By the time Silas comes with food, I’m feral enough that I nearly lunge at him.
He stops in the doorway, tray in his hands, eyes scanning me like he knows something’s different. “You’re running hot,” he says, voice low.
“You notice everything, don’t you,” I bite out, forcing myself to sit back against the wall. “Like a good little watchdog.”
“I notice when you look like you’re about to chew through iron,” he answers. He sets the tray down, crouches, and studies me. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head, trying to steady my breathing. “I don’t know. My wolf’s restless. Too restless.”
“You’re shifting?”
“I’m not shifting.” My nails scrape against the concrete, leaving faint lines. “She’s trying to take me somewhere.”
His eyes narrow. “Where?”
“Back,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “Back to packs that don’t exist anymore. To wolves that are dust and memory.”
He doesn’t speak for a moment. His gaze holds mine, and I can’t read him, can’t tell if he believes me or thinks I’m losing my mind.
“Eat,” he says finally, sliding the tray closer. “You need strength.”
“I don’t need bread and broth. I need out.”
“You won’t survive out there right now.”
“And you think I’ll survive in here?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits in the chair, watching me eat like he isn’t going to leave until I do. I tear into the bread, my hands shaking harder than I want them to, crumbs falling against my shirt. The broth burns on the way down, but it’s grounding enough that the wolf settles just a little.
The door opens again before either of us can speak, and the shift in the air is immediate. Roman.
His presence fills the room like smoke, thick and choking. He doesn’t look at Silas when he enters, doesn’t acknowledge him at all, as if my fox-shaped captor is nothing more than furniture. His eyes are on me, sharp and predatory, his lips curling into that same smooth smile that never reaches his eyes.
“You’re awake,” he says.
I don’t answer.
“You look stronger than yesterday. That’s good. I wouldn’t want this conversation wasted on weakness.”
I force myself not to move, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me brace.
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing over me, his shadow cutting across my legs. “You’ve always been Darius’s anchor, haven’t you. He’s reckless, blind with loyalty, and you’re the one who held him steady. You’re the one who reminded him when to keep fighting and when to retreat. Without you, he’s nothing more than an old wolf begging to die.”
I still don’t speak.
Roman crouches down, the scent of his cologne sharp and cold, the edge of his suit brushing the floor. “I could break him. You know that. I could take him apart piece by piece, and there would be nothing he could do to stop me.”
My chest burns, but I don’t blink, don’t give him anything.
“You think silence will save him?” Roman tilts his head. “It won’t. If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll let him watch while I tear down every single one of the wolves he hides behind. I’ll let him see what it looks like when a pack burns. And you, Mary, you’ll still be here, locked in this cell, powerless to stop it.”
My fingers dig into my palms until I feel blood. The wolf inside me surges, claws against my skin, begging to lunge, to kill, to rip. But the chains don’t give, and my silence is all I have left.
Roman straightens, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he says. “Maybe you’ll find your voice by then.”
The door shuts behind him with a hiss, and I can’t breathe for a long moment.
Silas doesn’t move until I drag in a breath that shakes too hard. He crouches in front of me, close so that I can see the faint bruise still shadowing his cheek from when I struck him. His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.
