Third Person’s POV


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    The entire hall of broadcast chamber had gone utterly still. Dozens of wolves-elders, pack members, and human stall alike-stared at the massive screen in disbelief.


    A supposed “hero” of the Bluemoon Airborne Wing, a figure the packs had praised for valor, was being revealed as something else entirely. A killer who had let another wolf burn alive.


    Gasps rippled through the crowd. Whispers sharpened into shocked growls.


    Could it be true?


    Had Aurora, the so-called savior, really stood by and watched another wolf die screaming?


    The scent of outrage began to fill the air-sharp, acrid, and dangerous.


    Questions rose like howls from every corner: Who had switched the broadcast feed? Who had control over the pack hall’s screens? And where, spirits above, were Aurora and her masked captor now?


    Caelum was the first to break free of the stunned silence. His Alpha aura mmed outward in a st of fury, rattling chairs and making younger wolves flinch back. His hand shot into his coat, pulling free his WolfComm. With a snarl that echoed across the chamber, he barked into the device, “This is Alpha Grafton. I’m reporting a kidnapping. An active hostage situation. Track the signal-now!”


    The hall erupted further when, from the audience, a young wolf cried out, “Moon above-it’s a live stream! That feed’s not recorded-it’s broadcasting in real time!”


    At once, dozens of wolves yanked out their WolfComms. Fingers flew, searching the underground. Within moments, snarls of confirmation broke out.


    “They’re right-this is live.”


    “There’s a channel. The bastard’s streaming it to anyone who can watch!”


    “Look at the viewer count. Thousands are piling in!”


    Freya stood rigid, her gaze fixed on the masked figure on the screen. Her wolf prowled beneath her skin, hackles rising with unease. Something about that lean frame, the way the shadow moved-her instincts. wed at her mind. Recognition teased her, infuriatingly just out of reach.


    Her eyes narrowed.


    Beside her, Ss leaned close, his breath a low rumble against her ear. “You recognize him, don’t you?”


    Freya shook her head once. “Not fully. But his movements… they’re familiar. I’ve seen him somewhere before.”


    Ss’s mouth curved into something cold and knowing. “Then the rumors weren’t smoke after all. The message your journalist friend received at the orphanage-it was real. Someone has been warning of Aurora’s secret. Perhaps the same shadow decided it was time to expose her.”


    12:49 pm Pppp.


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    Freya’s pulse stuttered. She remembered it now-the orphanage event. A blur of a figure just beyond her sight, slipping into the edges of memory. The outline ovepped too perfectly with the man on the


    screen.


    Her lips pressed tight. She unlocked her own WolfComm with swift, precise movements, her mind racing as she pulled up searches, digging for threads she should have tugged on long ago.


    Meanwhile, on the screen, Aurora had gone pale beneath the harsh factory lights. Her eyes darted wildly, terror clouding her expression.


    “Why…” she stammered, her voice breaking. “Why do you have that recording? Who are you?”


    The masked wolf chuckled, a sound as chilling as ws scraping stone. He pressed a button, and the hall filled once more with the hideous screams of a dying wolf.


    “Don’t-don’t go! Aurora, help-fire, it’s burning me-ahhh!”


    The voice was hoarse, drenched in agony. The sound of mes devouring flesh was all too clear, the stench of imagined smoke filling the minds of every wolf present. The cries stretched on, dragging ws across every listener’s spine, until atst the wails cracked, withered, and went silent.


    The hall of Stormveil smelled of bile, dread, and cold sweat. Wolves shifted restlessly, ears pinned, eyes wide with horror.


    That voice-the wolf had called Aurora’s name. He had begged her for help. And he had burned alive without her lifting a w to stop it.


    “No!” Aurora’s shrill denial broke through the broadcast, her face twisting. “No, that’s false! It’s fabricated! Lies!”*


    Her denial reeked of desperation. Her wolf, even through the grainy footage, seemed to shrink back, pressed into a corner.


    The masked wolf tilted his head. His voice oozed mockery. “Fabricated? You mean to tell me you don’t recognize the voice of your own mentor? The wolf who took you under his wing when you first joined Bluemoon Airborne? The one who fought to secure you a position, vouched for you again and again? He burned alive that day, screaming your name, and this is how you repay him?”


    Aurora’s eyes went wider still. Her lips trembled, her breath hitching into short, panicked gasps.


    The masked wolf pressed on, his tone merciless. “This isn’t some trick. Run it through a voice match if you like. The truth will hold. That recording was captured on the bordends during the great fire. At that moment, your mentor was calling his son. His body ignited mid-call. The device fell, but it kept recording until he died”


    Gasps echoed again through the chamber. Wolves muttered, horrified. Some bared their teeth outright, ring at the screen as though Aurora herself stood before them.


    Onscreen, Aurora’s entire body shook. “N-no there must be a mistake. A misunderstanding…”


    She clung to the thought of Caelum. He had seen the broadcast. He would bring Silverfang’s enforcers. He would save her. If she could just endure long enough-if she could stall until the packs broke through- she might still walk out alive.


    12:49 pm P Ppp.


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    “Misunderstanding?” The masked wolf’sughter curdled the air. In a sh, his hand mped into Aurora’s hair, jerking her head back until her throat strained. His palm cracked across her face, once, twice, again and again.


    The sound of flesh meeting flesh thundered through the chamber. Wolves flinched, some growled. Blood blossomed across Aurora’s lips, her cheeks swelling, crimson dripping from the corner of her mouth.


    “You dare speak of misunderstanding?” the captor roared. “Do you know what it was like for his son, listening helplessly on the line, hearing his father burn alive? Hearing him call your name, begging, while you stood by and did nothing? You had an extinguisher. You could have acted. But you chose not to!”


    Aurora sobbed, shaking her head violently. “No! I wasn’t there-I was separated from him! I didn’t even know he was calling me-he must have been hallucinating from the mes-”


    But her words rang hollow, and the wolves of the hall knew it. Instincts never lied. And in that moment, Aurora smelled of fear, deceit, and cornered prey.


    The broadcast carried on, merciless, while the packs looked on in shock.


    And Freya, standing tall at Ss’s side, narrowed her eyes until they gleamed like a wolf catching the scent of prey. Somewhere deep inside, her instincts whispered the truth: this wasn’t merely an exposure. It was the beginning of somethingrger, darker. And the packs would never look at Aurora the same way again.


    12:49 pm P