Third Person's POV Aysel touched the small skink in her hand and smiled softly. "Alright, you can stay with me for a little while. I'll take you to the front desk to wait for your owner when I leave." Alfie stood a few meters away, rationally knowing he should take the creature and leave, yet he found himself lingering. Leaning against the wall, like a stranger crossing paths by chance, he watched the rain with her under the eaves, silent. The storm softened after two long hours. Her phone, tucked inside her bag, hadn't rung once. Neither had his. When Aysel finally left and carried the lizard to the front desk, Alfie stepped forward to retrieve it. As he glanced back one last time, he caught her fragile silhouette, small backpack bouncing, disappearing into the light drizzle. Seven years had passed since that rainy day. Alfie's memory of her features had blurred, yet he could still see the tilt of her face under the eaves, watching the sky. He saw her again at Anna's funeral and recognized her almost immediately. She hadn't changed much from her high school self, save for a more striking, confident presence. Back then, she had seemed beautiful yet shadowed, as though darkness constantly lingered at her edges, ready to consume her. Even a fleeting glance had revealed layers of resilience and intelligence. He had seen so many half-formed butterflies, trapped in cocoons that failed to hatch. Aysel's growth had been fraught with obstacles. Her eyes, when they met his, were unfamiliar. He expected it. Back then, during the competition, he had worn a mask due to a skin allergy, and they had never exchanged a single word. Sometimes, Alfie wondered what might have happened if he had spoken to her then. But fate had its own plan, and any chance was lost. By the time he realized he could have approached, she had Magnus Sanchez by her side. Magnus-the Shadowbane Alpha, his so-called cousin but actually a nephew-whose name was well-known long before. A wolf brilliant in mind and decisive in action, feared and admired in equal measure, a peak too high to climb, cold and detached. Two unexpected forces converged in one place. When his parents had fully revealed his heritage, his mother Johanna had asked if he wished to claim his place. She did not force him into the Sanchez den; it was rare maternal gentleness. She had let the past bitterness end with her generation and handed the choice to Alfie. If he refused, she would respect him. If he chose to enter the den, she would not stop him. Win or lose, it mattered little to her-she enjoyed watching the Sanchez stumble and fall, the same way she had once touched the cold, decaying body of a father who had jumped to his death. His father, Lyall, had offered support if Alfie wished to fight for his place. Misunderstandings aside, twenty years of shared history had created real bonds. Regardless of past grievances, father and son remained connected. Alfie had made up his mind before stepping into the Sanchez den. Seeing Aysel at the funeral-the butterfly that had briefly paused in his life-stirred a fleeting hesitation, but memories of the pond, the warmth between her and Magnus, reassured him. Their bond was too fierce for him to intrude. He had already learned from the fifth house's analysis of Magnus's past. When Aysel had fearlessly beaten those who gossiped and defended Magnus, Alfie understood that his presence was unnecessary. She could handle any trespasser herself. This was hers alone-a gift of steadfast protection for the one she loved. Alfie allowed himself a bitter smile. Such devotion was enviable. He recalled that day in A City. She had been abandoned, yet in the pause between rain showers, she had held her medal, tapped her own shoulder, and smiled quietly. "Aysel Vale, you are remarkable," she had told herself. Back then, he thought she was skilled at loving herself. Seven years later, he realized she had learned to love others as fiercely. That girl, deprived of affection, gave a kind of love more sincere and burning than anyone else could offer. Magnus's early life may have been rough, but in love, he was truly fortunate. Alfie shook his head. Even now, he could find no gap to intervene, no weakness to exploit.