Aysel's POV The storm had been growling over the Moonvale ancestral grounds since dawn-heavy, wet thunder, the kind that makes even seasoned wolves restless beneath their skin. By the time Magnus and I curled up in his room, trading gossip and teasing each other in the low amber glow of the lamps, the downpour outside had turned the world into a blur of silver water and rumbling sky. We played around longer than we meant to. It felt good-warm, easy, almost normal-until the dinner bell echoed through the old stone corridors. Ulva, Phelan Sanchez's widow, never showed up. No one was surprised. Lyall Sanchez was calmer today, disturbingly calm. He spent the entire meal peeling shrimp for Johanna, sliding dishes toward her with quiet devotion. Who would have thought a wolf so gentle with his mate could also raise claws against his own blood in a struggle over a woman? Even if he hadn't been the mastermind... his heart was dark enough. And Phelan-yes, Phelan had flaws. He wasn't a good mate, and he strayed, but as the eldest son and acknowledged heir, he'd always treated his younger siblings decently. In the Moonvale Pack, that counted for something. My gaze drifted to Bastien, the old patriarch at the head of the table. Nothing. Not a flicker of emotion. Years of storms-real and political-had carved him into granite. His scent was stone, cedar, and old dominance. You couldn't read a man like that from his face. But Kurt Sanchez... He was doomed. His mate looked like she was moments from tearing strips off him. Her eyes flashed like a she-wolf on the brink of snapping bone. The entire meal simmered with unspoken threats. A pack of wolves pretending to be civilized. The only ones truly unaffected were Magnus, me... and Johanna.From the moment she entered this house, her scent had been composed-pale, faintly sweet, touched with sickness but startlingly calm. She didn't flinch at hostility. Didn't shrink from isolation. Didn't react when someone lobbed a barb her way. She simply existed-thin, fragile-looking, but almost serene. Lyall fussed over her. She met his efforts with gentle indifference, eating neatly and slowly. When she noticed me watching, she even smiled. Her composure was otherworldly. Magnus stripped a plate of shrimp for me, set it in front of me, then refilled my glass. To him, this entire family feud was background noise. His only focus was me-and the way I apparently kept peeking around like a squirrel spying on enemy territories. Honestly, he wasn't wrong. He regretted telling me stories so early; I could smell it in the subtle spike of his amusement and exasperation. On the far side, Accalia Sanchez and Rollo Sanchez tried to needle the Fifth House, throwing shadowy hints and barbed comments. But Bastien didn't react, and Magnus made it clear he wouldn't interfere. He only served his mate-me-and let the others stew in their own discontent. Eventually, they choked down their pride. Silence smothered the second half of dinner. I ate well. Too well. And the others... noticed. Nothing irritated wolves more than watching someone else be perfectly at ease while they simmered in turmoil. When the meal finally ended and people began to disperse, Lyall called out to Bastien. He'd been stonewalled since stepping into the estate. He'd tried again at the dinner table and been shut down every time Magnus's grandfather raised a hand. But now-now something cracked in him. His eyes burned with desperation, madness, and the kind of resolve that comes from having nowhere left to retreat. "Father," he said, voice sharp as a blade. "I need to speak with you. Alone." Bastien rose and followed him upstairs to the study. Johanna remained where she was-calmly sipping tea, as if she already knew what would be said behind closed doors. Outside, the thunder grew heavier, roaring like an ancient beast. Everyone who'd been preparing to leave sat right back down. No wolf would leave before hearing what was happening upstairs. I walked to the window. Rain lashed the glass hard enough to distort the world into streaks of silver. Something pressed against my chest-subtle, heavy, wrong. A wolf's instinctive dread. Magnus came over and gently tugged me closer to him. "Tired? Want to head out first?" I was about to nod- When a maid's panicked scream tore down the staircase. "Help! Something's happened!" The entire room erupted. Wolves surged toward the stairs in a frenzy of claws and instinct. Magnus pulled me toward the couch. "Sit here. I'll check." I nodded obediently. In minutes, the house emptied toward the upper floors. Then I realized- Only Johanna and I remained in the vast, dimly lit room. She poured another cup of tea, slid it toward me, and said softly, "Have some." "Thank you." I held the cup but didn't drink. Johanna smiled gently, her voice quiet and unsettlingly even. "The men of the Sanchez line carry a particular kind of madness. You're young, beautiful. The world outside is wide, and you could choose better."I didn't know what she truly meant in a moment like this. But I met her smile with my own and answered firmly, "Magnus is my best choice." Too fast. Too certain. Instinctual truth from a wolf's marrow. Johanna's hand froze mid-pour. Her expression flickered-surprise, then something like sorrow. "But the Sanchez estate isn't a good place," she whispered. "Everyone in these halls carries a ghost in their soul. And every newcomer... is eventually stained by it." Her gaze drifted toward the dark corridor. "Family storms never end because one or two wolves wish them to. Why enter these waters at all? Even mountains fall." I smiled. "If there's a storm, we build a ship. And if the mountain falls, we rebuild. You misunderstood one thing, Johanna-I didn't step into the Sanchez waters. I walked in because Magnus happened to be there." An old pack could crumble all it wanted. Magnus's name was his own, not a chain. And I- I boarded his ship, not their crumbling house. My words clearly shook her. Her eyes sharpened, intrigued, almost... awakened. "You and Magnus," she murmured, "truly are different from the rest of this old house." She paused, then asked, quietly: "Do you want to know what Lyall is telling Bastien upstairs?"