Freya's POV The next morning, we left for the Stormveil outskirts. There was an old Thorne estate, long abandoned in the shadow of the Runestone Grounds, and I needed to see it with my own eyes. Silas insisted on driving. I didn't argue. Part of me wanted him there, even if it meant facing the ghosts of my family's past with his presence a steady anchor beside me. By the time we reached the little town, the sun hung just past its peak, and my stomach gave a small growl. It was almost noon. I glanced at Silas, his profile sharp in the light streaming through the windshield. "Would you be able to stomach something from a small tavern here? The food's not fancy-just local fare." He turned his head, his dark eyes steady. "Food is food, Freya. There were days when I ate nothing at all. Compared to that, even stale bread was a feast. I'm not picky." His words pulled at something inside me, but I didn't dwell on it. "There's a place I used to visit often," I said, my voice softer now. "Every time we came into town, my family and I would eat there. I don't even know if it's still open." The word family caught in my throat, twisting bitterly. Once, it had been the four of us-Mother, Father, Eric, me. Now… only me. I forced a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Then we'll go," Silas said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll go with you." I blinked, surprised at how easily he said it. For a moment, my wolf stirred, brushing against his Alpha aura. Maybe I wasn't going alone after all. The car rolled to a stop in front of the tavern, and to my shock, it looked almost exactly as it had five years ago. Weathered wood, faded paint, but alive. A place caught in time. The owner stood at the doorway, his face older, lines carved deeper by the seasons. But his eyes brightened as they landed on me. "Freya Thorne. Goddess, it's been years. How have you been, girl?" "I've been… well enough." I managed a small smile. "And your parents? Your brother? They didn't come with you?" His question was innocent, but it pierced straight through me. My smile faltered, the air leaving my lungs for a heartbeat. "Not this time," I said quietly. "I came back alone. Just to take care of some things.""Oh." His voice softened with understanding. He gestured toward the tables. "Come, sit. Let me get you a menu." I slid into a booth with Silas across from me. As I settled, I noticed his gaze shift, caught by the far wall. There, dozens of photographs were pinned haphazardly, forming a collage of memories. The faded Polaroids showed people laughing, clinking glasses, posing with plates of food. A ritual of sorts, a way to mark their presence. "It's a tradition," I explained. "Patrons take a photo before they leave. It becomes part of the tavern's memory." His eyes lingered. "And yours?" I lifted my hand and pointed to a corner. My voice softened unconsciously. "Right there. That's me. And beside me… my brother, Eric." Silas's body went rigid, so faintly that perhaps anyone else would have missed it. But I didn't. His face didn't move, but the shift in his energy was unmistakable-like a ripple in still water. "That's your brother?" His voice was low. "Yes." I smiled faintly, unaware of his reaction. "We don't look alike, do we? I have my father's features. He had our mother's face. But we were inseparable." Silas's gaze burned into the image. Eric Thorne, tall and clean-cut, eyes sharp with a quiet strength. My chest tightened with memory. The owner came back, setting menus down. "Have you chosen yet?" I shook myself from the past and reached for the card. "Not yet." I glanced across at Silas. "What about you? Anything stand out?" But he wasn't looking at the menu. His eyes were still pinned to the photograph, expression unreadable. "Silas?" I raised my voice slightly. He blinked, as though surfacing from somewhere deep. "What?" "You're pale. Are you not feeling well?" "Fine," he said quickly. Too quickly. "Perhaps I didn't sleep enough last night." I tilted my head, unconvinced. But I let it go. For now. His hand, resting on the table, was tight, knuckles pale.I pushed the menu toward him. "At least choose something." "You order," he said. "I don't know what's best here." So I did. Dishes I'd shared with my parents, with Eric, long ago. My voice cracked once, but I forced steadiness as the owner scribbled them down and left. The silence that followed pressed heavy. Then Silas spoke, his words deliberate. "You and your brother… were you close?" My heart squeezed. I lifted my eyes to the photograph again. "Yes. Closer than anyone. That picture… it was the last time we ate here together. A silly moment, posing for fun. But it turned into our last picture." The memory dragged me back, vivid as a scent trail. Eric laughing, his arm thrown around my shoulders, calling me little wolf. His scent always carried steel and cedar, sharp but safe. "After that day, he returned to the Capital. Soon after, he was deployed to the borderlands." My throat tightened. "He was always protecting me. When we were cubs, if anyone tried to bully me, he fought back, even if he was smaller. He'd take the bruises, the scolding-never let me stand alone. He used to say, ‘No one touches my sister. Not while I'm breathing.'" A wet laugh escaped me, shaky but real. My eyes blurred. "He was a good brother. The best." Silas's voice was quiet, almost reverent. "Yes. He sounds like one." I swiped at my eyes quickly, forcing a smile. "When I find him, I'll introduce you. You'll like him. Everyone did." Silas's lips pressed tight. He said nothing more. But his hand beneath the table had curled into a fist, and for the first time since I'd known him, I smelled a thread of nervousness in his scent.