Third Person's POV The storm over the Ashbourne coast howled like a feral beast, clawing at the sky with invisible talons. Abel Thorne believed sending more hands into the rescue would bring safety, so he did not stop the others from boarding the second helicopter. Aurora gripped the controls of her aircraft, the sleek blades of the Bluemoon Airborne Wing's chopper slicing through the wind. Behind her sat Caelum along with trained rescuers. Their destination-the stranded island where a storm had trapped several men. On the ground, Jocelyn stood beside Silas, Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition. Her eyes, cold with calculation, shifted toward him. "Silas, let's go down," Jocelyn urged softly. "Aurora will bring them back soon enough." Once the victims were returned, she was certain Silas would see Freya Thorne for what she truly was-nothing but smoke and mirrors, a woman surviving on borrowed glory. Yet Silas did not move. He remained rooted where he stood, posture unyielding, gaze fixed on the dark sky where Freya's aircraft had vanished into the storm. His expression was distant, almost reverent, as though his eyes followed her across the miles. What power did Freya hold over him, that he could look at no one else? "Silas!" Jocelyn snapped, stepping closer. Her hand closed around his right wrist to pull him back from that invisible tether. And then she froze. That hand-elegant, strong, once her recurring nightmare. Years ago, those fingers had nearly gouged out her eye in a single violent moment. His touch had been as sharp as knives, a memory so vicious she had sought out healers and mind-weavers for years to banish her terror. But now… those same fingers trembled beneath her grasp. Her breath caught. "Silas, what's wrong? Your hand-it's shaking." He drew his hand back slowly, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. His eyes lowered, staring at his own quivering palm. "Yes," he murmured, voice raw and quiet. "It trembles." Because fear was blooming inside him. Fear that Freya would not return. Fear that he had not been able to follow her into the storm. The sensation coiled like a serpent in his chest, spreading through his veins.And then, as though confessing to the night itself, Silas whispered, "So it's true. I love her-so deeply that fear makes my hands shake." Abel Thorne's brows lifted in shock. He had suspected Silas's feelings for Freya, but hearing the Ironclad Alpha admit them aloud was something else entirely. His gaze flicked to Jocelyn-and there it was, the twist of her mouth, the rage trembling in her jaw. The young woman's envy burned in her eyes like wildfire. Abel sighed inwardly and pulled her aside. "Jocelyn, some things cannot be forced. The harder you clutch, the more they slip away. What isn't yours will never yield, no matter the sacrifice." But Jocelyn's silence spoke volumes. Her jealousy deepened, thick and poisonous. She had given an eye-bled for the price of his hand once upon a time-yet she could not hold Silas's heart. And Freya? Freya bled nothing, yet she commanded him. Jocelyn's teeth ground together. She would never allow it. Never. The two helicopters thundered across the storm-dark sea, one after the other. The nearer they drew to the island, the stronger the winds became, twisting in erratic patterns, pushing and pulling like unseen predators. Aurora's knuckles whitened on the cyclic. Sweat gathered on her palms, though the air inside the cockpit was cold. She had flown countless hours, though mostly as a co-pilot. She had always believed herself equal-better, even-than her superiors. If given the chance, she thought, she could lead. Yet now, with the full weight of command in her hands, faced with the vicious spirals of wind tearing around the island, her confidence faltered. One wrong calculation and the craft would fall into the sea, blades shattered, bodies broken. Her breath came shallow. She had not wanted this flight for honor or duty-only to outshine Freya Thorne. To rob her rival of glory. Never to wager her own life. "Why are we slowing?" one of the rescuers asked, leaning forward with confusion. Aurora stiffened. "The air currents are too unstable here. Too dangerous." The man frowned and gestured toward the windshield. Ahead, Freya's helicopter, smaller yet steady, pressed forward undaunted, cutting through the storm with precision. "But the lead aircraft-" "That's their pilot," Aurora snapped, her voice sharp. "This is my ship, my judgment. Perhaps they're lucky tonight. Or reckless. If they fall, luck will end. Are you questioning my command?"The rescuer bit his tongue and fell silent. Caelum's voice broke the tension. "Aurora," he said gently, "don't fear. I believe in you. You can take us through." She glanced at him, lips pressed tight. But her own heart did not believe it. Not now. Not with death in every gust. Her fingers locked around the stick until they went stiff. Then, abruptly, she pulled hard, turning the nose away from the storm front. Gasps erupted in the cabin. "Wait-this isn't the right heading!" one rescuer shouted. "Where are you going?" Caelum asked, confusion lacing his tone. Aurora's voice was firm, but her eyes betrayed her fear. "Freya's already gone in. Let her save them if she wishes. It was her mission from the start. We need not throw our lives into a storm that isn't ours." Caelum stared at her, struck silent. It did not align with memory. Once, she had leapt into a flooded river to save him. Once, she had run into wildfire on the border to drag strangers out. That woman had seemed fearless, burning with the instinct to protect. But now? Now she turned away. His chest tightened with unease, as if some truth he had long trusted about her had fractured in the storm. "But why?" Caelum's voice was quiet, rough. "Once, you risked your life for me. For strangers. You never hesitated. Why won't you take the same risk now?"