Kelowna's P.O.V
She was shaking.
I didn't notice it at first. Not really. Not beyond the usual tremors of fear I expected when rogues were brought before me.
But then her eyes changed.
They didn't glare.
They didn't retreat.
They emptied.
Like someone had reached inside and flipped the switch that made her… alive.
And then her body buckled.
She collapsed forward, only the chains keeping her from falling off the bed completely. Her knees bent inward, her arms limp, the silver biting deeper into blistered skin—but she didn't flinch.
Didn't groan.
Didn't even blink.
Her breath was shallow. Thin. Like it didn't want to exist anymore.
I stood frozen.
Watching.
My wolf didn't growl. It didn't stir in warning. It simply watched her fall—and felt something in her snap.
Marcus—still standing beside me broke the silence. "She's hyperventilating."
I didn't respond. I took a slow step closer, and something strange happened in my chest. A pull. Small. Heavy. Low, right beneath the ribs.
I knew pain. Knew fear. Knew what it did to the body. But this wasn't the tremble of someone trying to manipulate their way into mercy.
This was the kind of terror that rooted itself in the bones.
This girl hadn't simply been hurt.
She'd been broken, remade, and stuffed into her own silence like a prison.
And somehow, she was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting in whatever small way she could.
It unsettled me. I hated that it unsettled me.
Marcus exhaled beside me. "If that's Victor's daughter… What the hell kind of alpha was he?"
I clenched my jaw. "The kind who didn't need to raise a hand to control a pack. Just fear. And blood."
"She flinched at her own name."
"She didn't flinch," I said quietly. "She crumbled."
We were quiet for a moment, just the sound of her ragged breathing between us.
Finally, Marcus asked, "What do we do with her?"
My fingers twitched at my side. It was a fair question. A necessary one. But it churned something hot and bitter in the back of my throat.
"She's still a rogue," I said coldly, forcing the words through my teeth. "She crossed into our land. Lied. Hid."
"But she hasn't said a single word."
I turned toward him. "Exactly. And I don't trust people who stay quiet in the face of power. That's not fear. That's calculation."
"Or survival."
I didn't answer. Because just maybe–but she's rogue.
Instead, I looked back at her.
Still folded in on herself. Still trembling. Still chained to a bed she might very well die in.
I should've turned away.
I should've ordered her moved to the cells or left her to rot until she talked. But I didn't. Because something about her wasn't just tragic.
It was wrong. And ancient.
Like her silence wasn't just hers—it belonged to something older. Something sleeping beneath her skin, waiting.
My voice dropped low, more to myself than to Marcus.
"I want everything we can find on Victor's territory. Old files. Survivor reports. Any mention of a girl with violet eyes."
He nodded. "And her?"
I looked at her one last time.
Then turned away.
"For now… we watch."
(Flashback to the night of the ball)
Victor's P.O.V
The ballroom reeked of blood and ash.
I stood at the edge of the destruction, my hands folded behind my back, jaw clenched so tight I could feel the bones grind.
Smoke drifted through the shattered windows. Warriors limped past, dragging bodies—rogues, guests, and a few of my own.
But none of it mattered.
Not the attack.
Not the mess.
Not even the Lycan King's fury.
Only one thing mattered.
Karmella was gone.
My useless guards claimed the rogues must have taken her. Or that she'd died in the chaos. But I wasn't a fool. I could smell it on the wind. She had run.
Under my nose. In my house. While the Lycan King had stood in my halls.
It was no coincidence.
My fist slammed against the stone pillar beside me, cracking it at the base.
"Find her," I growled, voice low and deadly. "I don't care if you have to rip through every rogue camp between here and the border. Bring her back."
A warrior stepped forward, pale. "Alpha… the border patrol tracked her to the river. She crossed into the Lycan King's lands."
Silence fell like a hammer.
I turned slowly, my eyes burning.
"She what?"
"Crossed the river, sir. Past the boundary line. Into his territory."
The warrior didn't have to say who he was. Everyone knew.
My hands curled into fists so tight my claws pierced my palms.
"She won't last long in his domain," another muttered.
"Even if by some miracle she made it across the river in the dead of winter. As soon as she stepped upon his lands as a rogue she would have been killed. The king shows no mercy to rogues, ever."
I said nothing. Because they were wrong. She would last. She always did. A miracle alone that she made it to the river's edge. She had made it across that river and she survived. And if anybody survived under the king as a rogue it would be her. He knew it. He felt it
That girl was a stain I couldn't wash out. A reminder of everything I failed to bury. Everything I failed to gain.
And now she was out there. Alone. Unclaimed. On his land.
I exhaled slowly, trying to tame the rage boiling inside me.
She can't awaken there. Not under him. Not before I erase the truth.
I'd waited too long. Kept her alive just long enough to control the change. To break her before she became what she truly was.
But now?
Now she was my greatest threat.
And I would burn kingdoms to bring her back. I had come too far. Dedicated too much time. Did things that would grant me eternity in hell's deepest pit. But I told myself it would be worth it, she would make it worth it. And that was something I would never give up.