"Me? No, it's not me. I didn't steal from Father." Terry's voice cracked, but he clung to denial.
He jabbed a finger toward Troy. "Father, you told me to frame Tristan! Your partners were breathing down your neck for their share of the loot, and you gambled it away!"
Troy's eyes hardened. "No, you gambled. I covered for you again and again. You even sold Tristan's horse to pay off your debts."
"You're both liars!" Tristan spat, stepping forward. His voice carried years of fury. "You stole the coins, the jewelry, the land titles. You were partners in crime, and when everything went south, you blamed me!"
"Tristan, mind your manners," Tara cut in, her tone sharp.
He turned on her, eyes blazing. If looks could wound, this one would kill.
"A mother's love should protect her children. But you? You stayed silent. You watched them destroy me—my name, my career, my life—and you did nothing."
The words hung in the air like a blade. No one spoke.
Tara's face went pale. She knew he was right. She had tolerated her husband's excuses, allowed Terry's arrogance, and chosen prayer over action. By her silence, she had betrayed him as much as they had.
Her lips trembled. "Tristan, I am sorry. I failed you as a mother. Please, give me a chance—"
"It wasn't a mistake," Tristan cut in, voice firm. "It was a crime. And you're all going to pay for it. Watch me."
He turned to his sister. "Therese. Unless you want to spend your life in a mana pit like I did, you'd better decide where you stand."
Therese lifted her gaze, tears brimming. "I know what they did. I… I failed you. Please, Tristan, forgive me."
Terry sneered. "Don't blame me. You should have accepted Lady Arriane's advances. She promised me you'd be taken care of."
"Taken care of?" Tristan snapped. "You call that violation, deprivation, and humiliation care? And my love life has nothing to do with any of it!"
Troy shifted uneasily. "Terry suggested sending you to the camp while we pawned the goods and bought time to retrieve them. We thought—"
"What kind of father listens to one child and turns deaf to the other?" Tristan's voice broke. "Don't you love me, Father? Look at me!"
He ripped at the collar of his shirt, exposing scars that cut across his skin like brands. "I almost died. Not one of you came. Every night I prayed that someone—anyone—would check on me. But you conveniently forgot I existed."
His body shook with rage and grief.
The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only when a servant rushed in and bowed deeply.
"My Lords and Ladies… a guest has arrived. A distinguished visitor."
Outside, a carriage rolled to a halt at the manor gates. Its lacquered frame gleamed black, with the silver emblem of a crescent wolf embossed on both sides. Two powerful horses stamped their hooves, snorting in the chill air.
"Halt!" the horseman called. The wheels ground against gravel as the carriage stopped.
The door opened, and a tall man in a dark tailored cloak stepped out. His gaze swept the gathered family like a blade, searching for one face.
Terry stiffened. "Who the hell—" His words faltered as the color drained from his face.
"Lord Shannon," he stammered, forcing a smile. "What a… pleasant surprise." He hurried forward, bowing awkwardly.
The Alpha ignored him. He gestured to his aide. "Fetch him. Bring me Master Tristan."
The aide raised his voice. "Master Tristan. You are requested."
From the crowd, Tristan lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
Murmurs rippled through the room. Even Grandpa, frail in bed, turned his head toward the commotion.
Troy cleared his throat, as if to protest, but Lord Shannon raised a single hand. A gesture of command so absolute that the words died in Troy's throat.
Terry tried instead. "Lord Shannon… my Lord… this is a private family matter."
"I didn't ask your permission." Shannon's voice was quiet, but it cut like steel. "The boy is under my protection now."
"On what grounds?" Troy demanded, though his voice betrayed uncertainty.
"On grounds of justice," Shannon said smoothly. His lips curved faintly. "And compensation—for the years he lost, and for what was taken from him. Unless, of course, you prefer a formal inquiry into your… business arrangements. I hear some of your documents are missing. Or perhaps they never existed."
The blood drained from both Troy and Terry's faces.
Tristan blinked at him. "Wait… who are you?"
"Someone who heard you play the violin once," Shannon said simply. "And never forgot."
Tristan's breath caught.
Shannon's voice softened for the first time. "You captivated a room, and then you vanished. I sent inquiries, but no one knew where you'd gone. No one said anything. Until rumors from the camps reached me."
"You… you found me?" Tristan whispered.
"I pulled you out."
Tristan's heart lurched. "Why?"
"Because no one else did." Shannon's answer was quiet, resolute. "Get in."
Tristan didn't hesitate. He walked past Tara, who wept silently; past Therese, who couldn't meet his eyes; past Troy, who no longer dared to speak. He didn't look at Terry at all.
At the carriage door, Tristan hesitated only long enough to glance at his filthy boots, gesturing toward the red carpet inside. Shannon gave him a small nod, a flicker of a smile. It's fine.
The wheels turned, and the carriage rolled away, leaving the Mendez family in stunned silence.
"What just happened?" someone whispered.
Inside, the velvet cushions muffled every sound of the road. Shannon studied the young man beside him, measuring the difference between memory and reality.
"You've lost weight," Shannon said.
Tristan gave a dry laugh. "Among other things."
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken questions.
"My Lord, you could have sent someone else," Tristan murmured. "Why come yourself?"
"I had to see you," Shannon replied. "To make sure it was you."
"And am I?" Tristan asked bitterly.
"Yes." Shannon's voice was certain.
Tristan let out another laugh, but it cracked halfway. "Two years," he whispered. "Two years of darkness, and now I'm sitting in velvet." His hands shook as he looked down. "My fingers are trembling."
Shannon said nothing, letting him speak.
"I dreamed of escaping. Of music. Of hearing applause again. But now that I'm free, I feel like a ghost."
"You're not," Shannon said firmly.
"Sorry to disagree, my Lord, but you don't know what I went through," Tristan snapped, anger flashing. "What they did to me. What my own family let happen."
"You're right," Shannon admitted. His tone was calm, steady. "I don't know everything they did to you. But I intend to find out."
Tristan turned, ready to argue, but stopped.
"There's a place for you," Shannon said instead. "Far from this city. Quiet. Safe. My people are preparing it now."
Tristan's voice faltered. "Not back to the manor?"
"No." Shannon's reply was sharp. "You're not safe there. And more importantly, you don't belong there anymore."
Tristan exhaled slowly. That much, at least, he agreed with.
"And your hands," Shannon added, lowering his voice, "will heal. I've summoned a wolf-born healer who specializes in nerve restoration. She has helped soldiers recover from worse."
Tristan stared at him. "My Lord… why are you doing this?"
Shannon met his gaze without wavering. "I told you. You played once, and I never forgot."
Tristan's voice dropped to a whisper. "That person no longer lives."
"Then become someone new," Shannon said gently. "Someone stronger."