Adide’s POV


    I rested at motels along the way, but barely ate or drank, fearing bathroom breaks would dy me.


    My wolf’s constant growls in my mind urged me to hurry, its restlessness fraying my already taut nerves.


    “Hold on a little longer,” I mentally pleaded. “If Cedric is alive, I need to keep someposure as his aunt.”


    But my wolf wed at my consciousness, its silver fur crackling with silver–blue lightning. “Can dignity bring back a pup’s life?”


    In five days, I grew visibly thinner.


    Following Tommy’s address, I found No. 13 Pear Street, the residence of the Beech Pack, thergest in Redwood City, where Lance was staying with the child.


    Standing outside, my lips chapped and throat raw, I felt something lodged between my throat and chest.


    The house sat in a fairly wide alley, guarded by a uniformed wolf–a borrow from Lance, no doubt.


    “Miss Davidson?” The wolf’s ears trembled with nervousness, his ws scraping his uniform.


    I tasted iron in my throat–from biting my tongue while traveling.


    I nodded, unable to speak.


    The guard knocked and announced, “Alpha Lance, Miss Davidson is here.”


    1


    The door opened, releasing Lance’s cedar pheromones mingled with gunpowder.


    Dressed in a dark shirt, he looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes.


    Seeing me, he breathed a small sigh of relief but quickly frowned. “Why are you so thin?”


    I made a nomittal sound, my throat tight as I scanned the interior.


    Lance instructed the guard, “Take the horse to be fed.”


    “As you wish!” The guard reached for the reins, but I instinctively tightened my grip.


    Lance covered my cold hand with his and said gently, “Come in. Whether it’s him or not, we need to confirm it face to face.”


    I released the reins and pulled out the sling from my bundle. “Where is he?”


    “In the room. This child…” Lance sighed, “He’s strong and has a fiery temper.”


    He led me inside, locking the door behind us.


    Seeing me staring at him nkly, he gave a wry smile and said, “He’s tried to escape several times. Though his leg’s injured, he’s surprisingly nimble and always desperate to cause trouble. I didn’t want to hurt him, so I had to lock him up for now.”


    “Does he resemble him?” My voice wavered. My feet felt like they were on cotton as I followed Lance, barely aware that he still held my hand.


    “He does, but I’m not certain,” Lance said.


    “I hadn’t seen him for months before I left for the Southern Border, and he always took after Randall a bit.”


    Like a puppet, I followed him to a door where sounds of smashing echoed.


    Lance’s cedar pheromones thickened. “He’s always like this–smashing things day and night, sometimes even headbutting. The pack’s doctor said he was fed a addictive wolfsbane. Withdrawal makes him rage.”


    No wonder Lance looked so exhausted.


    The door was locked with a chain and padlock, the windows boarded up.


    Lance took out the key and unlocked the door. As the lock clicked open, Lance suddenly unleashed his wolfish shadow.


    A small figure lunged out.


    Lance caught the boy, but he still fought back wildly, shaking his head and biting at Lance, making low growls.


    I couldn’t see the boy’s face, just his constant writhing and biting.


    Like an onlooker, I held up the slingshot and called out woodenly, “Cedric!”


    I came here to prove this was fake, so my “Cedric” had a whimper but no warmth.


    I just wanted to see this “imposter.”


    The child in Lance’s arms gradually stilled.


    Slowly, he raised his head, eyes still wild, his dirty, thin face covered in small wounds.


    He stared at me, mouth agape.


    His silver–gray eyes, identical to my brothers‘, gradually cleared of frenzy.


    I pped a hand over my mouth as tears burst forth.


    I took the child from Lance and held him tightly.


    He was skin and bones, reeking of foul odors, his hair matted with blood, grease, and other filth.


    But I held him closer, as if cradling the most precious treasure, tears streaming uncontrobly.


    The boy stopped struggling and let me hold him close<b>. </b>


    Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks, leaving two yellow streaks.


    All his prior resistance was gone, and he hung limp in my arms like a ragdoll, motionless and with a stunned look in his eyes<b>. </b>


    Seeing this, Lance’s cedar pheromones eased.


    My wolf roared in my mind–he was Cedric, my brother Randall’s son.


    But how had he escaped back then? How was he captured? Those answers still eluded me.