Starfang territory bleeds weakness.

I feel it in every shadow I pass, every conversation I overhear as I move unseen through the marketplace. Two days of careful observation have painted a clear picture of Jackson's regime—one of systematic oppression masked as strength. Shops are struggling. Businesses are failing. Every Alpha command carries an edge of wild anger, born of fear and desperation.

All evidence that Starfang's current Alpha has forgotten his true purpose.

My wolf bristles at the wrongness of it all. An Alpha's duty is to protect and nurture their pack, not crush them under the weight of fear. Even the air feels wrong here, heavy with tension and unspoken resentment. The once-proud wolves of Starfang move like prey animals, heads down, voices hushed, always watching the guards who patrol the streets with hands on their weapons.

Worst of all are the lingering marks of the former Alpha's rule. A thriving marketplace that bears too many similarities to the one in New Kingsbridge—unique stalls, exotic smells, even shared sounds of friendly banter and bartering. Some of the stalls I pass were here when I was last in Starfang. But the ghost of that carefree world is slowly fading beneath Jackson's harsh demand for obedience.

Jackson has been far too easy to track, projecting the arrogance of a new Alpha certain he has nothing to fear. Worse, his paranoia has made him sloppy. He's clearly relying on his old packmates' unwillingness to betray him. But his need for vengeance against Lara has only solidified his existing weaknesses. Even his guards are vulnerable to such tiny manipulation as I trail him through the marketplace, the bustle of the midday crowd masking my presence.

"Another fine for unauthorized gathering," a guard announces, approaching a group of merchants who've paused their work to talk. They scatter immediately, leaving half-unpacked crates of goods strewn across the street.

I lean against a shadowed doorway, letting my senses expand. My centuries of experience have taught me to look beyond the obvious signs of unrest. The real story lies in the subtle details—the way the merchants' shoulders tense when guards pass, the careful neutrality in their expressions, the lightning-quick exchanges of meaningful glances.

Dissent exists here, beneath the surface. Not yet the rebellion I need, but a spark waiting for the right tinder. These wolves haven't submitted to Jackson's rule. They've just gotten better at hiding their resistance.

Through our mate bonds, I catch occasional flickers of Lara's presence. She's masking herself well, but strong emotions still leak through—fierce protectiveness when she sees her people suffering, rage when she witnesses Jackson's guards abusing their power, bone-deep sorrow at how much has changed.

"Did you hear?" A whispered conversation from the alley behind me catches my attention. "The River Pack's sending representatives next week. Something about a trade agreement."

"More like a military alliance," another voice replies bitterly. "First the Moon Valley Pack, now River. Jackson's collecting allies faster than coin these days."

My fingers tighten on the rough stone of the building. This confirms our intelligence about Jackson forming a coalition of packs who oppose our rule. Smart move, politically speaking. United, they might actually pose a threat to our territories. Dividing our resources to focus on all potential aggressors would cost us dearly. We'd be stretched thin trying to predict their next moves.

If they weren't so obviously compromised from within.

I push off from the wall, moving deeper into the city. The mate bonds pull me subtly eastward, toward the old pack archives. Lara's presence is stronger there, though still carefully masked. She's looking for something specific—something important enough to risk discovery.

A commotion near the central square draws my attention. A young wolf, barely more than a pup, cowers before two guards. His crime? Accidentally bumping into one of Jackson's elite soldiers.

"Kneel," the soldier commands, voice laced with compulsion.

"Please," the boy whimpers. "It was an accident. I didn't mean—"

"Kneel," the soldier demands, the compulsion thicker in the air.

The young wolf trembles as he obeys, eyes wide with terror.

"Ten lashes," the guard announces. "Public punishment for disrespecting authority."

Behind them, a crowd has gathered to watch, but none step forward to defend the boy. Their fear is palpable, the scent of it coating the air. After decades of gentle ruling under the former Alpha's influence and her father's before that, even the slightest hint of aggression sends them running for the safety of the shadows. This poor pup is merely an example of things to come—a warning to others against questioning orders.

This is what Jackson has reduced them to—passive observers of casual cruelty. But after tasting Lara's strength firsthand, I recognize this form of submission for what it is.

Defiance.

