Aysel's POV Skylar watched me with the kind of satisfaction only a Frostfang wolf could muster-sharp, discerning, and a little too smug. "I didn't expect the great Shadowbane heir, to act like that when he's alone with you." Her lips twitched. "He's basically a clingy overgrown wolfhound." I snorted. "You're not wrong." "But truly," she added, amusement softening into relief, "seeing how well the two of you fit together... I can finally stop worrying." If today's events had involved Damon Blackwood instead of Magnus, Skylar knew the outcome would have been very different. Magnus was... better for me. A steadier storm. A darker flame that didn't burn me alive. Her expression warmed, and the old ache in my chest loosened. Magnus was many things-Alpha supreme of the Shadowbane Pack, the continent's strongest wolf, a creature forged from nightsteel and shadowfire-but Skylar had stood beside me through the worst years of my youth. One was the sharp moonlight that found me late. The other, the lone lantern that kept me alive long enough to see dawn. Different kinds of light. Both irreplaceable. We lingered in that soft quiet a moment, brushing shoulders, our wolves humming in mutual ease. Then Skylar's expression sharpened. "Aysel," she said, voice low, "what do you plan to do about Celestine Ward? And Damon Blackwood? And the Moonvale elders?" Her eyes narrowed. "Legally, they'll only be seen as unwitting accomplices. What Dariusz gave us isn't enough to pierce their armor." She wasn't wrong. And neither of us had any intention of letting them walk away untouched. I let out a slow breath, the kind that curled like frost. "Every cause has its consequence. They chose Celestine, so they will bear everything she drags to their doorstep." Skylar's wolf growled softly in agreement. "Dariusz's matter stays buried for now," I continued. "When Damon and Celestine finally bind themselves-mate marks, vows, everything sealed-I'll send them a gift they'll remember for the rest of their lives." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Sharp. Predatory. Frostfang to the bone."And the Moonvale Pack?" she pressed. I looked out the window. The horizon felt distant, but not as distant as the day my dear sister would finally walk out of prison. "Let them wait," I murmured. "My good sister will be released soon. I'll welcome her personally." Celestine Ward could enjoy these final scraps of freedom however she pleased. Let her shine briefly, burn brightly, delude herself into believing the world still adored her. From nothing to everything rebuilt, to falling publicly, to losing what was won, to being freed, to losing again- Fortune had played her game with others for years. Now it was time she tasted the bite of fate herself. The next morning, I threw myself into the whirlwind waiting for me. Julia was already thriving-shining brighter than I'd ever seen her-and she blended seamlessly with the other dancers. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. "Miss Vale-you're here!" She'd wanted to pick me up herself, but I'd told her I already had transportation arranged. Julia never forgot who helped her rise to the international stage, and now that we were finally working side by side, she practically vibrated with excitement. Sofia swept in next, sweeping me into a hug that smelled faintly of rosin and moon-lilies. "Aysel-welcome." Their ballet was nearly complete, but Sofia had been stuck on several of the lead's solo pieces. Something was missing-something emotional, something visceral. She'd mentioned it to her friend, Giovanna, who reminded her of the piece Celestine once danced: Chasing the Wind. And with that, she'd remembered its choreographer-me. The dance had spirit. Breath. Wildness. A pulse only wolves could truly understand. It wasn't surprising Sofia had been tempted.So she'd invited me as a special consultant. If I failed, she'd fall back on her previous choreography. But if I succeeded... It would change the entire production. Before I arrived, the three of us had already discussed the script, and I'd viewed their existing choreography. I understood immediately what Sofia meant by "missing something." The solos were beautiful-technically flawless, visually striking, and aligned with the story's arc. But the emotional core? Muted. Restrained. Too clean. Not enough visceral resonance-nothing to make the audience feel claws scraping their hearts. That was exactly my field. And likely why Giovanna had recommended me at all. I had already begun forming ideas before I even walked into the rehearsal hall. My wolf stretched inside my chest-awake, eager, hungry to create. It was time to work.