Third Person’s POV


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    Ss lowered his gaze, unwilling to let Freya see the flicker of recognition that had unsettled him the moment her words touched on her brother. There were things he needed to be sure of. If Eric Thorne- the lost heir of Stormveil’s Fifth Branch-truly was the man he had once crossed paths with… then everything would change.


    The tavern keeper returned just then,ying out steaming dishes, breaking Ss’s thoughts apart.


    “Eat first,” Freya said softly, masking her exhaustion with a small smile.


    “Of course,” Ss replied, bowing his head as though the simple act of eating demanded reverence. He took up his chopsticks without argument and began to eat in silence.


    Freya, however, spoke as she always did whenfort and memory collided. She shared fragments of her past-her father Arthur Thorne’s iron discipline, her mother Myra’s gentle wisdom, and most of all, the warmth and shadow of her brother Eric. Every detail of her tone, every subtle shift in her face revealed how deeply she still held on to him.


    Ss listened but barely tasted the food. The venison stew might as well have been ash on his tongue. His movements were mechanical, as though his body remembered the act of eating even while his mind wandered far, circling an image of a young man with sharp eyes and amanding presence.


    When the meal was done and the tavern keeper returned to tally the bill, his curiosity finally broke through.


    “Freya, it’s been a long time. What brings you back here today?”


    She ced her utensils down with care. “I came to settle the matter of my family’s ancestral estate.”


    The man nodded knowingly. “Ah. The estate in Stormveil’s old quarter. I thought so. Most of the families from that district have already signed the redevelopment contracts. Word is, the demolition begins in a matter of days.”


    Freya froze. Her eyes widened, her breath stilled. “Demolition?”


    “Yes,” the man said, surprised by her reaction. “You didn’t know? They’re tearing it all down. The paperwork’s been moving for months now.”


    Her silence was sharper than denial. She had heard nothing. No letter, no summons, no WolfComm notification. Nothing.


    Outside, Ss studied her face, reading the storm brewing beneath her calm mask. “Do you still want to see the estate?”


    Her voice was clipped, her anger leashed. “No. First, we go to the Redevelopment Bureau. I need answers.”


    By the following morning, the scandal surrounding Aurora of the Bluemoon Pack had only spread wider. What began as whispers had erupted into wildfire across theworks. Despite her family’s desperate attempts to choke the ze-despite even the Thorne family’s influence-it was not enough. Aurora’s name was everywhere, her title of newly appointed pilot of the Bluemoon Airborne Wing now poisoned


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    with shame.


    Her parents had arrived in Ashbourne overnight, faces tight with desperation. They threw themselves at the mercy of the Thorne elders, begging them to intervene. “With Stormveil’s weight behind us, we can silence this!” they pleaded.


    Inside the council chamber, Abel Thorne listened, his expression grave. Beside him sat Rowan, James, and Lennon Thorne. The air was thick with politics and desperation when the chamber doors suddenly pushed open.


    Every head turned.


    Freya entered with Ss shadowing her like a wolf carved from iron. Her presence cracked through the stale air like lightning over a battlefield.


    “Freya?” Abel asked, genuinely surprised. “What brings you here?” His gaze flicked uneasily to Ss-Alpha of the Irond Coalition.


    Freya ignored the murmurs. Her eyes locked onto Lennon Thorne. Cold, unflinching. “I came to ask my third uncle why thepensation contracts for Stormveil’s Fifth Branch estate bear his name.”


    The words fell like a thunderp.


    The room stilled, and every eye turned toward Lennon.


    A sh of annoyance crossed his face, quickly masked with a sneer. He had known this girl would be a thorn the moment she strode into the Stormveil Primal Hall weeks ago. And here she was, proving him right.


    Abel’s voice cut through the tension. “Lennon? What is she talking about?”


    Lennon spread his hands, feigning reason. “The estate belongs to Stormveil. It is ancestralnd, not some private property for one branch to hoard. And what then? The Fifth Branch is reduced to one daughter. Do you truly expect us to hand over thepensation to her? When she marries, it will be lost to another pack’s bloodline. No. Better to keep it within the Thornes where it belongs.”


    Freya’sugh was bitter and sharp. “What age do you live in, Uncle? Since when can a she-wolf not inherit? Fifth Branch property belongs to Fifth Branch blood. You are neither.”


    Lennon’s expression hardened, disdain leaking from every word. “me your father and your brother for dying too soon. If they were alive, it would be theirs. But they’re not. And you…” His lip curled. “You cling to ghosts,”


    The word struck her like ws across flesh. Rage red hot and savage, her wolf snarling in her chest, her vision tinged red. Her father Arthur, her mother Myra, her brother Eric-their absence weighed like chains, and Lennon dared to spit on their memory.


    Her hands trembled, then stilled, then lifted-fingers curling into ws as her wolf surged. She didn’t care that he was her elder. She didn’t care that this room reeked of politics and tradition. She would not let the


    insult stand.


    But before her hand could strike, another moved faster.


    Ss Whitmor’s arm shot forward, his fingers closing around Lennon’s throat like an iron vice. He


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    mmed him back into his chair, dominance crashing from him in waves that rattled the very air. The scent of raw Alpha power filled the chamber, sharp as steel and salt.


    Lennon gagged, his hands wing at Ss’s grip. The room fell silent save for the choked gasps of the elder wolf.


    Ss’s voice was low, cold as a grave wind. “Careful, Thorne. You speak of the Fifth Branch as though it’s yours to pilfer. But Freya is Arthur Thorne’s daughter, Eric Thorne’s sister. She carries more worth in her blood than you ever will. Insult her family again, and you will beg me for death before I grant it.”


    The other elders shifted uncasily, their wolves cowed beneath the weight of Ss’s dominance. Freya stood still, her chest heaving, fury and pride warring within her. For the first time, she saw someone strike on her behalf with the same ferocity her brother once had.


    Her hand fell back to her side, clenched tight. Her eyes, however, burned like embers, fixed on Lennon’s paling face.


    “My brother is alive,” she said quietly, the words steady, a vow carved into stone. “And when he returns, you will answer for every word spoken here today.”


    The chamber echoed with her defiance.