Freya's POV I slid the packet of documents Silas had secured into Kade's hands the next morning. The paper still smelled faintly of iron and smoke, the scent of Whitmor always clinging to the things he touched. Kade skimmed the first page, his brow furrowing. "Three years ago, Parker was only just claimed by the Whitmors as their long-lost bastard son. And three years ago, records in the Capital weren't exactly transparent." He looked up, eyes narrowing with a quiet spark of realization. "It could still be Eric, Freya. There's a chance your brother is tied to this." My chest tightened. The name of my brother was a wound that never healed, always raw when touched. "That's why I intend to see Parker Williams face-to-face at the banquet tonight," I said evenly. "Only then can I confirm anything. Some truths don't live on paper. They live in the eyes of the person across from you." "You're going to confront Parker?" Kade's voice cracked in surprise, wolf-sharp and protective. "Yes. Silas told me Parker will attend tonight. He has the invitations. I'll go with him." Kade straightened, almost bristling. "Then I'll go too." I gave him a measured look. "The banquet requires an invitation. You don't-" "An invitation?" His lips curved into a half-smile, full of the arrogance only a wolf born to privilege could pull off. "That's nothing. Consider it handled. Sister, if all you need is a way inside, you don't have to lean on Silas Whitmor. I can take you." Before I could answer, Silas's voice cut through the quiet like the snap of a trap. "So, Kade, you'd have her use you, then toss me aside? Burn the bridge once you've crossed it?" I turned sharply, catching the sight of him striding toward us with that unhurried grace predators wore before they struck. He claimed the empty seat beside me as if it had always belonged to him, his presence overwhelming the air. Kade's mouth twisted into a sneer. "She came with me. Why shouldn't she walk into a hall by my side?" The tension between them was a palpable thing, like the charge in the air before a thunderstorm. Both males, both stubborn, circling each other in silent challenge. "Enough." I raised my voice, cutting clean through the growl beneath their words. "If it's such a problem, then the three of us will go together. Or I'll go alone." That silenced them. They locked eyes, neither willing to back down. But a moment later, they both exhaled, almost in unison."Then three it is," they said, voices overlapping. Only then did I allow myself a breath of relief. By afternoon, Kade had gone to secure an invitation of his own, and I found myself in Silas's company once more. He led me to a styling salon in the heart of Deepmoor City, where the walls glittered with mirrors and racks of gowns shimmered like cascading waterfalls. I carried only the barest essentials when I came to this country. Not a single dress fit for the kind of stage Parker Williams would appear on. As we stepped inside, I glanced at Silas. Shadows clung under his eyes, a bruise-dark exhaustion hidden poorly beneath his composure. "You didn't sleep last night, did you?" He blinked, clearly not expecting the question. Then, slowly, a smile touched his lips. "Are you… worrying about me, Freya?" My lips pressed into a thin line. "Don't misunderstand. It was just an observation. You don't have to answer." "But what if I do?" His tone dipped, lower, almost intimate. "What if I tell you I haven't slept well since we parted? That I close my eyes and find only silence too loud to bear. Would you pity me? Would you take my hand again-heal me the way only you ever could?" I stopped short, heart hammering, though I forced my voice to stay even. "If your sleeplessness is that severe, you should see a doctor." His eyes caught mine, unflinching. "And what if no medicine works? What if only you can cure me?" The space between us thickened with unspoken history. I tore my gaze away. "Silas, I'm not a doctor. And I won't play at being one." For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he only exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders. "You're right. You're not." He let it drop, guiding me toward the rows of dresses instead. I moved among silks and satins, letting the attendants bring me gown after gown. Silas stayed behind on a leather sofa, his presence like a wolf crouched in shadow-silent, watchful, unyielding. I could feel his gaze even as I slipped behind the curtain to change. It burned hotter than any lamp, a reminder of every tether he still believed tied me to him. His insomnia wasn't a mystery to me. I knew his past-how he'd watched his mother's blood soak the floor, how her death had hollowed him out until sleep itself turned traitor. He had clawed his way back to stability once, rebuilt himself piece by piece until he could close his eyes without drowning. But since our parting, that fragile balance had shattered again. I could hear it in the rasp of his breath, see it in the tightness at the corner of his jaw. The healers warned him, he said. His nights were shortening, his grip on rest slipping fast. If it worsened, madness might not be far behind. When I stepped out at last, clad in a gown the color of pale dawn, his silence broke. "Beautiful," he whispered, almost reverent. I adjusted the fall of the fabric self-consciously. "It's simple enough. At a banquet like tonight's, I'll hardly stand out. There will be plenty more beautiful than me." He rose, closing the distance in two strides. "No," he said firmly. "Not to me. To me, you are the only one who shines." His hand lifted, brushing against my cheek, warm and unbearably familiar. "You're the star I've chased in every dark sky, Freya. Without you, there's nothing but night." The rawness in his voice startled me. For an instant, I almost faltered. Almost. I stepped back, severing the touch. "Don't. Silas, my focus is finding Eric. Until I have my brother back, I can't afford to think of anything else." His lashes lowered, shadowing his eyes. "I understand." But even as he spoke, I could see the truth in him. For me, everything came back to Eric. For him, everything circled back to me. He swallowed hard, his voice rougher when it came again. "Freya… no one wishes you success more than I do. I want you to find your brother, to bring him home. More than anything."