Colt’s POV

"Cass, listen..." I whisper, standing behind her in the hallway. We are braced in front of her father’s office door, preparing for the ordeal to come.

"I can't react in there," she says, her voice steady but strained. "Whatever he tells me to do, I have to do it."

"I know," I murmur, my chest aching. "I just... I don't want you to hate me if I have to watch you endure something... bad."

She turns, offering a fragile, brave smile. "I could never hate you."

"Are you sure?" I tease, trying to lighten the mood. "Didn't you hate me before all of this?"

"I didn't hate you. I disliked you. There’s a massive difference."

I knock on the heavy oak door. Before we enter, I lean in and squeeze her backside, feeling her gasp and jump. It’s a moment of reckless normalcy in a world gone mad.

"Enter!"

Warrick’s voice booms through the wood. Cass squares her shoulders and pushes the door open. The office is cavernous, filled with the scent of old paper and ozone. Victor, Garret, and the pack Beta, Archie, are already inside, standing in the shadows.

"Alright, daughter," Warrick says, rising from his desk. "Let's see what you’re capable of. Come here."

He shoves a pack member toward her—a man in his thirties, frail and shivering, clearly broken by maltreatment. "Command him," Warrick orders.

Cass stares at the man, her brow furrowed in concentration. She tries to force a simple command—

put your hand on your head

—but nothing happens. The man doesn't even flinch.

"Hmm," Warrick hums. "Perhaps you need more... motivation. Victor, your knife."

Victor draws a silver blade.

"What are you doing?" Cass takes a step back, horror dawning on her face.

"Is it silver?" Warrick asks. Victor nods.

Victor presses the blade to the man's neck. The metal hisses against his skin, and the man lets out a primal, agonizing scream.

"Stop it! What is wrong with you?!" Cass lunges for the knife, but Victor deftly pivots away.

Warrick grabs her wrist, dragging her back to her feet. "Every time you fail to command him, he pays the price. Again. Concentrate."

She tries again, pouring every ounce of her will into the command, but the man just continues to tremble, paralyzed by terror. She finally looks down, shaking her head. The man shrieks as the silver grazes his throat again.

"Again!"

This continues for thirty minutes until Warrick’s patience snaps. "Are you certain you've done this before?!" he roars.

"Yes!" she insists, recounting the incident that triggered her power. Warrick goes quiet, his eyes turning pensive.

"Perhaps," he mutters, "you need more

encouragement

."

Without warning, he snatches the knife from Victor and swipes it across the man's throat. The man drops like a stone, lifeless. I hold my breath, watching Cass. She covers her mouth to stifle a scream, but as the silence in the room stretches, her grief curdles into a burning, white-hot rage.

"You... you are all monsters!" she screams.

Warrick stares at her, unfazed. "And you are too soft. You will learn my craft, Casseopea."

"I don't want to be like you!"

Victor and the others flinch at her defiance, but Warrick just stalks closer. He tangles his fingers in her hair, yanking her head back until she’s forced to meet his gaze. "But you will be. I’ll make sure of it. And if you talk back to me again, I’ll cut your tongue out."

"Do it," she spits, her anger overriding her survival instinct. "I’ll still find a way to make myself heard."

Warrick’s expression shifts from menace to something disturbingly hungry. "Ah... there it is. I was starting to doubt you were my daughter at all, but I see myself in you."

He shoves her away. I catch her before she hits the floor, my hands steadying her.

"Keep her in her room," Warrick commands, turning back to his desk. "No meals. I’ll treat you like a dog if I have to, girl. You

will

learn."

I hustle her out of the room, my grip tight on her arm until we’re safely in the corridor. "Are you okay?"

"No. Yes... I don't know."

Once we’re inside her room, I shut the door, and the mask of the stoic guard drops. She throws herself onto the bed, curling into a ball. I wrap my arms around her from behind, her body melting against mine.

"Stay with me," she whispers.

"I can't, Angel. I have to be seen at my post." I kiss her forehead, my heart heavy. "You are not alone. I’m right here."

I leave, closing the door on her solitude. I spend the rest of the day in a haze, knowing she’s hungry and alone, but when the shift change finally arrives, I slip back in. She’s awake, sitting on the sofa, eating chips from her stash.

"I heard people planning to run," I say, pulling her into my lap.

"Are we going with them?"

"No, they’ll fail. But they’ll be a distraction for our own escape."

She sits up, her eyes bright with sudden, fierce purpose. "I don't want to leave."

"Cass, this place will break you."

"No," she says, her voice ringing with newfound clarity. "I want to free them all."

"How?"

"I need to learn how to use my power." She looks at me, her gaze challenging. "Slap me."

"What?"

"I need to know it's real. Command me to slap you? No—I’m commanding

you

to slap me."

"I'm not doing that."

"Slap me, Colt!"

"No!"

"SLAP ME!"

She screams it, and in a moment of reflexive panic and sheer confusion, my hand flashes out. The

crack

of the blow echoes in the room. We both freeze, staring at each other in absolute, horrifying shock.

"You... you slapped me," she whispers.

I stare at my hand as if it belongs to someone else. "I’m sorry! Oh god, I’m so sorry!"

She starts to laugh. It’s a manic, beautiful, unhinged sound. "It worked! It actually worked!"

She throws herself at me, kissing me with frantic urgency. We’re so lost in the revelation that we don't hear the knock until the door handle begins to turn.