Aysel's POV Without another word, I stepped into the rain, letting it soak me, washing away the hesitations clinging to my skin. My senses sharpened. My wolf's nose led me as surely as my eyes, drawing me to the place Anna had named. The Estate's side wing loomed through the sheets of rain. Raya used to sit by the second-floor windows there, bow in hand, her music filling the garden. Then the gardener died, and the wing was sealed. But Anna had changed her mind. I know clearly her plan had evolved: she wanted Magnus to find me, to strike, to feel the torment when the toxins fade. I moved like a shadow, silent, my paws finding purchase despite the wet stone. The servants had followed her instructions. Doors unlocked, hallways cleared. My claws pressed against the handle, and I inhaled the air through flaring nostrils. Blood. Old, thick, metallic. And a hint of bitter alchemical compounds lingering like a warning. Inside, the first sight nearly froze me. A massive photograph-Raya's broken form sprawled across the floor, clothes torn, bruises dark on her skin, clutching a small boy as though her life depended on it. Pain and despair radiated from her eyes. The wolf in me growled low. This wasn't just memory-it was a trap, a cage of torment. And all around, the walls were covered with similar images: the garden under blazing sun, a young one tripped by cruel hands; family gatherings marred with humiliation; winter attacks with snow, blood, terror painted in every frame. The madness wasn't just in one hand-it was a chorus of cruelty, a pack of sadistic whispers through time. My pulse quickened. Even a human heart would have fractured here. And Magnus... Magnus had survived worse in his life, yet this was designed to break him. I avoided staring too long at the photos, letting my wolf track the scent of the floor instead. There, strewn across the boards, were corpses of animals. Reminders. Echoes. One small wolf had kept Magnus alive that month in the mountains, its life intertwined with his. He had killed it later-not out of malice, but necessity. Anna's attempt to replicate that trauma was grotesque: dead cats and dogs, skins of animals with a resemblance to that wolf. Poisoned snakes, some alive, some dead, scattered like a miniature hunt-neurotoxic, paralytic doses that could drive a man insane if paired with the hallucinogenic compounds she'd brewed into the air. Even the strongest wolf could falter under such a calculated storm. The scent of fresh blood mixed with rainwater under my paws. I stepped carefully, claws flexing as I skirted around the serpents, my wolf's instincts guiding me past traps. The stairs were slick with crimson, but the house was unnervingly quiet, as if holding its breath for what was coming. Each step echoed, the rhythm of predator and prey, the heartbeat of a hunt long prepared. On the second floor, the hallway pressed in with the weight of memory and torment. Images of suffering everywhere-but I pushed forward. My wolf growled in anticipation, not fear. This was a challenge, a trial, a place meant to unhinge the mind. I could feel Magnus' presence ahead, his aura sharp yet strained, waiting in the room at the end. I approached the door facing the garden. Instinct told me he was inside. My paw touched the handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. The lock had been tampered with, forced open. But he didn't emerge. My paw pressed against the door handle, and I could feel the hum of the corridor beneath my senses: red points blinking from the surveillance, faint scents of those who had walked here before. Anna had said he might not recognize me. Perhaps she had ways of confirming that Magnus had taken the bait, that his mind was already fraying, that his instincts might turn violent. Even if he was half-lost to consciousness, I had to bring him back. My wolf growled low in my chest, impatient and hungry. I pushed the door open. In one fluid motion, I flicked the small fruit knife I'd swiped from Anna. It hissed through the air like a fang, piercing a green serpent that slithered from the bedframe. The creature convulsed a few times before collapsing, lifeless. The scraping of its scales across the floor-against the old cello strings-stopped with a resonant "clang" as I watched. Silence reclaimed the room. The room was unlit, but lightning forked through the sky, painting the interior with stark flashes. Furniture sparse, carefully arranged: a resting bed, a small desk, a sofa, a chair by the window, the smashed cello lying prone on the floor, and walls lined with photographs. Snake corpses littered the scene, some rotten, some recent. On the desk sat a brown box. Atop it were the negatives Anna had used to lure Magnus here-the old photographs, preserved, ready to wound a mind. The windows were shattered and flung open; white curtains whipped in the wind, rain gusting in through the broken glass. Magnus had forced them open, I realized-sensing the poisoned air, seeking to clear it. The wind from the window and the door draft collided, slapping droplets against my face. The corridor's light bled into the room, and my eyes caught him immediately: a lone shape huddled against the far wall by the window. Rain and blood pooled around him, slicking his dark fur and dampening the edges of his coat. One leg stretched straight, the other bent, left hand draped over the bent knee, head hanging low. His expression hidden, yet every movement was sharp, coiled, measured-wolf instincts taut beneath skin. Even as I stepped into the room, the alpha remained still, like a shadow waiting for the right moment. I sensed him before I saw him completely-his scent, metallic and wet from rain, mingled with something darker: rage, confusion, and something deeply predatory, waiting to snap.He didn't flinch as I entered. He didn't shift. Not even a growl.