Third Person's POV "She knows," Agnes said, eyes shining. "My aunt knows that Chasing the Wind's choreography was yours. She wants to know if you'd consider returning to the dance circle. Even if your legs-well, your injury-keep you from matching top dancers, your talent is irreplaceable. She believes your stage isn't limited to the boards." Aysel paused, ears twitching slightly. When she was first hurt, the Moonvale halls had seemed suffocating, every corner of the dance world a reminder of her lost agility. She had avoided it all. But now, she had clawed a space where it could survive as a passion rather than a chain. "If there's a proper chance, I'll try," she said, her tail flicking with quiet restraint. "But I cannot treat it as my primary hunt." Agnes' tail wagged, fur bristling with joy. "It's fine. My aunt guessed it already. She says whenever inspiration strikes, you two can create together. She'll help push it forward. And some of her pack allies' performances might invite you as an external adviser." Aysel nodded once, faint but sure. Agnes practically bounded with excitement. Even if Aysel didn't immerse herself in the dance packs again, she would not let her talent fade unseen. The young wolf had thought convincing her would be difficult, but Aysel's calm decisiveness made the task trivial. Agnes smiled, feeling the truth now obvious: no wonder Magnus adored her. Aysel Vale was a wolf unbroken, self-contained, clever, resilient, repeatedly rescuing herself from fire and flood-radiant to all who could see. The Moonvale Pack, by contrast, were simple creatures, predictable and shortsighted. ... With trust in Aysel, the Moonvale kin waited for Agnes' pack to issue the reconciliation writ. They had never considered that she might deceive them. It was only when frantic calls from lawyers began, demanding to know if they should intervene or not, that the Moonvale kin realized the teeth of Aysel's trap had closed around them. Alpha Remus scrambled to accelerate the recall of property the next dawn. Phone calls went unanswered. Den doors remained shut. The realization hit like a wolf pack's coordinated strike: Aysel never intended to let Celestine escape unscathed. Returning the shares and estates? A joke. Magnus' shadow still lingered over them. Aysel might allow herself to play with them, but they dared not play with her. The Moonvale could vanish from the capital by nightfall if they misstepped. So, begrudgingly, Remus forced the charitable transfers, gritting his teeth. "Let it be considered a blessing, a way to purge ill luck from the den," he muttered, a low growl in his throat. A lie. In the dead of night, his chest tightened, and his stomach turned as if his own claws had cut him. Worse yet, their assumption that Aysel's intervention guaranteed the Ward's compliance had delayed negotiations with Serena. The Ironhowl Pack Alpha multiplied his demands in response to their indecision. The Moonvale kin were not merely skinned-they were crippled. Remus' frustration, volatile and raw, seeped into his thoughts of Celestine. If she had not been reckless, grasping at Chasing the Wind, would any of this chaos exist? Even the pangs of guilt over reclaiming her shares and estates were muted by his anger. The one truly broken, however, was Celestine. Her fall from grace had been swift and brutal, culminating in imprisonment she had never imagined. Serena's intervention had made it worse. The Moonvale kin had visited her frequently at first, but over time, their attentions waned. She struggled alone in the den, watching events unfold, powerless to shift the tide. Even Damon had visited, his dark presence commanding the air. He had questioned her about the accident that had befallen Aysel, probing if her claws had caused it, before giving the final warning: this was the last time he would intervene. Celestine's isolation was complete.