Silas's POV Her scent was still clinging to me, wild storm-petals and fire, when her voice cut through my chest like a blade. "Silas, I took you, but I gave myself in return. Between us, no one owes anything." And then-she tore herself free of my arms. I stood frozen, watching Freya Thorne walk away. Her figure grew smaller, swallowed by the sterile glow of the hospital corridor until it vanished altogether. A moment ago, I'd held the world in my arms. A moment later, I'd lost it all. Cold. A frost deeper than the grave sank into my bones. My chest felt hollow, but the pain radiated sharp and endless, like claws ripping me apart from the inside. This was what it meant to be abandoned. Again. My fingers, still splinted from what she had done to them, curled helplessly. I almost laughed. She had broken me with her own hands, and still I wanted her to bind me tighter, to never let me go. But she walked. She never even looked back. Later. Jocelyn Thorne was dragged into the Whitmor estate, bound and trembling. The old hall of my bloodline stank of iron and shadow. Wolves whispered of my family's curse-that when love was denied, madness bloomed. I could feel it growing inside me now, a black seed splitting open. "Release me!" Jocelyn's voice shook as she stumbled forward. "I am the daughter of the Metropolitan Pack's first branch! If anything happens to me, the Thorne family will never forgive you." Her arrogance was gone, her eyes wide with terror. And then she saw me. The terror doubled. I sat waiting, cigarette burning low between my fingers, the smoke curling like a noose. My gaze locked on her, cold, unblinking. "Silas-" Her voice cracked. "Please. Spare me. I swear, I'll never appear in front of you or Freya again.""Spare you?" My tone was flat, a blade wrapped in silk. The weight of the Ironclad Coalition pressed behind every word, cold and merciless. The wolf in me stirred, claws scratching against my skin. I had always been the detached one, the Alpha who looked down at the world with indifference. But that indifference was gone. What replaced it was rage. "Spare you?" I repeated, rising from the chair. My boots echoed against the stone floor, each step sharp as the tick of a clock counting down to her death. "Do you know what you've done, Jocelyn?" Her lips trembled. She stammered, "Yes… yes, I spoke out of turn yesterday. I didn't think-" "You didn't think," I cut her off, my voice a snarl. "You revealed what was mine to the winds, and now you want forgiveness?" I closed the distance. She tried to step back, but my enforcers held her fast. "You want me to remember the eye you gave up for me?" I hissed, leaning close. "Fine. I'll remember it while I carve out the second one." Her scream caught in her throat as I drew the pistol from my belt. The weight of the iron was steady in my hand. I pressed the barrel against her temple. Her entire body shook, wolf whimpering beneath her skin. "You can't kill me," she gasped. "I'm still a Thorne. If Freya learns you murdered me, do you think she'll ever forgive you? Do you think she'll still choose you?" Freya. Her name cracked through me like thunder. My vision flared crimson. She was light, and I was filth. If I killed Jocelyn here, the blood on my hands would never wash away. Not in her eyes. Even now, after she'd cut me off, after she had said our bond meant nothing, I was still begging for a future. Still clutching the memory of her handwriting on that birthday card-to grow old with you. But she'd left me. So clean. So final. Not even a glance back.A growl ripped from my chest, wolf and man tangled in torment. "You know how much you deserve death?" I pressed the barrel harder against Jocelyn's skull. Her whimper rose, high and broken. "You are the first person I've ever hated. And hate… is the one thing I do not let go." The chamber clicked as I slid a round into place. Her eyes went wide. She shook like prey cornered in the jaws of a predator. "You want to test me?" My voice was rough, burning. "You want to see if the Thorne family will truly avenge you? Let's find out." Her lips formed the word no, but it was drowned by the roar of my pistol. The sound split the night, a crack of final judgment that echoed through the Whitmor estate.