Third Person's POV Freya considered the thought quietly: perhaps taking Parker to the places they had visited as children, the paths they had once wandered, the wolves they had once known, might help stir memories more swiftly in her brother's mind. Memories buried beneath time and trauma were fragile, but the scent of familiarity, the cadence of old territories, the laughter of old packmates-these could awaken even the most suppressed recollections. Lana's voice broke her reverie. "By the way… don't you think Jenny's gaze toward you earlier was… strange?" she murmured, leaning back against the wall. Freya tilted her head slightly. "Strange? She's never looked favorably on me, has she?" Lana's dark eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. "True, but this was different. Before, she only showed that thin edge of hostility. Today… after you changed into your gown, the way she looked at you… it was pure venom. Like you had slaughtered her entire line of kin. I swear, I've never seen eyes this… poisonous." Freya's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Who can know what she truly thinks? Doesn't matter. I won't sit idle." "Still," Lana warned softly, "people like her-like Jenny-they're best kept at arm's length. You can never trust them." Freya nodded, her hand closing around the velvet box that held her mother's ruby necklace. "I understand," she said, voice low, dangerous. "After she has donated bone marrow to Parker's life-saving ward… if she even dares to lay a hand on me, there will be no mercy." Lana's expression darkened with indignation. "She's lucky, really. If it weren't for the fact that she can save Parker's ward, she'd already be exiled from the Williams Family. You've been so… restrained." Freya only gave a small smile. "This isn't about me. Parker is my only kin. And his life, the lives of those who keep him safe… I must protect them." Lana leaned against the doorway, voice quiet now. "You know, there could still be family from your mother's side. Myra was separated from her kin, which is how the Thorne family adopted her. Given her age back then, she could easily have had siblings. Families tended to have several pups at once." Freya's smile was tinged with sorrow. "It's not that simple. My grandparents tried once, long ago, to find her family. They never succeeded. Time has passed too long… and besides, my mother isn't alive. If her kin still exist, discovering the truth may only bring them grief." Lana nodded thoughtfully. "Yes… that's true."Freya ran her fingers over the soft fabric of the box, touching the ruby pendant inside. Her mother… she had dreamed of finding her family, longed for it. Yet all she ever found was disappointment. And now, if any of that bloodline survived, would they even seek her out? Or had they abandoned hope, pretending that the girl who had been Myra never existed? In the Whitmor estate, Silas leaned back into a high-backed leather chair, the pale glow of the moon spilling over the mahogany floor. A cigarette burned between his long fingers, smoke curling in thin, silvery plumes that shimmered against the darkened night. "You know that smoking this late won't help you sleep," a voice said, slicing through the quiet. Silas turned lazily toward the newcomer, his blue-gray eyes cold. "I didn't ask you to come." "You are my patient. I came to check on you," Vaughn replied, stepping into the faint light. His boots whispered against the polished stone, a quiet contrast to the tension in the room. Silas ignored him, taking the glass of amber whiskey on the table in one long, deliberate motion and draining it. The burn of alcohol chased the bite of smoke, both forming a numbing shield against restless thoughts. Vaughn's lips pressed into a thin line. "You really have no regard for your life, do you? Smoking, drinking… you're trying to shorten your own days." "Perhaps if I drink enough, I might finally sleep," Silas said, his voice flat, detached. "Since the medicine you prescribe doesn't work, why not allow me this?" Vaughn's eyes narrowed, the intensity in his gaze barely restrained. "No medication can help now, not truly. If you cannot release your hold on Freya, why not use her concern? Let her support your recovery. Let her be by your side willingly." Silas's jaw tightened. "And then what? I exploit her sympathy, she grudgingly remains, I fall asleep for a night, and tomorrow she leaves? Then I suffer again, cycling endlessly? How amusing." He leaned back, smoke drifting lazily from his lips, the reflection of the moonlight in his eyes sharp and predatory. He had done it before. He had manipulated every weakness, every sympathy. Her pity, her fleeting trust, her affection-all weaponized. He had concealed his wolfborn nature, showing only the face she adored. And yet, in the end, it had not kept her by his side. Once trust was broken, it could never be fully restored. "Do you even know it will be endless this time? Perhaps this time you could… retain her," Vaughn suggested quietly, almost teasing, almost darkly conspiratorial. "If you feel shame at exploiting her pity, then perhaps I could step in as the villain-tie her to your side, ensure you sleep soundly, if only for one night-" The words had barely left Vaughn's lips when Silas sprang to his feet with the reflexive power of a wolf. One hand shot out, closing around Vaughn's throat with the strength of Ironclad claws."Do not touch her," Silas growled, eyes flaring with restrained savagery. The room seemed to shrink, the shadows of the night compressing under the heat of his presence.