Colt’s POV

"Colt, they’re in a vehicle. We’ve lost the trail," Dash says, his voice tight.

I lunge at him, grabbing his throat. "I have to find her!"

"I am not the enemy!" Dash gasps, prying my fingers loose.

Garret steps forward, his expression grim. "He likely took her to his pack territory. I have men tracking every route leading that way."

I grab a wooden chair and smash it against the table, the sound of splintering wood echoing my internal collapse.

"The Alpha is asking for you," the pack doctor interrupts from the doorway.

We race to Warrick’s room. He is alive, but barely. His breathing is shallow, wet with the rattle of internal hemorrhaging.

"You must keep the pack safe," Warrick wheezes, his gaze locking onto Victor. "Find her... she is my legacy. Promise me."

"I will," Victor vows, his voice trembling.

Warrick’s eyes flicker to me. "You... you may mark my daughter. I undo my prohibition. Find her, and if you both wish to make it official, do it."

With that, he slips into a critical, medicated coma.

"We have four fronts now," Victor says as we pace the hall. "Getting Cass back, the River Packs, Ezra, and this snake, Oliver."

"I’ll handle the search and Oliver," I growl. "You focus on the River Packs and Ezra."

I turn away, my heart a cold stone. I will find her. And I will ensure Oliver dies in the most agonizing way imaginable.

Cass’s POV

My vision is a nightmare. I sit up in the dirt, my hands flying to my face. A heavy, metallic weight presses against my skin, bolted directly into my skull. My peripheral vision is swallowed by encroaching darkness—a result of the thick, iron-wrought mask Zao has forced upon me.

"Don't bother," Zao’s voice echoes in the room. "It’s bolted to the bone. You’ll rip your own head off before you get it off."

"You son of a bitch!" I scream, lunging for him, only to be jerked back by the chains around my neck.

He ignores my fury, instead discussing his "whorehouse" business with his son, Chen. When Zao decides I’m "too willful" for the brothel, he drags me toward the barracks.

"You're a fighter," Zao decides. "You'll fight for your keep in the pit. Make me money, and perhaps you’ll earn your freedom."

"And if I shift?" I snarl.

"You’ll rip your skull in half. And if you somehow don’t, we’ll just bolt it back on."

I’m thrown into a metal cell—a cage hanging over a blood-stained arena. Three other women occupy the space. One, a tall, Greek-goddess-looking warrior named Kanda, stares at me with grim curiosity.

"You survived that mask?" she asks, her voice low. "Then you aren't human."

"I'm not," I confirm. "What is this place?"

"An arena," she says, gesturing to the pit below where gladiators butcher one another for the amusement of sadistic men. "We fight to the death. It’s random. It depends on who the crowd wants to see bleed."

That night, a guard throws a tray of filth into our cage. "Eat up," he sneers at me. "You’re fighting tomorrow."

I collapse against the cold bars. The silver in the metal burns my skin, a constant, searing reminder of my confinement. My head pounds with every heartbeat, but through the pain, one thought remains:

Colt, where are you?