Third Person's POV In that instant, Parker's face went pale-deathly pale. Parents. The word struck like lightning through his skull. If Freya was truly his sister… then that meant he had parents somewhere in this world. But she'd said to pay respects. Pay respects. Which meant they were already gone. His heartbeat staggered, then thudded painfully in his chest-slow, sharp, as if something deep inside him recognized the truth his mind could not. "Where… are they buried?" The words rasped out of his throat like splinters. "In Ashbourne," Freya answered quietly. Parker's lips parted. "I-" "Don't," Jenny hissed, clutching his arm before he could finish. Her voice dropped low, so only he could hear. "Refuse her. If you go with her now, I swear I won't save Lena when we return home." Parker's hand tightened into a trembling fist. He'd lost all his memories-everything before the Iron Fang Recon Unit's last mission, wiped clean. Even if what Freya said was true, even if those people had once been his parents… he had no memory of them. No warmth, no faces, nothing. And yet, his chest hurt. It hurt so much it felt like his ribs might crack. Regret, grief, and a strange, unbearable guilt pulsed through him in waves, each one stronger than the last. "The Williams family's time in the Capital is limited," he said stiffly, forcing his voice to steady. "I'm afraid I won't have the chance. Miss Thorne… perhaps you should name another way for me to repay you." Freya stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "You won't even pay respects to your parents?" Her voice trembled. "Do you have any idea what they went through when you went missing on the border? They waited for years-years, Parker! The last call they made before they… before they died, they were still asking about you. Don't you think they deserve at least a moment of peace?"Parker's body shook. The ache in his chest deepened, spreading like wildfire through his veins. Even his wolf stirred uneasily inside him, pacing, growling, confused by this sorrow that seemed older than memory itself. He fixed his gaze on her, jaw clenched so tight his words came through his teeth. "I told you-I'm Parker Williams. Nothing more." Freya's eyes dimmed. For a long moment, she couldn't even breathe. She didn't know whether what she felt was disappointment, or grief. Her brother-the one who had once called their parents heroes, who had joined the military because of them, who had sworn to protect their name-would never have spoken like this. If the old Parker still lived somewhere inside that man, she thought, then hearing their parents were gone would have shattered him. He would have fallen to his knees. He would have gone to their graves without hesitation. But that man was gone. "You really don't remember anything," she whispered. Jenny's voice cut through like a poisoned blade. "You look pathetic right now, Freya." Her tone dripped mockery. "Your parents-what were they again? Soldiers? Martyrs? Do you really think people like them are worth my brother's time? Maybe they were so desperate for someone to visit their graves they sent you begging around the Capital-" Slap! The sound cracked through the air. Freya's palm had already connected with Jenny's face, hard enough to make the other woman stagger backward. Jenny's eyes flared wide. "You-how dare you-" "Why wouldn't I dare?" Freya's voice was low, icy, dangerous. Her parents' names were sacred. Untouchable. They had died for their people, for the packs that now sneered behind polished marble walls. They were heroes-her heroes-and no one would ever have the right to insult them. "My parents," she said, voice cold enough to frost the air, "are not names that you get to speak." Something in her aura changed. Her wolf flared-wild, ancient, silver-gold light flickering behind her eyes. The scent of frost and iron rolled from her skin.Jenny froze for a heartbeat. The air around Freya carried dominance. It was the kind of power born from blood and grief, the kind that made weaker wolves instinctively lower their eyes. But Jenny wasn't the type to bow. Not to anyone. She squared her shoulders and spat back, voice shaking with fury, "So what if I talk about them? Your parents raised a savage, didn't they? Guess that tells me all I need to know about what kind of people they were-" Bang! Freya's boot connected with Jenny's stomach. The impact sent her flying backward into the polished wall of the SkyVex Armaments headquarters. She hit hard, crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Security guards stationed near the plaza had already started running toward them, drawn by the commotion. "You-you vicious bitch," Jenny wheezed, clutching her ribs. "You think you can do this to me and get away with it? I'll make sure you pay for this!" Freya walked toward her, step by deliberate step, her shadow falling long across the stone tiles. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft-but every word cut like a blade. "Remember this," she said. "If you ever-ever-speak ill of my parents again, I'll hit you once for every word. Say it twice, I'll hit you twice. Say it a hundred times, I'll break you a hundred times." Jenny's lips curled. "You filthy mutt, your parents-" Freya's hand rose again, but before she could strike, a firm hand caught her wrist midair. It was Parker. She froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. If the brother she remembered were standing here-the real Eric Thorne-he would never have stopped her. He would have hit the girl himself. Harder. "It's enough," Parker said, his voice quiet but commanding. "Jenny was wrong to speak that way. But she's unarmed. You don't need to hit her again." Lana, who had been standing nearby, couldn't contain herself. "Unarmed? Are you kidding me? Freya's your sister, Parker! Your sister! How can you defend-" But Parker's gaze never wavered from Freya. "Don't hit her again," he repeated, the faintest tremor in his tone betraying the battle waging inside him. For a moment, the square was silent except for the rush of wind between the towers. Freya stared at him, her heart twisting, not with rage but something colder, sharper-something like grief. The wind caught the strands of her dark hair, carrying with it the scent of winter pine and iron rain. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it. Her brother-her proud, stubborn, fearless brother-now stood between her and the enemy, defending a girl who had just spat on their parents' graves.