Third Person's POV "Retribution! It's all retribution, Ulric! I may have tempted you, may have clawed into your life and torn at your loyalties-but if you had not been consumed by hunger for power, if you had not abandoned your mate first, could I have ever succeeded?!" Ivy's crimson eyes glinted like the burning coals of a winter hunt. Her words were fangs and fire, lashing at the Shadowbane second-line Alpha as she poured every ounce of venom from her heart. "Now, who do you show your affection to? Your true mate is gone... dead, because of you! Your cubs refuse to recognize you, despise you to the point that even their mother's remains cannot be laid with you-they loathe your scent, your very existence!" She circled him like a cornered wolf, letting her rage tear open old wounds, each word a strike meant to pierce Ulric's soul. The crimson mark from her last strike burned against his furred chest, a reminder of the cage his own son had crafted for him-a wheelchair both physical and symbolic, binding the once-proud Alpha in chains of his own legacy. "I tell you," she spat, "you shall not know relief in life, nor seek forgiveness in death. The mother and son you wronged will never love you. Ever. And when your bones rest beneath the earth, my name, Ivy, will be carved beside your tombstone. In this life or the next, you shall not escape me!" The room pulsed with the intensity of their pack-born bond, twisted by betrayal. Ulric's pale muzzle reflected sorrow and resignation; his claws flexed against his knees, lost in the storm of her words. The light of the bright lanterns above revealed a marriage ravaged, though the wolves themselves still breathed and bared fangs side by side. Ivy's fury spiraled; she smashed ornaments, snarled at the walls, and spat curses at Ulric, Magnus, Raya, even at her own Darkmoon kin. Her hatred sought every living creature, wishing to claw and tear at the world itself. Outside the slightly ajar den door, Ayse's amber eyes gleamed with calculated calm. She had listened quietly, noting the tremor in the air, the scent of raw anger and hurt spilling into the hallway. The round-faced servant, Circa, shivered beside her, uncertain whether to intervene. Aysel's keen Moonvale instincts had already assessed the danger: Ulric's wounded leg made him vulnerable, and Ivy's uncontrolled rage could be fatal if left unchecked. Aysel leaned down, voice low but firm. "Circa, do you know where the den's power switch is?" Circa blinked, puzzled. Aysel's grin was sharp, predatory. "Go now, cut the flow. Count ten full minutes, then restore it." She tapped Circa's shoulder. "When wolves are blind with fury, their minds wander into chaos. Darkness gives the pack time to cool, to remember reason." She added a final instruction, whispering with authority: "Tell every servant: no interruptions, no peeking, for ten minutes. Let the storm burn itself out."Circa's nod was earnest. "Understood." Once Circa departed, Aysel returned to the door, her paw on the handle. The "fight" inside, by all accounts, had been exaggerated. Ivy's strikes, though furious, could only scratch and slap, while Ulric, the cautious wolf, had no intention of harming a she-wolf. Their claws had merely grazed, their movements entangled in frustration rather than intent. But Aysel's pack instincts told her it was not enough. If wolves are to fight, let them fight fully, let the claws and teeth of anger tear through the den-half measures meant nothing. The moment the lanterns flickered out, Aysel pushed the door wide, storming inside. Her entrance was a predator's pounce, calculated but urgent. "Uncle! Stepmother! Stop! You will not fight like this!" In the sudden darkness, her sharp grin was hidden, only her feral intent glowing in amber eyes. Her momentum sent her skidding into Ivy, who froze in shock at the intrusion. Two muffled thuds echoed as Ivy toppled, landing atop Ulric in his wheelchair, the room now a shadowed arena of tangled furs, flaring emotions, and unspent rage. The darkness consumed everything, but Aysel's senses were alive, ready. She was here to witness, to intervene if claws truly bared, ensuring the storm of this second-line couple's fury spill beyond the den.