Before I can decide whether to intervene, a hooded figure slips through the crowd. They stumble, apparently drunk, and crash into the guards. In the ensuing chaos, the boy disappears down a side street.

I catch a flash of familiar red hair under the stranger's hood. Lara. Even now, she can't help protecting her people. Perhaps, though, she doesn't yet realize her wolves are perfectly capable of defending themselves.

Defiance doesn't make them weak. Just careful. It makes sense; we live in a world where the tiniest spark of rebellion could raze civilizations to the ground. It is our greatest strength as Alphas and the greatest threat as enemies.

What these wolves need is a reason to open up that hidden fire and turn it into a wildfire of liberation.

The guards help her up, none recognizing their former Alpha beneath the simple clothes and carefully projected aura of harmlessness. But I see the calculated precision in her movements, the way she uses their moment of distraction to pick their pockets. Not just their coin purses—she takes something else. Something that makes triumph flash through our bonds before she masks it again.

Interesting.

I follow her at a distance as she weaves through the streets. Her route seems random, but I recognize the technique—she's checking for tails, doubling back on herself to ensure she isn't followed. She's good. But I'm better.

The archives rise before us, a stern stone building that holds centuries of pack history. Two guards stand at attention by the main entrance, but Lara doesn't approach them. Instead, she disappears down a narrow alley beside the building.

I wait in the shadows, counting heartbeats. One minute. Two. When I finally investigate the alley, I find a subtle gap in the stonework—a hidden entrance that probably dates back to the building's original construction. Clever girl.

Inside, the archives smell of dust and old paper. Rows of shelves tower toward the ceiling, filled with leather-bound books and scrolls. I track Lara's scent—sunshine and steel, mixed with the silver power that now runs through her veins—to a section on pack genealogy.

She's gone by the time I reach the shelf, but the lingering warmth of her presence tells me she was here recently. Very recently. I examine the books, noting which ones have been recently disturbed. Bloodline histories. Inheritance records. And most interesting of all—a thick volume on rare genetic traits in wolf bloodlines.

"Find anything interesting?"

I don't startle at Lucas's voice. I'd sensed my brother's approach through our link. "She's not just seeking revenge," I say quietly. "She's searching for something specific about her family line."

Lucas materializes from the shadows, his usual playful expression replaced by thoughtful focus. "The merchant quarter is buzzing with rumors. Jackson's allies are planning something big. Some kind of ritual that requires a female Alpha's power."

"They won't touch her." The words come out as a growl.

"Possessive, brother?" Lucas's smile holds no humor. "Can't say I blame you. Our little mate's proving quite fascinating."

I ignore the jab, my mind racing through possibilities. Lara's research into bloodlines, Jackson's growing alliances, the rumors of rituals... "We're missing something. Some crucial piece of information that would make all this make sense."

"Should we bring her in? Force some answers?"

I consider it. We could catch her easily enough—she's good, but she's still learning to use her new powers. Three Alpha Kings against one newly-restored wolf would be no contest.

And yet...

"No," I decide. "Let her continue her investigation. For now."

Lucas raises an eyebrow. "That's surprisingly lenient of you."

"It's strategic," I correct. "She knows these wolves, these territories. Understands the politics at play. And she's already proven she can gather intelligence even we missed." I run my finger along the spine of the genealogy book. "Let her do the work for us. When she finds what she's looking for, then we'll move."

"And if what she finds makes her more dangerous to us?"

I smile coldly. "Then we'll remind her exactly why the Alpha Kings are feared across seven territories."

Through our mate bonds, I feel Lara's presence moving away from the archives. She's found whatever she came for. Good. Let her follow this trail of breadcrumbs, uncover whatever secrets Jackson is trying to hide.

In the end, all paths lead back to us. Back to the bonds she can't escape, no matter how hard she tries. And when she finally realizes there is no escape...

This time, she won't have a chance to run.

 The real question is: what will break first—her determination to resist us, or the last remnants of her trust in anyone but herself?

I almost hope it's the latter. A mate who trusts no one is far easier to control than one who still believes in loyalty.

After all, broken things can always be rebuilt. Preferably in our image.

This time, when we claim her, it will be forever.

And nothing—not Jackson, not rival packs, not even Lara herself—will tear her from us again.