Silas's POV Time crawled. Every second in this glass-and-steel tower dragged past like molasses. I watched through the floor-to-ceiling windows as the sun climbed toward its zenith, its light splitting the room into slices of warmth and shadow. Wren returned, footsteps measured, careful. "My apologies, Alpha Silas," he said, almost hesitantly. "Freya is still here. She refuses to leave. I mentioned it, but… well, you know how she is." I kept my gaze on the skyline, cold, unreadable. "Let her wait," I said softly, almost to myself. My wolf shifted inside me, restless, alert, claws scraping against instinct and memory alike. Wren hesitated. "It's nearly noon. If she keeps waiting, she won't eat. Her shoulder wound-she hasn't fully healed from the gunshot. If she sits there any longer…" He trailed off, eyes flicking toward me, trying to read my face. I allowed a slow exhale. The slightest tension brushed my brow. She had that effect on me. Only she-Freya-could stir the wolf in my chest and the man I had trained myself to suppress, simultaneously. "Bring her up," I said, my voice even, though the wolf under my skin thrummed with anticipation. Wren's relief was audible. "Of course. I'll fetch her immediately." He left and returned minutes later, guiding her up the tower. I could sense her presence before she stepped through the doorway-the subtle dip in her aura, the tension of muscles barely contained, the scent of determination and faint iron from her wound. I had learned to read wolves as easily as humans; hers was a storm barely restrained by civility. She entered the office, eyes unwavering. The sunlight caught her hair, her frame-her wolf instincts pressed against the edges of her human composure. I noticed the slight tremor in her shoulder; her wound had reopened, I could smell it. She had pushed herself. "Freya," I said, voice low. "Why have you come here? What could possibly require that you risk yourself to meet me in person?" Her lips pressed together. She hesitated only a moment before she spoke, voice firm, precise, but carrying a tremor I could detect only because I was attuned to wolves' subtleties." Alpha Witmore, I want you to rescind your decision to let the Williams Family expel Jenny." The words hit my senses in waves. My wolf stiffened, ears flicking back. I had anticipated confrontation, but the charge in her voice-unyielding, demanding-was sharper than I expected. "I am not a man to be called lightly," I said, stepping toward the desk, hands clasped behind me. "You know my nature. If you address me as merely ‘Alpha Witmore,' then you understand that you have no claim on my consideration. Why should I entertain your request?" Her shoulders straightened. She had expected my dismissal. I could see it in the set of her jaw, the slight flare of her nostrils. I smelled determination, loyalty, and desperation all layered together-a wolf's scent of survival instincts mixed with kin-protective drive. "I know I have no right," she admitted. Her eyes did not waver, even as her wolf buzzed through me. "But my brother… Eric… was saved once by a woman named Lina in D Nation. She shielded him when he had nowhere else to turn. Now she is dying of blood cancer in C Nation. Jenny's marrow is the only thing that can keep her alive." The room chilled. My wolf bristled-not in anger, but in recognition. The human in me recoiled at the idea of life tethered to a single fragile strand of chance. I understood stakes. I understood loyalty. But her tone, her persistence… it made my chest tighten, claws scraping instinctively against my ribcage. She didn't pause, didn't falter. "Ever since you spoke against Jenny publicly, Everett-head of the Williams Family-has been preparing a press conference to strip her from the family registry. If that happens, Lina dies. I am asking, as her family's ally, as my brother's protector, that you… retract what you said, at least enough to allow Jenny to donate." I studied her, every detail under the harsh midday light-the way her wolf hovered just beneath her skin, the way her scent mingled fear, steel, and hope. The chill of my office seemed to sharpen in contrast to her warmth. "And if I refuse?" I asked quietly. Her gaze did not falter. If anything, it strengthened. "Then tell me what I need to do to make you help," she said simply, wolf-strong and relentless. Her audacity was infuriating. I wanted to snap, to rebuke, to remind her that I measured life and death in power, influence, and consequence-not sentiment. And yet… my wolf growled low in my chest, a warning I could neither ignore nor fully interpret. The pull of her presence, her cause, clawed at the parts of me I had thought long dead. I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension ripple through my limbs. Freya-little Freya, who had been no more than a shadow among Stormveil's fifth branch-now stood as a storm in human form. My wolf flicked its ears, curiosity flaring alongside irritation. "You would risk yourself for her," I said. My voice was low, steady, yet a thread of wolf instinct bled through, raw and unfiltered. "Even with a wound… knowing the danger of waiting for me?" Her lips pressed tighter. "She saved my brother. That is reason enough. You would not understand. But you can still do the right thing. You can let her live."