Lucien's head snapped toward Edric, eyes sharp enough to cut through the haze. His hand recoiled on instinct. His eyes narrowed. "Something's off about him." Edric winced, rubbing his tail. "D*mn it, I hit him and it feels like I broke my own bones." Silas' eyes flicked to that tail, and a thought clicked into place. He abruptly recalled what had happened earlier in the front hall—how Marcus had taunted Drake nonstop, yet Drake hadn't lost his temper. For someone like Drake, that was unheard of. "I've been thinking about that all day," Silas muttered. "Marcus ran his mouth at Drake, and knowing that hothead, he should've decked him. So why didn't he?" Later, a vine shot from his palm, flying through the air and cracking against Marcus' shoulder. The sound rang out, sharp and clean. "Just as I thought," he remarked grimly. "The more we strike him, the more backlash we face." Lucien's brows drew together; his tone level but edged with command. "Only pain?" He studied Marcus for a beat, then spoke quietly, "Cut him—just a small one. Let's see what happens." He took Emma back from Silas, holding her gently against his chest. Frost covered every wall, sparkling like broken glass in the moonlight. Marcus' energy still pulsed through the air—unstable, unpredictable, and dangerous. Lucien could sense the pressure pushing against his own strength. If he withdrew, the cold would burst forth again, ripping through the entire manor. He had no option but to stay firm, holding the barrier and Emma tightly in his arms. Silas exhaled slowly, steadying his nerves as a vine uncoiled from his palm. It twisted and hardened between his fingers, forming a slender wooden blade that gleamed faintly in the cold light. He moved closer with a grim expression and swiftly slashed Marcus' arm, drawing just enough blood. Pain hit instantly. He hissed through his teeth as three identical cuts bloomed across his own skin in perfect symmetry. Lucien's eyes darkened as he observed carefully. The pattern was clear. Silas didn't hesitate—his ability flared, green light coiling around him. The cuts vanished in seconds. Then something even stranger happened. The wounds on Marcus disappeared too, sealed clean as if they'd never existed. Edric's jaw dropped. He stared at Marcus, completely floored. "So, let me get this straight. He throws our pain back at us and then heals himself when we heal? What kind of twisted ability is that?" Silas and Lucien exchanged a look and said nothing. Jealousy itched under their skin. Give that kind of ability to a soldier on the front lines, and they'd be untouchable. But on him? It's like handing a loaded weapon to a male who likes to play chicken with death. Silas pinched the bridge of his nose and suggested, "When Emma awakes, we should talk to her—maybe pack him up with his gift and ship him back to Frostveil with a nice thank-you note." Edric nodded hard. "Hell yeah. Even if it costs us, fine. He's way too dangerous to have around her." Lucien sighed quietly, eyes still on Marcus. "If only it were that simple. You can invite a therian in easily enough, but getting one out? Frostveil barely managed to cut him loose. They're not going to take him back." Silas dragged a hand down his face, groaning. Perfect. Not even one full day, and he's already a walking disaster. Once Marcus' ability finally leveled out, Lucien carried Emma out of the ice-coated room. Upstairs, he used his energy to clear the lingering chill from her quarters until the warmth felt right again. He carefully laid her on the bed and brushed away some loose strands of hair from her face before handing her over to Silas' care. Lucien didn't waste another second; he grabbed Edric and headed downstairs to deal with the aftermath. The manor was still an ice palace. Every surface glistened under a thick layer of frost. They couldn't dispel Lucien's barrier until all the cold was cleared, or it'd spread again—and Emma would be the first to pay for it. So they worked—Lucien, Edric, and the guards—chipping away at the ice, melting what they could. Hours passed before the manor finally began to thaw.When they finished, night had bled deep into the horizon. Lucien stopped near the artificial lake out back—the only part still locked in solid ice. His strength had nearly burned out. He turned to Edric. "Get some rest. This patch won't cause any more trouble tonight." Edric didn't argue. He was so tired he couldn't even retract his tail. He stumbled toward his room and collapsed face-first onto the bed, out cold before his head hit the pillow. Lucien watched him go, exhaustion written across his own face. With Silas upstairs keeping watch, he finally allowed himself to retreat to his room. The night dragged on quietly. Just before dawn, Marcus stirred. His eyelashes fluttered as his breath formed a pale mist. He struggled to push himself up and finally climbed out of the shattered crystal coffin. The air around him steamed as his warm skin met the cold. He removed his ice-caked clothes, glanced at his lightcore for the time, and trudged toward the door. Every step left a faint trail of frost behind him. Upstairs, Emma slept soundly in Silas' arms. Half-asleep, she shifted slightly as an unfamiliar chill crept along her side, seeping through the blanket. Frowning, she tried to pull the covers closer, but her fingers touched something cold and hard instead. Marcus' voice echoed softly. There's a reason Frostveil threw me out. Emma's eyes flew open. He was right there—sitting on the edge of the bed, frost clinging to his hair, his breath fogging in the dim light. His pale eyes glowed faintly blue as he looked at her. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Marcus smiled faintly, his voice low and hoarse but filled with something that almost sounded like joy. "Ms. Tibarn, you're awake." He leaned closer, that smile widening just a little. "Can we bond now?"His whole face said it all. "Let's bond now and get this over with." "Marcus?" Silas woke up behind Emma, still drowsy. He blinked once, then twice, attempting to understand what he was seeing.