Third Person's POV The next noon, Aysel rose from the warmth of her bed, the sun filtering through the den's windows, and felt a sharp pang of resolve: a whole weekend couldn't be wasted lounging. She shook off the languor of a wolf pup who'd lingered too long in her lair. Magnus and she decided to roam the markets and streets together, their paws padding softly over the city's cobblestones. For Magnus, normally immersed in the pack's business and the weight of continental dominion, this outing was novel. His furs were usually draped in custom-tailored robes, some gifted by influential wolves, others by the finest tailors of distant lands. But with Aysel, he found himself at a human marketplace, selecting ingredients, touching fabrics, and engaging in the mundane-a rare departure from the calculated maneuvers of an Alpha. Once, he would have called shopping a waste of time. But with her, even idling became intoxicating. Inside the marketplace, Aysel treated Magnus like a living doll, dragging him from stall to stall, testing new outfits, laughing as they twinned in casual ensembles. Handsome, sculpted, and imposing, Magnus wore each piece with effortless charisma-every turn in the mirror made him a spectacle. Magnus smiled, a rare curve for the serious Alpha. "Buy it." Aysel hesitated, glancing at the piles of shopping sacks on the store's lounge chairs. "No matter," Magnus said, "they can deliver them later." The store manager, seeing their growing haul, beamed. He was already plotting more recommendations when another couple entered-another pair of young wolves, striking in appearance. "Aysel?" Damon Blackwood stopped mid-step, surprise flashing in his amber eyes. He scanned the couple's outfits, his chest tightening slightly. The girl beside him tilted her head, curious at his sudden pause, then noticed Aysel and Magnus together-perfectly matched. Her eyes lit up. "Shall we try that too?" The girl's gaze flicked between them and his companion, confusion sharpening his jaw. "Do you know them?" Damon's voice was calm, but his fangs subtly glinted under his lip. The young girl sensing the tension, asked hesitantly, "Who is that?"Damon's eyes hardened. A flicker of recognition passed through him, controlled swiftly. "A sister I once knew," he replied, jaw tight, voice even. "Ah... you..." the girl murmured, sensing something unspoken in his straight, unwavering stare. Before more could be said, a familiar voice, warm and unexpected, called out: "Damon!" The Alpha froze. The voice carried the scent of memory, threading through the marketplace air, stirring instincts long dormant. Aysel exchanged a glance with Magnus, both amused and alert. A small storm of tension had erupted in the middle of this mundane den. Celestine hadn't expected to see Damon here. She had come to a private gathering of high-born wolves, hoping to observe without intrusion. Those who once fawned over her now recoiled as if she carried plague; whispers rustled like dry leaves. She noticed their gaze linger on her fur, scrutinizing every detail. Rumors of Moonvale Pack's near-collapse circulated freely; her attire was mocked, her status questioned. Even cruel jabs about her time in confinement-what offenses she'd committed, whether her ferocity surpassed theirs-were tossed casually. For Celestine, wolves outside were far crueler than the iron bars of her cage. There, she'd learned to speak with claws and teeth; here, words were the weapons, precise and unyielding. Two months of formal records and shadowed judgment had already corroded much of her life. Meanwhile, the Vale Pack continued to speak of "guilt" and "debt," their fangs sheathed while Celestine bore the brunt of every judgment. Confronted with Celestine, their warm pretense evaporated-no coins, no favors, only cold stares. Yesterday, Celestine had hinted she needed new attire for the tea gathering. But Moonvale Pack's elders ignored the subtle cue; Luna Evelyn had only gathered a few sets, ill-fitting trinkets for her young wolf frame. Fuming, Celestine picked a slightly better ensemble, forced a smile, and retreated to her den. Inside, she found her room had been arranged to Aysel's tastes, carefully curated by Luna before her arrival. Rage flared in her chest. Red-eyed, she yanked the covers off the bed and threw them aside. For a fleeting second, she imagined Aysel as she had been in adolescence-small, plain-clothed, smiling shyly from the edge of the bed. The sight twisted her mind. Frustration exploded. Celestine smashed objects, scattering them like shards of anger and lost pride. Gradually, with careful, trembling motions, she restored order. She could not allow the Moonvale wolves to witness her outburst. Any crack in her composed façade would send carefully mended relationships plummeting back into frost. Blood dripped from cuts on her hands, glass biting into skin, but her eyes were dark and unwavering.