Third Person's POV Freya stared down at the card in her hand, her nose burning as if the name printed there carried its own sting. Parker Williams. The letters glimmered faintly under the amber lanternlight-each stroke of ink a blade cutting across her heart. But that wasn't his name. Not truly. He was Eric Thorne. Her brother. The boy who once swore he'd never let the darkness take her. Her vision blurred for a moment. The faint musk of wolfsteel, the cold air spilling through the half-open window, the distant hum of voices in the Silverveil Lounge-all dissolved into the ache inside her chest. A voice broke through her fog. "Freya." She turned. Kade stood at the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His storm-grey eyes held concern, his wolf quiet but watchful beneath his skin. "You didn't go back to the booth?" she asked softly, startled. He shook his head. "No. I stayed outside. I saw him-Eric-leave. Thought I'd check on you." Freya's lips trembled into a bitter smile. "He doesn't want to be Eric anymore. He wants to stay Parker Williams." Kade's brow furrowed, his tone deepening. "Did he say why?" "Maybe…" She hesitated, staring down at the card again. "Maybe he feels he owes them a debt. He said his life was saved by the Williams family. Even though he knows they aren't his blood." Kade's jaw flexed. "Or maybe there's something else-something he can't say yet. We'll figure it out." His voice softened, a quiet promise in the space between them. "Don't lose hope yet." Freya nodded faintly. She had to know the truth-what bound the Williams family to her brother, what kind of chains kept him from remembering who he was. "Let's go back. Lana's probably waiting."As she turned to leave, her long silver-black hair brushed across her shoulders-and snagged against Kade's jacket button. "Hold on." He caught her gently by the arm. "Your hair's caught." Freya froze, mortified. "Ah-sorry." She stood perfectly still, feeling his fingers move near her shoulder as he tried to free the fine strands from the silver clasp. "You usually wear it tied up," he said quietly while he worked, the warmth of his breath brushing her temple. "What happened?" "The tie snapped," she answered quickly, inventing an excuse. "It's nothing." "Is it?" His tone deepened, almost unreadable. His gaze shifted, following a stray strand of hair down to the side of her neck. There, just above her collarbone, the faint imprint of a mark bloomed-a reminder of something she didn't want to explain. "Freya," he murmured suddenly, his voice low. "Tell me the truth. Have you really ended things with Silas Whitmor?" Her hand stilled on the edge of her cloak. Silence stretched between them before she finally answered. "Yes. It's over." He studied her, the faint light catching in his eyes like liquid silver. Then he said simply, "Good." She blinked, taken aback by the quiet finality in his voice. When she turned her head too quickly, her hair tugged painfully against the button still holding it captive. "Careful," Kade murmured, steadying her. "It's not free yet." Freya drew in a slow breath, forcing calm. "Kade." Her voice steadied. "Don't waste your time on me. I see you as a friend, a comrade, a brother-in-arms-but not as someone I could ever love." "I know." His tone didn't waver. "You've said that before." Then, softer-"But I also told you I can wait. I have time, Freya. You didn't plan to fall for Silas either, did you? Some things change." Her chest tightened. For a moment, she couldn't find words. He freed the last strand of hair, but instead of letting it go, he lingered-his fingers brushing against it, lifting it slowly to his lips. He kissed the silken lock once, reverently, as if it were a vow. "Kade-" Her voice caught. She stepped back quickly, the strand slipping free between his fingers. He looked up at her then, eyes steady, wolf burning beneath the surface. "Silas broke your trust," he said quietly. "But I won't."For an instant, Freya couldn't breathe. The scent of iron and smoke from the hearth wrapped around them, heavy with unspoken things. She saw the truth in his gaze-not infatuation, but fierce, loyal devotion. The kind of love that waited in silence, unrelenting as the moon. She turned away before her heart could falter. "Let's go," she said, her voice barely a whisper. He didn't follow immediately. But she could feel his eyes on her back long after she stepped into the hall. … In the upper floor of the Williams manor's presidential suite, the air was colder-filtered through marble and glass, too clean to carry a wolf's scent. Everett Williams sat behind his broad mahogany desk, his expression unreadable. Across from him stood Parker, his posture rigid, eyes calm, every trace of emotion locked away. "I heard from Jenny," Everett said at last, his tone like the crack of frost. "A woman named Freya Thorne came to see you today." "Yes," Parker replied evenly. "She said that in D-country, she called you ‘brother.' Why is that?" "She believes I'm her brother, Eric Thorne," he said after a pause. "But to me, I am-and will remain-Parker Williams." Everett's lips curved, though there was no warmth in it. "Good. Whether you were once Eric Thorne or anyone else, it doesn't matter. The Council recognizes you as a son of the Williams line. The old matriarch wants it that way, and so it will be." "I understand." "Then that's the end of it." Everett's voice hardened, final. "You can go." Parker inclined his head, turned, and left the room. His footsteps echoed softly against the marble, fading down the corridor. When the door finally shut, Everett leaned back in his chair and exhaled. For a long moment, he stared at the dark screen of his WolfComm before unlocking it. A single image filled the display-a photograph yellowed with time. Two children. A boy of seven or eight, holding the hand of a small girl barely four. Both smiled, sunlight tangled in their hair, the world simple and bright around them.Everett's cold composure faltered. His eyes darkened with grief, the kind that came from years of silence and guilt. His fingers brushed the boy's face on the screen. "I'm sorry," he whispered. The words cracked like something old and brittle. "I should have protected you. It's my fault you were lost." His voice broke further, softer now. "Forgive me. Forgive your brother."