Three days. Three days since Julian's threat had turned my world upside down, and I hadn't heard a word about my family. The silence was more terrifying than any scream.

I stood outside the pack house at dawn, my healer's bag clutched in trembling hands, watching the guards change shifts near the entrance to the underground levels. The dungeons. My stomach churned at the thought of my parents and sister trapped in those cold, dark cells—if Julian had even told me the truth about where they were.

"Fabricated charges," he'd called them when he'd had them arrested yesterday morning. "Conspiracy with rogues, based on anonymous tips." The words had sounded rehearsed, clinical. "For their own protection, of course, until we can clear their names."

Protective custody. The lie tasted bitter in my mouth.

I waited until the corridor was empty before slipping through the service entrance I'd used countless times to treat injured prisoners. My heart hammered against my ribs as I descended the stone steps, each footfall echoing in the narrow stairwell. The familiar scent of damp earth and old stone was now tainted with something metallic that made my wolf recoil.

Silver.

The first cell I passed was empty, but the acrid smell of silver grew stronger as I moved deeper into the dungeons. My hands shook as I rounded the corner and saw them—three figures huddled in a cell lined with silver-laced bars that glowed faintly in the dim light.

"Mom?" The word escaped as barely a whisper.

My mother's head lifted slowly, and I nearly cried out at the sight of her. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin had taken on a grayish pallor that spoke of silver poisoning. She tried to smile when she saw me, but the effort seemed to drain what little strength she had left.

"Selene, sweetheart." Her voice was a rasp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." I dropped to my knees outside the cell, my healer's instincts cataloging the symptoms with growing horror. Silver exposure. Dehydration. The beginning stages of organ stress. "How long has it been since you've had water? Food?"

"Julian said—" my father began, but a violent coughing fit cut him off. When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, I saw specks of blood.

"Dad, no." I reached through the bars, careful not to touch the silver, and grasped his fingers. They were ice cold. "I'm going to get you out of here. All of you."

"You can't." My sister's voice came from the shadows at the back of the cell. She looked smaller somehow, fragile in a way that made my chest ache. "He said if you try anything, if you don't cooperate..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. I could see the fear in her eyes, the way she flinched when footsteps echoed from the upper levels.

"The Pack Council meeting is today," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll testify, I'll say what he wants me to say, and then—"

"And then nothing changes." My mother's hand found mine through the bars. "Selene, listen to me. Whatever Julian is hiding, whatever he's protecting—it's bigger than just covering up evidence. Men don't threaten families over simple pack politics."

A sound from the stairwell made us all freeze. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Getting closer.

I pressed a small vial of water through the bars. "Drink this slowly. I'll be back."

"Selene—" my father started, but I was already moving, my heart racing as I slipped into the shadows of an adjacent corridor. The footsteps passed by, heading toward the upper levels, and I waited until the sound faded before emerging.

When I reached the main floor, my legs felt like water. I leaned against the wall, trying to process what I'd seen. Silver poisoning. Deliberate neglect. My family was dying by degrees, and Julian was using their suffering as a leash around my neck.

I was supposed to report to him before the Pack Council meeting. Supposed to confirm that I would testify as instructed. But first, I needed to check on the pack members I'd been treating—a routine that had become my only anchor in this nightmare.

I climbed the stairs to the healing wing, my healer's bag feeling heavier with each step. The familiar scents of herbs and antiseptic should have been comforting, but today they seemed muted, overwhelmed by something else.

Something floral and cloying.

I paused outside Julian's private chambers, which connected to the healing wing through a door I'd used countless times when he'd needed treatment. The scent was stronger here. Jasmine and vanilla, but underneath it...

My world tilted.

Underneath Lillian's scent was another fragrance. Masculine. Familiar. Julian's scent, but changed somehow. Deeper. Marked.

The mate bond scent.

My hand flew to my chest, searching for the connection I'd always felt with Julian, that warm thread that had convinced me we were destined for each other. But as I stood there, breathing in the intertwined scents of two people who had clearly been intimate, recently and repeatedly, I realized the truth that had been staring me in the face.

The bond I felt with Julian—it was artificial. Forced. A pale imitation of what a true mate bond should be.

Because he was already marked. Had always been marked.

To Lillian.

The monthly pack run was supposed to be a celebration—a time when our entire pack came together under the full moon to honor our wolf spirits and strengthen our bonds. Instead, I watched in growing horror as it became the stage for my family's public destruction.

I stood at the edge of the clearing, my healer's bag clutched uselessly in my hands, as pack members began their ritual transformation. The silver moonlight painted everything in stark relief, making the scene feel surreal, like watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion.

