Absolutely. Here's the revised version of the chapter, incorporating the new detail that Jake was saved by a couple who took him in and raised him, while he n
The sound of pounding footsteps echoed through the marble halls of the mansion. The heavy double doors slammed open, and a man—panting and wide-eyed—rushed through.
Down the corridor lined with golden sconces and towering portraits, he ran until he reached the grand study. He threw the doors open without knocking.
"Alpha!" he gasped, breathless. "I have a lead—about her."
Inside, the study was quiet, lit by the flickering flames of a fireplace. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with ancient tomes, weapons from forgotten wars, and crystal decanters of aged liquor. The scent of pine and parchment hung in the air.
At the far end, a tall man stood with his back to the room, silhouetted against the glass wall that looked out onto the moonlit woods. His broad shoulders were tense, hands clasped behind him. He said nothing.
The messenger steadied himself. "There's been a surge of elemental energy—something unlike anything we've seen before. It's unstable, controlled… precise. Our scouts tracked it to the outskirts of Los Angeles."
The man at the window didn't move. But the weight of his silence said more than words ever could.
"We believe it's her," the messenger added cautiously. "The same signature we detected years ago."
The Alpha finally turned.
His eyes were silver—sharp and dangerous, like moonlight turned into steel. He was dressed in black, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, a tattoo curling along the side of his neck, just visible beneath his collar. It pulsed faintly when he moved.
"Where exactly?" His voice was deep. Calm. But laced with something ancient—rage buried beneath ice.
"A residential district near UCLA. A few werewolves have gone missing. Rumors say a rogue is responsible, but…" The messenger hesitated. "She doesn't leave a trail unless she wants to."
The Alpha's expression didn't change.
He turned and walked to the corner of the room where a shelf displayed a faded photograph in a silver frame. A boy with dark hair and bright eyes smiled beside a laughing little girl. They looked inseparable—two halves of the same soul.
He brushed a finger gently across the girl's face.
Twelve years.
That night still haunted him.
He'd been Ten. Just a child when the creatures came—ripping their family apart beneath the stars. He remembered them ripping him but they then left him to find her they taught he was there he just lost consciousness And when silence finally came, he woke up out into a nightmare.
He'd searched for Ivy for hours, shouting her name into the blood-soaked woods, his voice growing hoarse, but she never answered.
And then… someone found him.
A couple—werewolves from a distant, peaceful pack—heard his cries. They took him in. Nursed his wounds. Gave him food. A home. A second chance.
They raised him with kindness, but even they knew: there was a hollow place inside him that nothing could fill.
Because his sister was gone.
Or so they all believed.
But he knew better.
He would have felt her die. He would have felt it in his bones.
And now… after twelve long years, the trail was warm again.
The Alpha turned back to the fireplace, the photo still in his hand. His silver eyes burned.
"Send a team," he said quietly. "Do not engage her. Observe only. And no one—no one—is to let her see them."
"Yes, Alpha."
He nodded once.
The messenger bowed deeply and disappeared out the door, leaving the Alpha alone in the firelight.
He stared into the flames, jaw clenched.
They had taken everything from him. His parents. His childhood. His peace.
But they had not taken her.
"She's alive," he whispered, voice barely audible. "I know it. You're out there, little wolf."
He set the photograph down.
"I'm coming."