Freya's POV Parker nodded once, and Jenny hurriedly excused herself from the corridor, her heels clicking a sharp retreat down the marble floor. Kade turned toward me, his voice low but protective. "Do you want me to stay?" I shook my head. "No. Go back to the booth. I'll be fine." Then I looked at Parker-the man standing under the silver lanterns of the restaurant, his aura quiet but heavy, like a wolf holding himself back from shifting. "Let's talk inside," I said, pointing toward the empty private room nearby. He gave a short nod. "All right." We stepped into the small moonlit chamber. When the door shut behind us, the rest of the world fell away. The muffled sounds of the dining hall, the clinking of glass and faint laughter-all faded until there was only him. I turned to face him. No. To face my brother. Eric Thorne. He didn't remember his name, didn't remember the Stormveil crest burned into our family's bloodline. But I did. I remembered every detail-the last time I saw him standing in uniform, sunlight glinting off his insignia before the border fires swallowed him whole. "You've lost your memories," I began softly, my throat tight, "but I can tell you what they were. What you were." He tilted his head slightly, wolf instincts stirring beneath the calm exterior. "You're saying I'm the brother you've been searching for. That I'm your kin." "Yes," I said simply. He smiled faintly, humorless. "And why would I believe you? Because you once took a bullet for me in D-country?" The words struck like claws. I felt my chest tighten, heat building behind my eyes. He used to laugh when I cried. Used to ruffle my hair, teasing me out of my sulks. Don't be afraid, Freya, he'd say, his voice warm as summer sunlight. You've got me. Your brother will protect you, always.And I'd grin and say, Maybe one day I'll protect you instead. But if I get hurt doing it, don't be too moved, all right? He'd chuckle, flick my forehead, and warn, If you ever dare get hurt for me, I'll be furious. Remember-when danger comes, protect yourself first. Always. That promise echoed now like an old song through a cracked radio-familiar, but unreachable. "I have proof," I said quickly, pulling my WolfComm from my coat. "DNA results. I made copies. If you don't believe me, we can go to a new lab tomorrow. You'll see." He leaned closer just enough to glance at the glowing screen. His eyes flicked over the data, then lifted back to mine, cold and distant. "So what if it's true? What difference does it make?" The calm in his tone felt crueler than anger. "I want you to reclaim who you are," I said. "You're Eric Thorne of Stormveil-my brother. The heir of the Thorne line. I can help you remember." For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his gaze drifted down, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't remember who I was. All I know is D-country-the pain, the fear. Every day was survival. I was beaten, used, forced into things that stripped me of everything human. When I escaped, there were no family, no names. Only Lina." His tone softened on that last name-Lina. The one who had saved him, nurtured him when the rest of the world had turned its claws against him. "I was looking for you all this time," I said. My words trembled, but I couldn't stop. "I imagined it over and over, how you might have survived, what you might've suffered. But hearing it-hearing it from you-hurts more than I thought it would." He looked away, jaw tightening. "The Iron Fang Recon Unit never stopped searching," I continued. "The Stormveil Council, our parents, everyone believed you'd fallen in the border blaze-but you didn't. You're alive because you were strong. You were meant to come back." "Military?" he muttered, as though the word were foreign. "Yes," I said. "You were a soldier. You vanished during a classified mission, right before the border fires swept through the outpost. We never gave up, Eric. Not once." My voice cracked on his name. "Father and Mother…" I swallowed. "They never stopped hoping. Even their last message before they went abroad-they said, ‘Find Eric. Bring him home.'" He raised a hand, stopping me. "I'm not ready to be Eric Thorne."The words sliced straight through me. "As for D-country," he continued, "you saved me there, and I owe you my life. If there's a way to repay that debt, tell me. Whatever's within my reach, it's yours." I froze. I had prepared for disbelief, even for anger-but not this empty, resigned politeness. "Why?" I whispered. "Why refuse who you are? You're my brother. You have no blood tie to the Williams line. You don't need to live under their name anymore, pretending to be one of them." He gave a low, mirthless laugh. "I know I share no blood with the Williams family. But the truth is-my life was theirs to save. I owe that debt too. So I remain Parker Williams." His eyes lifted to mine. There was something raw beneath the steel, something that made my pulse skip painfully. Even as he denied me, guilt flickered in his gaze, and his wolf stirred uneasily, sensing my pain as if it were his own. He reached out then-just a fraction of a movement-his hand hovering in the space between us. I thought he might touch my cheek, might let instinct bridge what memory had lost. But he stopped himself, his fingers curling back into a fist. "I can't be what you want me to be," he said softly. "But if you ever decide what you want in return, call me." He reached into his pocket and drew out a card, the crisp scent of parchment and cologne mingling with the faint iron tang of the moonlight streaming in through the window. He slipped it into my hand. Then he turned, his footsteps slow but resolute, and opened the door. The air rushed in from the hallway-cool, sterile, empty. I stood there, the card trembling between my fingers, the scent of my brother-wolf, smoke, and regret-fading with every step he took away from me. For years, I'd dreamed of this reunion. But I never imagined it would hurt this much. He'd walked out as Parker Williams, and left me standing there as Freya Thorne-his sister, forgotten by his mind but not by his blood.