Kaelen Thorne did not wait for my response. The promise of vengeance still hung heavily in the sterile air, vibrating with the sheer force of his Alpha command. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers brushing against my hospital gown as he pressed the small, glittering memory crystal into my palm.

"Press the center to start recording," Kaelen instructed, his deep voice dropping to a barely audible rumble. "Press it again to stop and encrypt. Once it locks, no pack-level technician can wipe the audio. It becomes an Inquisition asset."

"How are you going to leave?" I whispered, my fingers closing tightly over the cool, faceted stone. "The corridor is guarded. The door is locked."

Kaelen’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smirk. "The Inquisition goes where it pleases, Seraphina. And right now, you need to hide that crystal. Your replacement is coming."

Before I could ask him what he meant, Kaelen stepped backward. The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to rise up and swallow his massive frame entirely. A split second later, the heavy electronic lock on my steel door buzzed loudly, disengaging with a metallic clack.

I shoved my hand under the thin, stiff mattress, pushing the crystal as deep as I could just as the door swung open.

Isolde Blackwood stepped into the high-security room.

My cousin was a vision of perfectly curated elegance. Her golden hair fell in flawless, cascading waves over her shoulders, and she wore a stunning, form-fitting emerald dress that practically screamed wealth and status. But it was the jewelry resting against her collarbone that made my blood run cold.

It was a heavy, intricate chain of pure silver, embedded with a massive, teardrop moonstone. The Luna’s Crest. My mother’s necklace. The necklace that was supposed to be passed to me on the night of my mating ceremony.

"Oh, my poor, sweet cousin," Isolde cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. She stepped fully into the room, holding a small stack of neatly folded clothes. She glanced up at the red blinking light of the security camera, ensuring her face was perfectly angled to capture her look of profound sorrow. "Look at what you’ve done to yourself. It breaks my heart to see you like this."

"Get out, Isolde," I rasped, the burning in my throat making every syllable a monumental effort.

"Now, now, let’s not be difficult," Isolde sighed, walking over to the small, metal bedside table and setting the clothes down. "I brought you some fresh garments. Julian thought the hospital gowns were too degrading for a former elite tracker. He is so endlessly merciful."

She turned her back to the camera, stepping into the narrow blind spot between the bed and the wall. The moment the lens could no longer see her face, the tragic, sympathetic mask melted away. Her dark eyes hardened into pools of absolute malice, and a cruel, triumphant smile spread across her perfectly painted lips.

"You look absolutely pathetic," Isolde whispered, her voice a venomous hiss.

Under the mattress, my thumb found the center of the crystal. I pressed it firmly, feeling a tiny, silent vibration confirm the recording had started.

"You’re wearing my mother's necklace," I said, keeping my voice steady, perfectly calibrated to draw her out.

Isolde reached up, her manicured fingers lightly trailing over the moonstone. "I am. It’s quite heavy, actually. But Julian insisted. He said it looks infinitely better against my skin than it ever did on yours. He told me he wanted a Luna who shined, not one who spent her days covered in mud and monster blood."

"Julian is a coward who is terrified of his own shadow," I replied coldly. "He needed a sycophant. A placeholder he could easily manipulate. You fit the bill perfectly, Isolde."

Her eyes flashed with sudden, fiery irritation. "A placeholder? I am the Luna of the Ironwood Pack. I sleep in the Alpha’s bed. I command the staff. While you? You are a certified madwoman lying in a puddle of your own failures."

"How did you do it?" I asked, my voice flat, refusing to give her the satisfaction of my anger. "I am a pureblood tracker. I would have smelled a poison a mile away. How did he slip it past me?"

Isolde laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that grated against my eardrums. "You were always so arrogant about your senses. But Wolfsbane Ash is completely tasteless, odorless, and colorless when dissolved in high-end champagne. Julian toasted to your future together, and you drank it down without a second thought. It was almost too easy."

I kept my eyes locked on hers, my mind racing as the crystal recorded every damning word. "So he paralyzed me. He carried me down to the Lunar Grotto. And then he locked the iron floodgates."

"We both did," Isolde corrected proudly, leaning closer, her expensive floral perfume masking the sterile scent of the hospital room. "You think Julian has the stomach for the details? He was shaking like a leaf. It was my idea to schedule the little rendezvous during the incoming tide. The Lunar Grotto is so terribly romantic, don't you think? A tragic drowning just hours before your coronation. It made for a beautiful narrative."

"You attempted to murder a pack member," I stated, making sure the words were crystal clear for the recording. "That is treason, Isolde. The punishment is death."

"It’s only treason if you get caught, Seraphina," Isolde mocked, rolling her eyes. "Who is going to arrest us? Julian controls the security logs. He controls the elders. He controls Dr. Aris. The entire pack believes you threw yourself into the ocean because you couldn't handle the pressure of being a Luna."

"They know me," I argued, my hands curling into fists against the sheets. "They know I am not weak."

"They know what Julian tells them to know," Isolde snapped, her vanity flaring. "He is the Alpha. His word is law. And he told them that you were a frigid, unlovable bore. He hated how the warriors looked at you with more respect than they looked at him. He hated that you were stronger. He needed a Luna who knew her place, Seraphina. He needed me."

"He needed a mirror," I said bluntly. "Someone as empty and narcissistic as he is."

Isolde’s face flushed with sudden, violent rage. The calm, gloating facade cracked entirely. She lunged forward, pressing both of her hands violently onto the center of my chest.

A ragged, agonizing gasp tore from my throat as her weight crushed down on my severely bruised lungs. The phantom feeling of drowning instantly returned, my vision spotting with black stars as the oxygen was forced from my body. Because my wolf was entirely dormant, my ribs couldn't bear the pressure. They groaned in protest, a sharp, stabbing pain radiating through my torso.

"You listen to me, you broken bitch," Isolde hissed, leaning her face inches from mine, her eyes wide and manic. "You are nothing. You have no wolf. You have no rank. I took your mate, I took your home, and I took your future. If you ever disrespect me again, I will have Aris up your sedation until you forget your own name."

I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe. But I did not break eye contact. I memorized the exact angle of her wrists, the distribution of her weight. I cataloged the vulnerability in her stance. I was calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to snap her forearms the moment my Lycan strength returned.

Isolde held me down for five torturous seconds before stepping back and smoothing the front of her emerald dress. She took a deep, calming breath, instantly resetting her features into a mask of sweet, tragic sorrow.

"I will leave these clothes for you, cousin," Isolde said, raising her voice just enough for the security camera’s microphone to pick it up. "Please, try to rest. We are all praying for your mind to heal."

She turned on her heel and sashayed out of the room. The heavy steel door swung shut behind her, the electronic lock engaging with a final, deafening clack.

I lay there for a long moment, my chest heaving, fighting through the agonizing pain in my bruised lungs. Every breath tasted like copper and salt.

Slowly, painfully, I slid my trembling hand beneath the mattress. My thumb found the smooth surface of the crystal, and I pressed the center. A tiny, dual-pulse vibration confirmed the recording had stopped, encrypted, and locked.

I pulled the crystal out, staring at the glittering stone in the harsh fluorescent light.

Isolde thought she had broken me. She thought her little display of physical dominance had secured her victory. But as I clutched the crystal tightly in my hand, a cold, ruthless calm washed over me. I finally had the weapon I needed. And I was going to use it to slit her throat.