AYLA

I slap him.

Open palm. Full swing. A sound that cuts through the silence like thunder.

Cassian doesn’t flinch.

He just stands there, cheek red, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.

“You don’t get to come here,” I say, voice low and shaking, “and sniff around my life like you still have a claim to it. You forfeited that the day you handed me over like I was your weakest move.”

His jaw works. He’s angry. Good.

“I forfeited a lot of things,” he says. “Not all of them willingly.”

I scoff. “Save your regrets for someone who didn’t bleed out at your feet.”

The air between us grows hotter. He’s staring at me now, not like he wants to apologize — but like he wants to tear me apart all over again. I see it in the way his hands twitch, in the way his wolf surges just beneath the surface.

He thinks he still knows me.

He doesn’t.

I’m not the same girl he broke.

And I’m not stupid enough to let him break me twice.

“You should leave,” I say, stepping back into the doorway. “Whatever danger you think is coming, it’s not mine. I don’t belong to your world anymore.”

He doesn’t move. “I wasn’t asking for your help.”

“Oh? You were just showing up at my door in the middle of nowhere for what? Nostalgia?”

His lips part, like he’s about to say something cutting, something cruel — but he stops himself. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small, torn piece of fabric.

A child’s shirt.

Faded blue. Smudged with dirt. And blood.

My stomach knots.

I know that shirt.

I stitched it myself — back when I didn’t have money for anything better. Back when he was smaller. Back when he still thought nightmares could be chased away with stories and songs.

Cassian watches me closely.

“You don’t have a child,” he repeats softly. “So I must be imagining this.”

I don’t say a word.

Not because I can’t — but because if I open my mouth, I might scream.

“You should leave,” I say again, but this time, even I don’t believe it.

“Who is he, Ayla?”

I glare at him. “Not yours.”

That lands. I see it hit him like a blade straight through the chest.

His breath falters. “You were pregnant when you left.”

“And I stayed gone,” I snap. “I didn’t want him raised under your name. Under your rules. Under your power games.”

His face hardens. “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” I hiss. “You rejected me. You chose another. You made it impossible for me to stay. I did what I had to do to protect my son.”

Our son.

The words almost slip, but I catch them just in time.

Cassian steps forward, and for the first time since he showed up, I actually feel it — the gravity of him. The Alpha energy rolling off his skin like heat. It coils around my ankles. Climbs my spine.

My wolf stirs again. Torn.

I should be stronger than this.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and it almost sounds like the truth.

I look up at him — really look — and for a second, I see it. The man he was before the throne. Before the titles. Before the betrayal.

Just a boy who used to hold me like I was his whole world.

“I need to see him,” he says.

My blood runs cold. “Absolutely not.”

“He’s in danger.”

“He was always in danger. The minute he was born with your blood in his veins.”

Cassian’s jaw clenches. “Then let me protect him.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Then give me the chance.”

I hesitate. Only for a second. But that’s all it takes.

A sound splits the quiet between us — sharp and sudden. A growl. Not Cassian’s. Not mine.

Another wolf.

Close.

Too close.

Cassian’s head snaps toward the woods that line the edge of my property. His whole body stiffens. His hand moves to the knife at his hip — smooth, practiced, deadly.

“Someone followed me,” he says, voice clipped.

I don’t even respond.

I turn and bolt for the back door.

Because if they’re here, if they found us—

I need to get to my son before they do.

Cassian's head snaps toward the woods that line the back of my property. His whole body shifts — posture rigid, instincts bristling.

“Someone followed me,” he says, voice low. “Maybe more than one.”

I don’t wait for the rest.

I shove past him and sprint for the back door, bare feet pounding against the floor.

The forest is too quiet.

No birds. No wind. Just the thick weight of something coming.

I throw open the hallway closet, grab the emergency bag I keep hidden behind the coats, and yank open the trapdoor beneath the rug. My fingers are trembling as I unhook the safety lock. Old wooden stairs lead down into the crawlspace.

“Leif!” I call, voice cracking. “Baby, come here—now!”

Small feet thunder down the hallway. Blond curls. Wide golden eyes just like his father’s. My heart lurches.

“Mama?”

I scoop him up, clutch him to my chest, and press a kiss to the top of his head.

Cassian’s silhouette fills the doorway. His eyes lock onto the boy in my arms.

And in that second—something breaks open.

But there’s no time.

Because a howl splits the sky.

Low. Savage.

Followed by the snap of a neck.

And the scent of blood.

Close.

Too close.

They’ve found us.

Cassian lunges forward, but I’m already moving—child in arms, heart in my throat.

Another howl. Closer. Hungrier.

A shadow tears through the trees.

Then I see it—eyes glowing red, too intelligent to be feral, too fast to be human.

Cassian growls beside me.

And just before the first body hits the porch—

Leif looks up at me, calm.

“Mama,” he whispers. “They’re here for me.”

Cassian stiffens. “What did he say?”

But I’m staring at my son—

Because his eyes…

They’re not golden anymore.

They’re glowing silver.