Cass’s POV

Colt turned the iron mask over in his hands, his knuckles white. "How could they do this to you?"

"Even I’m shocked," Victor interjected, his gaze lingering on the jagged metal. "I don’t think even Warrick would have stooped to such cruelty."

"Zao had a flair for the theatrical," I said, my hand instinctively going to the phantom ache in my temple where the bolts had been drilled. "Everything was a show for the sadistic. But I survived because of Kanda and the others."

"We killed Zao," I continued, meeting their questioning gazes. "His son followed, and I nearly had Ezra. I took the witch’s head, just as he took Lauren’s." I signaled to Kanda. "Send it to him in a box. I kept it for that exact purpose."

The room went silent. They stared at me—not with pity, but with a new, guarded respect.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, my voice cold. "I’m not the naive girl I was months ago. The child in me is finally opening her eyes, and she’s starting to see the world for the meat grinder it truly is."

Honora appeared at the door shortly after, her presence a welcome disruption. She explained how she’d escaped Zao’s clutches and tracked Victor’s team, but as she spoke, her eyes flickered downward—to my stomach. She knew.

I have to tell Colt,

I thought, a familiar anxiety tightening my chest.

But not now.

Male wolves were notoriously overprotective, and I wasn't ready to be treated like a porcelain doll just yet.

We returned to the pack house by evening. The air felt different now—sharper, heavier. Before I could process my return, Honora pulled me aside.

"You mentioned a blockage in your power back at the arena," she whispered. "I sense deep-seated magic suppressing it. I can help you break it, but it will be physically strenuous. Given your... condition, it might be dangerous for the child."

I froze. "I won't risk them."

"Then come to me when you are ready," she said, fading into the shadows of the hall.

I found my father, Warrick, in his chambers. The imposing, blood-soaked Alpha I had once feared was gone; in his place was a frail man struggling to draw breath. Wolfbane, coated on an assassin’s blade, had poisoned his system, tethering him to the edge of death.

"Daughter," he wheezed, his eyes cloudy. "You’ve returned."

I sat on the edge of the bed, the distance between us suddenly bridged by years of pain. "They tell me you’ll recover, but it will take time."

"Time I may not have," he rasped. "Victor will guide you, but you must lead. Be the Alpha I know you can be."

"You know," I said, my voice softening, "sometimes you can actually be a decent man."

He tried to retort, but a violent coughing fit seized him. When he recovered, his gaze turned distant. "Your mother... Dahlia was my true love. My father demanded I take multiple mates, and I let the tradition destroy the only thing that mattered. She wanted to escape me, and in my arrogance, I let it lead to her death."

The anguish in his voice was raw. This wasn't a confession of a monster; it was the broken plea of a man who had finally realized the cost of his power. I leaned down and kissed his forehead, a silent acknowledgment of the complex, jagged love a daughter holds for a flawed man.

I left his room feeling the weight of the Alpha mantle settling onto my shoulders. I had a pack to lead, a war to win, and a secret growing within me.

I am the daughter of Warrick,

I thought, looking out over the territory as the sun dipped low.

And I will survive this.