The gates closed at dawn.
Mira heard the iron grind shut from deep inside the mountain, the sound echoing through stone halls like a final judgment. It settled in her chest, heavy and cold.
She stood alone in the chamber they had locked her in. The room was carved straight from the mountain—bare stone walls, a narrow bed, a single window cut high and thin. No warmth. No comfort.
A cage.
Her wrists were free now, but she could still feel the ghost of the chains.
Outside, Silverfang territory stirred back to life. The sounds were distant but constant—boots on stone, voices carrying orders, the low sound of a pack that had survived another night of near war.
Nightshade howls had faded before sunrise.
They had not breached the gate.
Her brother had lived.
That relief should have steadied her. Instead, it twisted painfully in her chest.
Because she was still here.
And because of him.
The bond stirred without warning, a sharp pull that tightened low in her ribs. Mira clenched her fists.
Ryker.
She felt him before the door opened. The bond made sure of that. A presence pressing closer, controlled and heavy, like a storm moving with purpose.
The door swung inward.
Ryker Silverfang stepped inside.
He was fully dressed now wearing dark trousers, a fitted tunic, his Alpha cloak thrown back from his shoulders. His sword was not on his back this time. That alone put her on edge.
He closed the door behind him with deliberate care.
Silence settled.
Mira did not bow. She did not speak. She stood near the window, spine straight, chin lifted.
Ryker studied her for a long moment.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
It was not a question.
She met his gaze. "Neither did you."
A faint tightening around his eyes told her she was right.
"Your brother is alive," he said. "He pulled back before dawn."
"I know," she replied coldly. "I felt him leave."
Ryker nodded once, accepting the truth of that. "Your pack retreated with minimal losses."
"And yours?"
His jaw tightened. "Three dead. Two wounded."
The words landed between them like stones.
"I didn't order them to come," Mira said. "And I didn't order your wolves to die."
"I know."
That surprised her. She had expected blame. Accusation.
Instead, Ryker moved closer, stopping a few steps away.
"This is the first time we speak without chains," he said. "I want to be clear."
She crossed her arms. "About what?"
"About who holds power here."
Her lips curved in a sharp smile. "You think that needs explaining?"
He did not rise to the insult. "You are my prisoner," he said evenly. "But you are also my fated mate. That makes this situation… complicated."
"Complicated," she repeated flatly. "That's one word for it."
The bond hummed, low and tense. Mira hated how aware she was of him—his breathing, his weight shifting, the steady control in his stance.
"Say what you came to say," she snapped. "Or leave."
Ryker studied her again, then nodded. "Very well."
He took one more step forward.
"Last night proved something," he said. "Your father will not stop."
Her chest tightened. "You don't know him."
"I know enough," Ryker replied. "He sent a raid knowing it could start a full war. Knowing it could kill you."
Her voice dropped. "He would never trade my life."
Ryker's gaze sharpened. "Would he trade your death for a cause?"
The question cut deep.
Mira turned away, jaw tight. "You think you understand Nightshade better than I do?"
"I think grief makes monsters of good men," he said quietly. "On both sides."
She spun back to him. "Don't speak of grief. Your pack burned our lands."
"And yours slaughtered ours in retaliation," he shot back. "Children died, Mira. On both sides."
Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
The bond pulsed—not pain, but something worse. Recognition.
"You believe your version of the war," Mira said. "Just like I believe mine."
"Yes," Ryker said. "And that is the problem."
He moved again, slow and deliberate, stopping just outside her reach.
"You were raised on stories of Silverfang cruelty," he continued. "I was raised on stories of Nightshade betrayal. We both grew up hating ghosts."
Her breath hitched despite herself.
"You're asking me to doubt my family," she said.
"I'm asking you to doubt a war that has eaten three generations alive," he replied.
She laughed bitterly. "You expect me to trust you?"
"No," Ryker said. "I expect you to survive."
The word landed hard.
"Your council wants blood," Mira said. "Mine wants vengeance. Where does that leave us?"
Ryker's gaze did not waver. "Standing between two blades."
Her wolf stirred uneasily. "Then step aside."
"I won't."
"Why?" she demanded. "Why protect me when killing me would make your pack stronger?"
Ryker was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "Because the bond does not lie."
Mira stiffened. "The bond is a curse."
"Or a warning," he countered.
She shook her head. "You don't get to turn this into fate and meaning."
"I didn't choose this," he said. "Neither did you. But it exists. And it is the only thing forcing both packs to hesitate."
Her throat tightened. She hated that he was right.
"If I accept you," she said slowly, "I betray my blood."
"If you reject me," he said, "you die."
The bond pulsed again, sharp and unforgiving.
"Then the Moon Goddess is cruel," Mira whispered.
Ryker's voice softened. "Or desperate."
That made her look at him.
"For what?" she asked.
"For peace," he said. "For survival. For an end to this war."
She scoffed. "Peace built on submission is not peace."
"Agreed," Ryker said.
She frowned. "Then what are you proposing?"
He hesitated.
"Time," he said. "Thirty days."
Her heart skipped. "For what?"
"For truth," he replied. "For answers. For proof of who started this war."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then you will know it," he said. "And you can reject me with clear eyes."
Her laugh was sharp. "You make rejection sound simple."
"I know it's not," Ryker said quietly.
The bond stirred again—this time, uneasy but not painful.
"And during these thirty days?" Mira asked. "What happens to me?"
"You stay here," he said. "Under my protection. You are not harmed. You are not touched."
She searched his face. "And your council?"
"They will obey," he said. "Or they will answer to me."
She believed him. That scared her more than any threat.
"And my pack?" she asked.
Ryker's expression darkened. "They will test our borders. They will provoke. They will wait for me to fail."
Her fingers curled. "You're asking me to stand still while everything I love burns."
"I'm asking you to help me stop it," he said.
Silence stretched again.
Then footsteps echoed outside the door.
A knock followed—hard and urgent.
"Alpha," a voice called. "The council demands your presence."
Ryker did not look away from Mira. "Give me a moment."
The guard hesitated, then stepped back.
Ryker exhaled slowly.
"This is your last chance to choose," he said. "Stand with me—or stand alone."
Mira lifted her chin. "I will never kneel."
"I'm not asking you to kneel," he said. "I'm asking you to walk beside me."
The bond tightened, as if listening.
Before she could answer, a sudden cry echoed down the corridor.
Not a battle shout.
A scream.
Ryker's head snapped toward the door.
Then the bond flared violently—pain, shock, and fury crashing into Mira's senses.
She staggered back, clutching her chest.
"What is it?" she gasped.
Ryker's face went hard and pale.
"They touched you," he said.
"No," Mira whispered. "I'm here."
His eyes burned. "Not you."
The door burst open.
"Alpha!" the guard shouted. "They found the body."
Ryker turned back to Mira, something dark and lethal rising in his gaze.
"A Silverfang elder," he said. "Murdered."
And every instinct in Mira screamed the same terrible truth.
This was no accident.
The elder's blood marked a Nightshade blade.
Every gaze snapped to Mira.
Ryker's voice dropped to ice. "This was done to frame you."
The council howled for execution.
Then the bond burned—wrong, twisted, poisoned.
Ryker staggered.
Someone had just tried to sever the mate bond.
And whoever did it stood inside the hall.