took a step back, his eyes widening as he stared into mine—now glowing with a feral light that promised retribution.

"Celine," he whispered, "your eyes..."