Cass’s POV

"The problem is the River Packs," Garret explains, gesturing to the map. "They sit between us and Ezra. They’re in close proximity; if we strike one, the other immediately reinforces them. We have to take both simultaneously, or the rest of the neighboring packs will turn their eyes toward us."

I’m losing patience. "Don't we have a larger army? And the Crescent Moon Pack backing us? Why are we still waiting?"

"Politics, Cass," Garret replies. "We’ve been slowly instilling fear for five years, seizing three packs through lies and deceit. We’ve always claimed self-defense. We have to keep the narrative believable."

"Then lie again," I snap.

"We can't just—"

"Let's wipe them out," Warrick interrupts, his voice low and dangerous. The room goes silent. "Alpha Ezra has declared war. These packs are now casualties of that war."

"Yes!" I feel a surge of dark triumph.

Colt looks at me, his eyes clouded with worry. "Cass, please. We’re talking about killing innocents. This shouldn't be something we cheer for."

"I don't care," I say, my voice devoid of warmth. "I want him dead, Colt. No matter the cost."

Warrick offers a thin, predatory smile. "Spoken like a true villain."

Later, at the lake, the weight of the day finally settles in. I watch the pack children playing in the distance, feeling a profound sense of loss.

"Am I being reckless, Colt?" I ask, burying my face in his chest. "Pushing for war, ignoring the morality of it all?"

"You're rushing because you're hurting," he murmurs, rubbing my back. "I hate that it was my own flesh and blood who did this to your sister. I want Ezra dead as much as you do, but don't let this rage consume the person you are."

"I'm not the person I was before, Colt. And I don't think I want to be."

I look at him—really look at him. He is the only thing that makes sense in this chaotic, cruel world. "I love you," I whisper.

"And I love you. We’ll get through this together."

We return to Warrick’s office for training. The air is thick with tension.

"Listen closely," Warrick instructs. "There is a distinction between

Alpha Command

and your innate gift,

Alpha Ruling

. Alpha Command relies on the authority of your voice; it’s persuasive, but a strong will can resist it. Alpha Ruling, however, is a mental prison. It requires direct eye contact, and once you’re in, there is no way for them to refuse."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I wanted to see if you’d figure it out on your own. Now, practice. Use Colt."

I focus my energy, trying to force Colt to slap me. Nothing happens. I try again, and again, but I’m too calm, too detached.

Warrick watches, his expression shifting into something colder. "Ezra slit your sister’s throat while she was still breathing," he says, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Can you imagine the sound she made when she realized she was going to die?"

My vision turns red. The air in the room becomes electric.

"Why the fk would you say that?!" I scream, my eyes locking onto Colt’s.

“SLAP ME!”

Colt’s hand flies forward, connecting with my cheek before he can even think to resist. The force of it startles us both.

"I’m done!" I snap, rubbing my jaw. My anger dissipates into a strange, hollow clarity.

"You see?" Warrick says, unfazed. "Your power responds to your extremes. When you are cold, you are nothing. When you are a storm, you are a queen."

I take a deep breath, trying to stabilize my emotions, but before I can command Colt again, a deafening commotion erupts outside. The training is over. The war has come to us.