Third Person's POV "Damon!" Lady Blackwood's voice echoed down the marble corridor, sharp as a whip. Her son didn't turn. He simply strode away, the heavy doors of the manor shuddering behind him as they closed. She glared after him, her chest rising with restrained fury. "Moon above, what sickness plagues that boy?" she muttered. He had fought for this union, torn through court and council to claim it-yet he showed not a glimmer of joy. His temper was brittle, his nights restless. She'd caught the scent of smoke on him too often, even the faint tang of liquor bleeding through his chambers at midnight. When she'd asked if something had happened between him and Aysel, Damon had only replied, "Everything's fine," his gaze distant, voice hollow. Now, he walked out in the middle of their discussion as though none of it mattered. The Moonvale wolves tried to mask their irritation, but the absence of Aysel herself-who hadn't even answered their summons-left them little ground to stand on. So they smiled through the tension, discussing the coming feast as if nothing were amiss. Only Celestine Ward watched Damon's retreating back with a strange glint in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. -- The Blackwood matriarch nursed a headache over her son's moods. The Moonvale wolves had a worse problem-no one could find Aysel. The celebration was set for the next night, and still no word from her. The pack elders whispered of bad omens, and Luna Evelyn could no longer sit still. At last, she went to find her daughter herself. She remembered the small den Aysel had taken years ago when she'd left Moonvale territory. Evelyn had secretly followed her then, curious to see how her wayward child survived outside the Pack's protection. The den was near the borders of the old university lands, among the city-born wolves-crowded, noisy, far from the serenity of the Moonvale woods. Evelyn had expected her daughter to come crawling back within months. Aysel, stubborn as stone, had not. Pride had kept Evelyn from intervening. She'd wanted Aysel to learn humility, to feel the weight of her choices. But as time passed, and word of her daughter's quiet, disciplined life reached her, shame crept in like frost. She'd meant to offer her a better home-yet Celestine had told her that Aysel had already moved. Evelyn had assumed that meant Aysel had accepted their help. She'd been wrong. Now, standing before the new residence-a narrow stone apartment under the shadow of a half-moon-Evelyn felt the first true stab of guilt. Even the smallest estate given to Celestine was larger than this. When Aysel opened the door, she looked calm, her aura restrained, though Evelyn could feel the faint hum of dormant Alpha blood beneath her skin. "Mother," she said simply, ushering her inside. Evelyn sat stiffly while Aysel poured water for her. The silence between them was heavy, thick with unsaid words. "This place is too small," Evelyn said at last, her tone tight. "I'll have Fenrir find you a proper home tomorrow." Aysel's reply was quiet but cutting. "Don't. I couldn't afford the debt." Evelyn frowned. "Debt? You're our blood, Aysel. What is a house, compared to that?" Aysel's laugh was brittle as glass. "Forgive me, Luna Evelyn, but I remember the last time I took something from Moonvale. You made certain I returned it." The words hit harder than claws. Evelyn looked away. She remembered that day-gray skies, the heavy scent of rain, her daughter standing before the great gates of the Pack estate with only a small case in hand. The guards had searched her belongings like she was a thief, under Remus's command. The air had been cold with humiliation. "You've already cost the Pack enough," Alpha Remus had said, his composure cracking. "We cleaned your mess for half a decade. You repay us with shame, and now you mock the Pack that raised you?" His claws had trembled as he pointed toward the road. "If you want to go, go! But don't come back. And if you have pride enough to call yourself a Vale, return every ounce of what we've given you!" Evelyn had stood there, frozen, as Aysel turned away. The young wolf had walked into the storm without a word-her scent fading into the rain, until only silence remained. At eighteen, Aysel had nothing-no fortune, no allies, and now, a burden of debts that chained her to the Moonvale Pack like iron around a wolf's neck. She stood before the pack's grand hall, her hand gripping the handle of her worn travel case. Her claws had broken skin; dark blood beaded against her pale palm, but her voice remained calm-too calm. "Let me remind you," she said, her golden eyes steady on Alpha Remus. "I never begged to be born into your bloodline. And by decree of the High Claw Council, every pack is bound to raise its young until they reach maturity. Since I first shifted, Fenrir, Lykos, and Celestine each received between half a million and a million silver marks a month-not counting the tutors, the camps, or the endless luxuries you showered them with. I received one thousand." She tilted her head slightly, the movement sharp and lupine. "If Moonvale isn't afraid of shame, then open your ledgers. Let the realm see how little your Alpha's own daughter was worth. I won't mind settling this debt in public." Alpha Remus's eyes burned with disbelief. "You squandered what little you were given-ran with rogues and mongrels! We restricted your allowance for your own good. Don't act as though we owe you more!" "I never received it," Aysel said, her tone smooth as frozen river water. Remus growled, his aura filling the room. "Fine. Step beyond this den, and you'll never see another coin from Moonvale again." It wasn't about money. No Alpha wanted to be seen quarreling with his own blood over coin. But the moment was beyond repair. The rift had opened. Moonvale relinquished its claim, and Aysel turned her back on them. "Rest assured," she said softly, "if what I'm owed requires such struggle to claim, then what isn't mine-I'll never covet." She knew the lines clearly: the Moonvale Pack's support was her right, nothing more. Her life had never touched the extravagance that befitted a highborn wolf of her lineage. She owed them nothing, and she would not bow for pride or debt. One day, when Alpha Remus and Luna Evelyn grew old, she would repay the debt of care with equal measure. As for the Moonvale fortune-their own earnings, their own power-she had no claim. Before she turned eighteen, she had received almost nothing. Afterward, if she took even a fragment more, they would crucify her with it forever. So Aysel cut the tie clean. Walked away. Never once turned her claws back toward Moonvale. She never regretted her choice. At first, she survived on the scraps from early part-time hunts-collecting bounties, scavenging odd jobs along the borderlands. A single ration packet of dried meat might last her two nights. Illness came often; weakness came too. Sometimes, in the cold hours of dawn, she would curl beneath the cracked roof of her den and weep silently, her wolf pacing restlessly within. But she endured. The small apartment Luna Evelyn once mocked as "a pup's den" was hers, bought claw by claw. No one could evict her, no one could strip it from her. No Alpha could stand before her door and sneer, "You owe us." It was hers alone-the first territory Aysel ever truly owned.