The air in the dungeon was damp and cold, thick with the scent of rust and stone. Water dripped from somewhere unseen, the steady rhythm echoing like a cruel clock counting down the hours she had left.
Elara sat on the narrow cot, her arms drawn around her knees. Her breath fogged faintly in the chill. Somewhere above, faint murmurs filtered down through the cracks in the floor — the elders' voices. Plotting. Arguing. Deciding her fate as if she were just a name on a parchment.
Her wolf, Lyra, stirred weakly inside her. They mean to cage us forever.
"I know," Elara whispered, voice trembling. "But I can't fight them all."
You can fight to survive.
A clatter echoed down the corridor — footsteps, light and quick. She tensed, but it wasn't the heavy stride of a guard. A figure slipped into view, torchlight spilling over familiar silver hair and armor dulled from age and use.
"Amara?"
The elite guard pressed a finger to her lips. "Quiet, child." Her eyes darted toward the stairwell before she knelt beside the cell door. "They've gone too far this time."
Elara blinked, hardly believing it. "You shouldn't be here."
"I shouldn't have watched as long as I did," Amara said softly. "Roran and the elders — they see power, not people. If they keep you, they'll drain every last piece of you until you're nothing but a tool."
Elara's throat tightened. "You… you believe me, then? About what I can do?"
Amara hesitated, then nodded. "I saw what you did for Mira's brother last spring. No ordinary wolf heals with a touch. You have the Moon's hand on you, Elara. That's why they fear you — and why they'll never let you go."
Elara's fingers curled against the cold stone. "Then why help me?"
Amara's gaze softened, haunted. "Because once, I swore my sword to Silvercrest's honor. But now, I can't tell if there's any honor left."
She slipped a small iron key into Elara's hand. "At the next moonrise, the north post will change guards. There's a path through the stables — follow the ridge until you hit the stream. Don't look back."
Elara stared at the key, heart pounding. "Amara, if they find out—"
"I know." Amara forced a small smile. "Then I'll tell them I was blind. Just this once."
She rose quickly, pulling her cloak tighter as she left the cell corridor. But as she turned the corner, her path was blocked by a tall figure — Beta Garrick.
Amara froze. The torchlight caught the sharp lines of his face, the weight of authority in his stance.
"Where were you, Amara?" His tone was calm, too calm.
She swallowed hard. "Just checking the cells."
He stepped closer, gaze flicking to the faint glow of the torch in her shaking hand. "You're lying." His voice dropped lower. "You went to her."
For a heartbeat, Amara's instincts screamed to draw her blade — but then Garrick's expression shifted. Not anger. Not betrayal. Calculation.
"Does she know the way out?" he asked quietly.
Amara blinked. "What?"
Garrick looked past her, toward the stairway leading to the council floor. "Roran's made his choice. He'd rather chain the girl and gamble our future than face Kael's wrath. But if we lose her… Silvercrest loses everything."
Amara's brow furrowed. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying," he interrupted, voice low and firm, "we let her go before Roran uses her. Kael can't take what's already gone."
Amara's heart pounded. "You'd betray your Alpha?"
Garrick gave a hollow smile. "No. I'm saving my pack. And maybe, you're saving your soul."
For a long, breathless moment, they just stood there — two loyal wolves finally turning against the hands that held their leashes.
Then Garrick nodded once. "I'll handle the guards. You make sure she reaches the ridge."
Amara met his gaze, uncertainty flickering to resolve. "You'd better be right about this."
He turned away, his voice echoing down the corridor. "For Silvercrest's sake, I'd better be."