Third Person's POV Back in her apartment, Freya sat at her sleek, black desk, the cold glow of the monitor illuminating her furrowed brow. She stared at the anonymous email that had just landed in her inbox. Every instinct of her wolf prickled. Whoever had sent this knew too much. Who could it be? The sum demanded-one hundred million-was astronomical, far beyond what Freya could summon from her own resources in an instant. But the very fact the sender suggested such a number hinted they assumed she could borrow it from Silas Whitmor. The sender had also explicitly forbidden her from involving Silas. That made it likely that this person was someone within her or Silas's network, someone who knew her intimately enough to understand the limits of her finances but also the dangers of bringing Silas into the equation. Freya had already traced the account details provided. It was an offshore account, perfectly insulated. Once the money was transferred, the holder of the credentials could withdraw it at any moment, no questions asked. And more importantly… this person knew she was searching for her brother, Eric. Did they really have any information about him? The thought twisted her chest, a sharp pang echoing in her lungs. Freya's fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed her reply: "Why should I believe you have any clue about my brother?" Almost immediately, another email arrived. This time there was no text-only a three-second video clip. Freya's eyes narrowed as she clicked play. Even in such a short span, the figure was unmistakable. Her brother, Eric, clad in ragged, blood-stained clothing, stumbling through some dark, indistinct urban environment. The buildings blurred, the footage grainy, but the figure… it was unmistakably him. Her heart clenched, a wolfish howl of helpless rage echoing in her chest. She had to know more. She shot another email to the anonymous sender, demanding a clearer copy, but the account had been abandoned. The message was unmistakable: pay, and only then would the rest be revealed. One hundred million. Freya's mind whirred. If this sum could secure real leads on Eric's location, she would find a way to gather it. She could borrow from Silas, leverage a line of credit at the bank-after all, she had raised enough to take Caelum Grafton's company public within three years. This sum was within her capacity. And if the price were higher? She would pay. Every single credit. The thought of Eric, trapped somewhere, suffering… it ignited a cold, determined fire within her. Whoever this shadowed figure was, Freya vowed she would uncover them. Meanwhile, Jocelyn Thorne, Freya's cousin from the Metropolitan Pack's first branch, had closed her own computer with a satisfied smirk. She had been waiting for the opportune moment, biding her time. If not for Arthur Thorne's reckless accounting that forced her to fill the gap, she wouldn't have needed to press Freya so urgently. This money… it was already owed to Jocelyn in her mind. Had Freya not come, Silas would still have been Jocelyn's anchor in the Capital. A single word from her would have absolved her family of all scrutiny over Arthur's embezzlement. Now, Silas had cut ties with her entirely, and those within the Thorne family who once sought her favor now nursed nothing but envy and resentment. Jocelyn's plan was meticulous. She knew Freya's tenacity, her intelligence. The very surveillance footage she held-recorded years ago in D and painstakingly retrieved from international authorities-would inevitably drive Freya into action. If Freya traced it, she could connect the dots back to Silas having crossed paths with Eric. And if Freya and Silas argued over this discovery? That outcome would serve Jocelyn's interests perfectly. But Freya's mind was a steel trap, her wolf instincts alert. Even as she navigated this shadowed, invisible war, she was already tracing the email's origin, tracking its faint digital residue. For someone untrained, this might have been impossible. But Freya was no ordinary wolf. Her work restoring the fire-damaged drone footage had given her access to Wing' networks, with permission granted directly by Silas. Her tracking could tap into resources few could dream of. That evening, as Silas's truck hummed outside her building, he leaned in slightly, his wolfish instincts sensing her focus. "What are you tracking?" he asked softly, his voice low, a warning and an offer of aid rolled into one. Freya didn't turn, her eyes scanning the encrypted pathways of the email. "Not yet," she replied, her voice even, careful. "If I need help, I'll tell you." Silas's gaze darkened with concern, his wolf alert. "Does it have anything to do with the message you received earlier today?" "Yes," Freya admitted, still keeping her focus locked on the screen. "But not yet. I can't risk telling anyone-not even you-for now." Silas's jaw tightened. His golden eyes reflected the fading city lights, sharp, protective. "Because the sender specifically forbade it?" "Exactly. They mentioned you by name. That means any slip could compromise everything. It's about Eric. I can't take that risk yet." Her voice was steel and velvet intertwined; even as she spoke, her pulse raced, wolf-fire coiling inside her. She would protect him, no matter the cost. She looked up finally, meeting Silas's gaze. "But I may need to borrow the money… and if necessary, I'll need access to your resources, your men." A small, reassuring smile touched Silas's lips. "Freya, I've said it before-anything I have, is yours. Money, men, information… everything. You only need to ask." Freya's shoulders relaxed fractionally, the tension of the hunt giving way to a flicker of trust. Yet her wolf remained restless. Whoever had sent that message, whoever held Eric's fate, had underestimated her. They were in her territory now, and she would hunt them with a predator's precision, guided by instinct, intelligence, and the unyielding drive of a sister's love.