Cass’s POV

"Who?!" I panic, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"I can only assume it’s Ezra," Oliver says, calmly peeling off his suit jacket to reveal his lean, muscular frame.

Warriors flood the forest edge, and the house erupts into controlled chaos.

"Cassiopeia, get inside!" Warrick shouts, his voice booming over the commotion.

"I can fight!" I protest, though my voice lacks conviction.

"Have you trained enough for a real battlefield?" he retorts. When I hesitate, he points toward the house. "Serge, take her. If it is Ezra, I’ll bring him to you alive."

I point a finger at him. "You’d better!"

Oliver nods as I’m hurried away. I bump into Colt on the porch. He cups my face, his eyes fierce. "Stay inside. You'll be safe." Before I can argue, he sprints into the darkness.

The war room is a sanctuary of reinforced steel and heavy shutters. Lotus places a calming hand on my shoulder. "Protocol, my dear. This is our shelter. The children are already in the cellar."

The room is suffocatingly quiet. Everyone else—Dash, Miles, Bryn, and the others—seems strangely relaxed.

"Why is everyone so calm?" I ask.

"We’re the

Dark Fang Pack

," Dash says with a shrug. "We aren't easily taken down. Most of our pack consists of high-ranking Alphas."

Lotus leans in. "It’s a legacy of blood. Your grandfather, Amos, was a monster. He didn't just decimate enemy packs; he conscripted their survivors. He was ruthless even to his own bloodline—forced his sons to kill their own siblings for the 'gift.' Warrick is the survivor of that cycle, not the architect."

I stare at the reinforced door, the history of this pack suddenly feeling heavier, darker. The silence outside is absolute until, thirty minutes later, Warrick strides in.

"It’s over," he announces. "The river packs attacked. It was a half-assed attempt, but they’ll pay for the disrespect. Beck, grill the prisoners. Victor, tighten the perimeters."

As they disperse, I finally see Colt. I want to rush to him, but Oliver is right on his heels.

"We won, as expected," Warrick says.

When the room clears, I pull Colt into a tight embrace. "Everything okay?"

"Fast and easy," he whispers. "Did you actually tell Oliver about us?"

"I did," I giggle at his surprised expression. "I told him you’re more than a friend. But he’s still pursuing me."

"Let him try," Colt smirks. "He’s an idiot."

We head to the bar room to join the others. It’s an odd scene—soldiers lounging, playing pinball, trying to act like the violence outside didn't just happen. I sit with the boys, but my attention is pulled to a side table.

Julia is hovering near Colt, her voice trembling. "I was so scared for you, Colt."

"I'm fine," Colt says, his voice flat. He doesn't even look at her.

"Why do you have to be so cruel?" She starts to cry, a sudden, performative outburst. "You know how I feel!"

Colt turns to her, his patience frayed. "Julia, stop. I’ve already spoken to your father. He warned you that if this harassment continues, he’ll take drastic measures. I don't love you, and I never will."

"I can't help it!" she screams, lunging at him.

"Go away, Julia," Colt says coldly, turning his back.

"Look at me!" She grabs his arm, dragging him toward her. Colt yanks his arm free, but it’s too late. With a primal, desperate shriek, Julia lunges, latching her fangs deep into his neck.