Third Person's POV The sun-soaked chaos of the day finally faded, and as night draped, the evening's masquerade unfurled to the rhythm of swift, primal music. Aysel's hand linked with Magnus, stepped into the dance floor where wolves and humans alike, adorned in exquisite masks, swayed and twirled. The scent of tension and bloodlust lingered faintly beneath the perfumes and finery. Her gaze immediately found Serena, standing on the sidelines like a ghost, eyes fixed on the floor's center with a predator's patience. "Serena not joining?" Aysel asked, noting the unusual lethargy in the Ironhowl heiress. Serena's amber eyes, usually sharp as a wolf's, darkened. "I do not wish to dance. I only wish to return to the pack lands," she murmured, voice carrying the cold warning of a wolf whose patience had worn thin. After trading words with Serena, Aysel returned to Magnus, a thrill curling through her veins. "Serena's probably done with yachts and cruises for life. There's no running from the sea when it's the hunting ground." Magnus chuckled, the motion predatory yet elegant. He nuzzled her ear lightly, bending to take her hand. "Fox of the Moonvale, will you dance with me?" Their masks-a wolf for him, a fox for her-had been chosen with care, symbolic of the unspoken bond between predator and huntress. Aysel lifted her chin with the proud tilt of a huntress, placing her hand in his. "Of course, Wolf of Shadowbane." Even behind masks, their presence dominated the room, bodies radiating the tense, fluid grace of apex predators. Serena, following the music with the tip of her fingers, allowed herself a fleeting relaxation. Around her, the Moonvale Pack had retreated-Fenrir had not appeared, Olivia refused to see anyone after a scare, Damon Blackwood and Celestine Ward were recuperating from a near-drowning. Even Derek Sanchez seemed here only to enjoy a brief respite, dancing with a familiar heiress. The dance floor reached the point of exchanging partners. Men released hands; women spun like autumn leaves, finding new prey in the arms of another. Serena, letting her guard lower slightly, reached for a glass of red wine from a servant's tray. Then the light vanished. A sudden blackout swallowed the hall, leaving only startled cries and the sound of feet colliding in the chaos. Serena's gaze hardened.Not a single host had mentioned surprises. The instinctive growl in her chest warned her something was wrong. Her eyes flicked toward the floor, seeking Magnus and Aysel-and found emptiness. Serena's wolf's mind kicked in. Her phone remained clutched in her hand. "Why is there no light?" she demanded, voice sharp. A heavy thunk, followed by the cold click of a severed line, answered her. Servants lit crude lanterns and candles. Security wolves formed a tight ring around the hall. Guests, mistaking the darkness for theatrics, laughed nervously, surrendering to the night's artificial tension. But Serena's eyes scanned with lethal precision. Magnus and Aysel were gone. She left the majority to stabilize the hall, moving with a predator's silence down the corridors. A wounded event manager lay sprawled, unconscious from an unseen strike. Serena pressed onward, heart thudding with the rhythm of her wolf. On the deck, the scene that greeted her could have belonged in a hunt. A man, masked and in a suit, pressed a dagger against Aysel's throat. Every inch he moved forward threatened bloodshed. Magnus stood like a shadowed sentinel, eyes black as the void. Aysel, though threatened, mirrored the calm of a fox cornered yet unbroken, inching backward toward the rail near where Celestine Ward had been swept into the sea hours before. "Do not come closer!" the intruder stammered, hand trembling over the steel. Fear radiated from him, but Magnus's presence was a tide of darkness pressing down, promising that any misstep would be fatal. Serena's wolf growled low in her chest, muscles coiled, every sense screaming. The dance of predator and prey had begun, and the night was far from over.