Third Person's POV Although Maddox's legs had been broken, if given proper treatment and time, his werewolf regeneration would have allowed a full recovery. But fate had a crueler plan for him tonight. No one knew who had found Maddox-nor who had beaten him so savagely he lay barely alive. Had Duke not arrived in time, the rogue alley rats might have been feasting on his carcass by dawn. After hanging up the call, Duke obeyed Lucien Duskgrave's order without hesitation, arranging for Maddox to be discreetly moved to a private facility under Stormridge Pack control. Meanwhile, the one responsible for turning Maddox into a broken mess was calmly shedding her bloodstained gloves and black coat in a shadowed alley nearby. Every move Carmen made was clinical, deliberate-devoid of emotion. She struck a match. The sharp hiss of fire filled the silence. The fabric curled and blackened instantly as flames devoured the bloodstained evidence. The firelight danced across Carmen's face-an expressionless mask carved from ice and shadows. She was pale, cold, stunning. There was nothing soft about her beauty. It was refined like a blade-sharp, ruthless, and dangerous to touch. Her eyes were deep voids, her lips unmoving, her posture erect beneath a black combat jacket that clung to a figure made for speed and death. She looked less like a girl and more like a weapon forged under a blood moon. Only once the flames had reduced everything to ash did the heat inside her chest finally cool. So why had she done it? The answer lay an hour in the past. It was Friday evening. With the weekend approaching, Mooncrest fell into a lull. Mia-who had been fully absorbed in caring for Riley for weeks-finally carved out time to see her own daughter. They met at Moonshadow Tavern, a wolf-owned wild-game restaurant near the edge of Stormridge territory, known for rare meat and blood-infused wine. Carmen sat across from her mother, tearing into seared venison as she casually inquired about Riley-her beloved "sister." Mia's expression softened as she spoke. She told of Lucien's quiet protectiveness, Matriarch Duskgrave's approval, Mrs. Beck's careful tending. Riley had finally found somewhere to feel safe. And Carmen felt her tightly coiled nerves begin to loosen. But then Mia spoke of the findings Caelum Knox had uncovered. About Maddox. About the humiliation, betrayal, and selfish cruelty he had inflicted on Riley for years. The chopsticks in Carmen's hand snapped in half. A chilling silence fell over the table. Her expression never changed. But her blood boiled. Anyone who had ever hurt Riley-anyone-was already dead in Carmen's mind. Their bodies just hadn't caught up yet. Fate, it seemed, agreed. As Carmen walked out of the tavern, the scent hit her nose before her eyes caught up. Maddox. In a wheelchair. Slowly wheeling past the window, too broken and too arrogant to realize death was stalking him. It was destiny. "Mom, Dean just messaged me," she lied. "Urgent notice from Ashmoor Academy. I'll stay in the dorms tonight." Mia, none the wiser, nodded in concern. Carmen kissed her cheek, then vanished into the shadows. She tailed Maddox quietly. Once the streets emptied, she struck. A sack went over his upper body. Her fists followed. He screamed. She didn't stop.She dragged him into the filth-ridden alley like trash. Found a jagged stone. Smashed it into his knees. Again. And again. Until the only sound left was the wet crunch of bones. By the time she was done, Maddox couldn't even whimper. Now, she stood beneath the flickering lamp at the end of the alley. Her long shadow stretched across the pavement. She exhaled slowly and pulled out her phone to summon a ride. Before she could press the button, headlights sliced through the night. She narrowed her eyes against the glare. An obsidian-black Porsche rolled to a slow, deliberate stop in front of her. The driver's door swung open. Out stepped a man in his early twenties, tall and lean, dressed in expensive streetwear. His tousled dark hair and crooked grin made him look like trouble wrapped in silk. "Carmen," he drawled, voice low and familiar. "Waiting for a ride? Need a lift back to the manor or the academy?" Carmen stiffened. She knew that voice. Jace Hale. The smirking bastard who had once tried to pour whiskey down her throat at Silverfang Den. The same brat who'd slurred about some heartbreak before tossing red wine across her chest when she refused to entertain his drunken nonsense. A minor heir from a lesser Mooncrest's pack. Spoiled. Reckless. Forgettable. He had no idea who she was that night. But she remembered everything. And if Jace thought she'd let that go? He was a fool. Not tonight. But soon. Very soon. Carmen's expression didn't shift. Her gaze slid up to meet his, cold and unreadable.Then she smiled. And just like that, Jace's grin faltered. Because deep inside, something primal whispered that he'd just looked a predator in the eyes. And it was already too late.