Freya’s POV
Praise poured over Aurora like rain, yet she did not bask in it. Instead of triumph, sorrow softened her face, her lips trembling as she whispered:
“Please… can we stop ying this broadcast? That fire took lives–so many, even among the human firefighters who fought beside us. Every time I see it, it feels like I’m standing in the ash again. It’s not glory to me–it’s grief.”
The workers scrambled to cut the feed, frowning in confusion at how a five–year–old broadcast had made its way onto the screens in the first ce. The tension in the hall shifted like wolves scenting blood.
But Jocelyn, of course, wasn’t finished. My cousin never could resist sharpening her tongue at my expense.
“Now that’s a true hero,” she said, her gaze cutting sideways toward me. “Not like some people–who speak noble words but, when danger trulyes, would tuck tail and hide.”
She didn’t name me. She didn’t need to. Every sharp–eyed wolf in the hall understood where her ws pointed.
I held her stare, my voice calm, but iron edged. “So what you’re saying, Jocelyn, is that if fire roared in your path, you’d run forward without hesitation? That would be remarkable indeed. Stormveil should be proud to have you, cousin. Just make sure you aren’t the very kind of wolf you just described–one who boasts of courage but, when tested, flees.”
Her jaw clenched. She had walked herself into a trap. My words tied her pride to an impossible standard. If ever she stood before mes and did not leap forward, she’d be revealed as the coward she used me of being. Jocelyn’s kind preferred duels of words, not battles of fire and bone. She had no stomach for the reality she mocked.
Aurora’s voice then broke the standoff. “Caelum,” she murmured, so faintly I almost missed it, “I… I don’t feel well. I need to leave.”
Caelum straightened immediately, concern shing across his features. “Then I’lle with you.”
She shook her head too quickly, the movement betraying her desperation. “No. I’ll only rest in the hotel. That’s all.” And without waiting for his answer, she turned and slipped away, her steps unsteady as if the fire on the screen had burned her from the inside.
I watched her go, unease gnawing at my chest. For a wolf who normally thrived on admiration, Aurora fled from it now as though it were poison. Why recoil from praise unless it scraped against a lie?
A voice like steel rasped near my ear. “What are you thinking, Freya?”
M
I turned slightly. Ss stood at my side, his gaze heavy, always <i>too </i>sharp–as if he weighed every thought I carried.
“She reacted strangely!” I said inly.
“You care about her reaction?<b>” </b>
“Not care. Curious.” My voice dipped, my wolf restless beneath my skin. “I once suspected that fire at Ashbourne was tied to my brother’s disappearance. I searched every record, every fragment of video, hoping for a glimpse of him. But his name never appeared among the dead. Not in hospital registries. Not in lists of survivors. He was simply… gone.”
I swallowed hard. The memories still scraped my bones raw. “What I never expected was that Aurora would have been there. Fighting the same mes.”
Ss’s eyes lowered, unreadable. “Curious indeed.”
He said no more, but I caught the flick of calction in his gaze. Ss rarely revealed what he thought–yet I knew the tire had sparked something in him, too.
Back in the hall, I stepped out from the washroom, only to find Caelum blocking my path. His presence was like iron walls. his dark eyes storm–tossed.
“Freya,” he said, voice low but firm, “I need to speak with you.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you.” My tone carried frost enough to sting
11:32 AM P
+8 Pearls
“You’re still angry about the Lunar Severance Phase,” he said, cutting to the bone. “I know you resent me for it. Resent me for choosing it. You can hate me all you want, but don’t take it out on thepany.”
I froze for a moment, startled. “What?”
He pressed on, frustration sharpening his voice. “SilverTech Forgeworks is ours. We built it together. If you sabotage it out of spite, do you realize what that will mean? Those wolves you worked with–wolves who trusted you–would be left jobless. Would you really do that to them?”
The nerve. The sheer audacity of his words lit fury in me<b>. </b>
“Caelum,” I said, my voice slicing like a de, “if thepany stumbles, that’s on you. Don’t dare stand on some moral high ground andy the me at my feet. And as for your precious narrative–didn’t you love telling the press it was your empire, forged by your hands alone? When did it suddenly be ‘ours‘ again? Only when it suits you?”
His jaw tightened, but I didn’t give him the mercy of softening my re.
He had chosen the severance. He had chosen to cut me loose. And now he sought to bind me again only when the weight of leadership pressed too heavy on his shoulders.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
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