By dawn, the Alpha Hall had changed.
Not physically.
But something in the walls had shifted—like the house itself could feel the blood running colder, the hierarchy starting to fray.
Whispers moved faster than patrols.
Guards tightened the perimeter.
Healers avoided my gaze.
I could smell it.
Fear.
It soaked the wood, crawled up the stone.
And not fear of the rogues.
Fear of Rowan.
"He's becoming unstable," Reed said, pacing the war room with his arms locked tight behind his back. "The council thinks we should consider—"
"Finish that sentence," Jace growled, "and I'll rip your throat out."
Reed stopped.
He looked between us—at me, at the healer who stood behind me like a silent witness, and then at Jace, whose command scent was practically crackling in the air.
"Look, I'm just telling you what I heard."
"They want to sedate him," I snapped. "Bind him in silver and lock him away until they can decide whether he's too dangerous to live."
"No one's said that," Reed muttered.
"They're thinking it."
I turned to Jace. "We need to leave."
His jaw tightened. "You want to run?"
"I want to protect him."
"And if we go, they'll say we've turned rogue."
"Let them."
It wasn't that simple.
Leaving a pack—especially one as high-ranking and blood-bound as Thorn—wasn't like moving houses.
It was betrayal.
Treason.
Wolves had been hunted for less.
But if we stayed, Rowan would never see his next birthday.
The council didn't understand what he was.
They didn't want to.
They only saw danger. Unpredictability. Power they couldn't control.
And that terrified them more than any rogue ever could.
We made the decision just after midday.
I packed a single duffel—Rowan's clothes, food, the drawings he'd made, and the folder Jace had found in the underground chamber.
Jace prepped the Jeep.
Reed was silent.
The healer slipped me a vial before I left.
"To calm his instincts if the shift overtakes him."
"Will it work?"
"For a while."
Rowan watched us from the corner, quiet and too still for a child his age.
His glow had dimmed, but not vanished.
And his eyes had started to change.
Gold bleeding into blue. Blue swimming in shadow.
He was on the edge.
And we were out of time.
The escape began like a whisper.
Just past dusk, we loaded into the Jeep.
Jace drove.
I sat in the back with Rowan, who clutched his stuffed fox like it was a lifeline.
We passed the inner gates.
Then the perimeter wall.
Then—
"Stop," I said suddenly.
Jace hit the brakes.
I sniffed the air.
Three scents.
Wrong ones.
"Ambush," I hissed.
Too late.
A flashbang burst in front of the Jeep.
Light. Sound. White smoke.
The tires squealed as Jace jerked the wheel, trying to reverse.
A wolf slammed into the passenger side, denting the door.
Another landed on the hood, claws screeching across metal.
"Hold on!" Jace shouted.
I threw myself over Rowan.
Another explosion rocked the side of the Jeep.
Jace shifted gears and floored it.
The engine howled.
We shot forward—smashing through one of the south gates just as two guards lunged at the vehicle.
Gunfire echoed behind us.
Magic pulsed in the air—binding spells, command echoes, pressure meant to force compliance.
But we kept moving.
Through the outer forest.
Down the slope.
Toward the forbidden line between Thorn Pack territory… and rogue lands.
We didn't stop until the engine began to overheat.
Jace parked beneath a canopy of old pine trees, steam rising from the hood.
"We need to hide the vehicle," he said.
"No," I replied. "We need to check on Rowan."
He was silent in the backseat.
Too silent.
I opened the door.
His body was trembling.
His eyes were glowing again.
"Papa," he whispered. "He's calling."
Jace stepped closer. "Who is?"
Rowan looked up.
And his voice was not his own.
"The man with the glass eyes."
We camped that night in the ruins of an old rogue shelter—half-buried beneath moss and broken tree roots.
Jace reinforced the perimeter with command wards and scent barriers.
I wrapped Rowan in two cloaks and curled around him like a shield.
He burned against me—fever rising again, skin glowing beneath the surface like he held the moon inside his chest.
He whimpered in his sleep.
I sang to him softly—an old lullaby my mother once used when my instincts flared as a pup.
Jace watched us from across the fire, his eyes distant.
"I never wanted this," he said finally.
I looked up.
"Any of this. A broken bond. A child in danger. A mate who doesn't trust me."
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know if I trusted him either.
But I wanted to.
Gods, I wanted to.
"Why didn't you come after me?" I whispered.
He was quiet for a long time.
"I tried," he said. "Something always pulled me back. Confusion. Pain. Like a fog wrapped around certain memories. I thought I was losing my mind."
"Because you were," I murmured. "Because someone took your memories and left me to raise our son alone."
"I know," he said, voice raw. "And I hate myself for it every second."
A pause.
Then—
"I love him," Jace said.
I turned.
He stared at Rowan.
"I don't know how it happened. I barely know him. But I love him. Like I've always known him. Like my wolf already sees him as part of me."
Tears welled in my eyes.
"He's your son."
Jace nodded.
"And I'll die before I let anyone take him from us again."
Rowan woke with a gasp just before dawn.
His skin was ice cold.
His eyes were pitch black.
Jace and I jolted upright.
"Rowan?" I said, reaching for him.
But he didn't look at me.
He looked beyond me.
Into the trees.
"I hear him," he whispered.
Jace stood. "No. It's a projection. A psychic echo—"
Rowan's lips moved.
"The moon will bleed. And I will rise."
"No," I whispered. "Not yet. You're not ready."
Rowan blinked.
Then screamed.
The sound shattered the barrier spells around the shelter.
And from the darkness beyond the trees…
Wolves began to circle.
Glowing eyes.
Silent movements.
And at the center of them—
A man stepped forward.
Long coat.
White gloves.
And eyes like glass.