My sister Emma stood with the other young adults, her face pale but determined. She'd been so excited about this run—her first since turning eighteen. The pride in her eyes when she'd shown me her new running outfit yesterday felt like a lifetime ago.

"Beautiful night for a run," Lillian's voice drifted from behind me, sweet as poisoned honey. "I do hope everyone manages their shifts properly. It would be such a shame if someone... struggled."

I turned to face her, my wolf bristling at the malicious satisfaction in her pale blue eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing specific." Lillian's smile was razor-sharp. "Just hoping for a smooth evening. For everyone's sake."

The transformation began, dozens of wolves emerging as pack members shed their human forms. I watched Emma close her eyes, her face scrunched in concentration as she began her shift. Everything seemed normal at first—the familiar shimmer of magic, the graceful flow of change that every werewolf mastered by adulthood.

Then something went wrong.

Emma's transformation stuttered, freezing halfway between human and wolf. Her body contorted at an unnatural angle, caught in the agonizing limbo of an incomplete shift. Her scream—half-human, half-animal—cut through the night air like a blade.

The entire pack turned to stare. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire. "Incomplete shift." "How embarrassing." "At her age?" "Must be genetic weakness."

I lunged forward, but Julian's hand clamped down on my arm with bruising force. "Don't," he commanded, his Alpha tone freezing me in place. "She needs to work through this herself."

"She's in pain!" I struggled against his grip, watching my sister writhe on the ground as her body fought between forms. "Let me help her!"

"Some lessons can't be learned with help," Lillian said softly, her voice carrying just far enough for nearby pack members to hear. "Perhaps the family line isn't as strong as we thought."

The cruelty in her words hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't an accident. Somehow, she'd caused this. The way she stood there, calm and satisfied while my sister suffered, told me everything I needed to know.

Emma finally managed to complete her shift, collapsing into her wolf form with exhausted whimpers. But the damage was done. The humiliation, the public display of weakness—it would follow her for years. In werewolf society, an incomplete shift at eighteen was seen as a mark of inferior breeding, of fundamental weakness.

As the pack dispersed for their run, I caught fragments of mind-link conversations that made my blood run cold. Lillian's mental voice, crystal clear and deliberately loud enough for me to intercept: "Did you record that? Perfect. Make sure the angle shows her face clearly. We'll need it for later."

She'd orchestrated this. Planned it. And now she had evidence of my sister's humiliation to use against me.

Two days later, I stood before the Pack Council in the great hall, my hands trembling as I prepared to destroy everything I'd ever stood for. The council members sat in their ceremonial robes, their faces grave as they waited for my testimony about the rogue attacks.

Alpha Marcus Reeves leaned forward, his weathered face kind but expectant. "Healer Foster, you investigated the eastern border incident. What did your examination reveal?"

I opened my mouth, the truth burning on my tongue like acid. I wanted to tell them about the fabric, about Lillian's scent, about the coordination that suggested inside knowledge. I wanted justice for the injured pack members, for the fear that now plagued our borders.

Instead, Julian's threat echoed in my mind. The image of Emma's humiliation. The sound of my mother's labored breathing in that silver-poisoned cell.

"I found no evidence linking any pack member to the attacks," I heard myself say, the words falling like stones into still water. "The rogue wolves appear to have acted independently, without inside assistance."

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. I watched the council members nod, accepting my testimony without question. My reputation for honesty, built over eight years of faithful service, was the very weapon being used to pervert justice.

Lillian sat in the gallery, her face a mask of innocent concern. But I caught the satisfied gleam in her eyes, the tiny smile that played at the corners of her mouth. She'd won, and we both knew it.

After the session, I rushed to the dungeons, my heart hammering with desperate hope. Maybe now that I'd done what Julian wanted, maybe now he'd release my family.

But when I reached their cell, only my father and sister remained.

"Where's Mom?" The question came out as a whisper.

My father's face crumpled. "This morning. The silver... her heart couldn't take it anymore."

The world tilted sideways. I gripped the stone wall to keep from falling, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. "No. No, that's not—she was fine yesterday. Weak, but fine."

"She asked me to tell you something," Emma said, her voice hollow with grief. "She said not to let our suffering be in vain. She said to find the courage to seek justice, no matter the cost."

I stared at my sister through the silver bars, seeing the echo of our mother's determination in her young face. My mother was dead. Dead because I'd been too weak to stand up to Julian's threats, too afraid to risk everything for the truth.

But she'd died believing I still had the strength to make things right.

The question was: did I?