Third Person's POV Downstairs, the wait for Celestine and Aysel to retrieve the gifts stretched longer than expected. Alpha Remus could not resist peering toward the staircase with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Luna Evelyn's brow furrowed, her senses twitching. "Aysel has a temper. They won't start fighting, will they?" she murmured, her wolfish intuition pricking at her nerves. Remus, for all his sternness, remained seated, ears flicking. "Not today. The day's weight keeps her contained," he rumbled, scenting the storm of emotions brewing above. Lykos, the most impatient, stomped. "I'll go nudge them," he growled and started up the stairs, but Fenrir intercepted him, muscles coiling. "If anything erupts, you'll only make it worse. I'll handle this." The thought of Aysel and Lykos-two young wolves, volatile and untamed-clashing in the confined space of the estate's upper floor sent shivers down Fenrir's spine. Their feral instincts, if triggered, could tear the room apart. Reaching the second floor, Fenrir froze. From behind a door, a piercing cry, sharp with fear and pain, echoed. "Please! No!" followed by the harsh clatter of something heavy hitting the floor. Fenrir's claws dug into the wood, instincts screaming, and he surged forward. The sounds had reached the ears of those still below, and they hurried after him, senses on high alert. The door swung open, and the scene that met them was harrowing. Aysel stood across from Celestine, her posture rigid, a Swiss-made dagger glinting at her feet-the gift Fenrir had once given her for protection during a past Shadowfang kidnapping incident. The blade, once cherished and untouchable, now lay abandoned, a silent witness to the chaos. Celestine's eyes were red, tears streaming as she clutched the damaged portrait of Yuna, her mother, a vision of grace and warmth now scarred by violence. Fenrir didn't hesitate; he leapt forward, stepping over the fallen dagger, steadying the portrait before it tumbled further. "Aysel! What are you doing?!" Remus's growl thundered behind them. Other members of Moonvale had arrived, drawn by the commotion, their nostrils flaring, unable to comprehend the intensity of the scene. Celestine's usual composure shattered as she yelled, her voice laced with anguish and betrayal. "Aysel! I know you resent that our parents left grandmother's room to me! If you wanted it, I would have given it. But you burned it in silence? Why destroy my mother's painting? She cared for you! Even in death, she deserved your respect!" The scent of betrayal, anger, and grief hung thick in the air. Aysel's lips pressed tight, her jaw firm, eyes glinting with the unspoken feral restraint she maintained for years. She didn't respond. Fenrir's nostrils flared. "Who else could it be? Only the two of you were here." His voice carried the unyielding authority of the Alpha he served under, tempered by years of reading the subtleties of wolf pack dynamics. "Do you know how much effort Celestine put into that painting? Every discarded sketch, every sleepless night I saw her labor while others slept." Remus's hand rose, striking Aysel's cheek-not in uncontrolled rage, but as the pack's head enforcing order. "Apologize!" Aysel's gaze dropped, lashes shielding her eyes. "I didn't break it," she said softly, voice edged with the chill of distant ice, the wolf inside her curling into a defensive coil. Lykos, standing guard to prevent her retreat, sneered. "If not you, then who? You were alone with her. This is deliberate." He hissed, the sharpness of his words almost predatory. "You killed a bond of trust, and now you attack her mother's memory? The pack will not forgive this lightly." Luna Evelyn pressed her hands to her chest, voice trembling yet demanding: "Apologize!" The weight of centuries of pack tradition and respect for the dead bore down on Aysel. Memories of her childhood, the way Yuna Ward had protected her like a second mother, pressed heavily on her chest. The unrelenting gaze of her family pinned her. She had no allies here-her silence was both shield and defiance. Even though her heart remained guarded, a thin glimmer of unshed emotion flickered in her eyes, unnoticed by the rest. Her spine straightened, claws flexed beneath the surface, yet she did not yield a sound. The pack's unspoken hierarchy, the reverence for the dead, and her own wolfish pride wove a cage around her, forcing her to endure the scrutiny without a growl. "I... I'm sorry," she muttered, voice low and reluctant, more to steady her own heartbeat than to absolve herself. "I didn't mean... I didn't mean to..." Her words faltered, almost drowned by the thunder of her own racing pulse. Celestine's sobs quieted slightly, her body trembling as relief and disbelief mingled in the air. Fenrir and Remus exchanged a glance, acknowledging the truce that had been carved through sheer force of restraint rather than ease of heart. By the time the Moonvale family descended to the ancestral graves, the air was heavier than usual. Rain began to fall, a soft but persistent drizzle that mirrored the tension and remorse in every scent, every pawstep. Celestine laid lilies-Yuna's favorite-while her damaged painting stayed behind, deemed imperfect for the eyes of the dead. Celestine promised she would create a new one next year, one worthy of her mother's memory. Aysel's gaze remained fixed on the wet earth, the wolf inside her restless but silent. Each drop of rain felt like the weight of the pack's expectations, each gust of wind a reminder of her transgressions. Then Remus commanded, sharp as any Alpha's directive, "Kneel."