Dawn did not intrude upon the Alpha's chambers; it seeped in, a gentle, gray light that slowly painted the room in muted tones. The silence was a living thing, comfortable and deep, woven from the threads of spent passion and hard-won peace. Kael awoke not with a start, but with a slow, dawning awareness. The first thing he felt was the weight of Lyra's head on his chest, the steady rhythm of her breath against his skin. The second was the absence of the gnawing, acidic dread that had plagued him since the Obsidian Outpost.

The truth was still there, a heavy stone in his gut, but it no longer felt like it was poisoning him. It was just a fact. A terrible, complicated fact, but one he now carried with a spine strengthened by the woman in his arms. He looked down at her, at the dark fan of her lashes against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips. In sleep, the Luna's fierce intelligence was softened into pure, untroubled beauty. He traced the line of her shoulder, his thumb brushing the edge of her moonmark, feeling the bond hum contentedly between them, a low, golden thrum of connection.

Lyra stirred, her amber eyes fluttering open. There was no disorientation, no reaching for a weapon. Her gaze found his immediately, and a slow, soft smile touched her lips. "Morning," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," he echoed, his own voice a low rumble. He leaned down and kissed her, a tender, lingering press of lips that held the memory of the night's intensity. It was a kiss of gratitude, of shared survival.

For a long while, they simply lay there, entangled in the quiet. The world outside—the political fallout, Silas, the traitor, the waiting pack—felt distant, held at bay by the fortress of their bond.

But the world, as it always did, began to knock.

The sound was soft but insistent: a series of three precise taps on their chamber door. It was Ronan's signal.

The spell was broken, but this time, it did not shatter. It faded, making way for a new, steady resolve. Kael sighed, the sound one of acceptance, not frustration. He gave Lyra one last, quick kiss before swinging his legs out of bed.

"Ignore it," Lyra said, her tone playful but her eyes understanding.

He shot her a wry smile over his shoulder as he pulled on his breeches. "And have him assume we've been assassinated and break the door down? I don't think so."

He opened the door a crack. Ronan stood there, his face a carefully composed mask, but the shadows under his eyes spoke of a sleepless night.

"Alpha," Ronan said, his voice low. "I apologize for the intrusion. But a matter requires your attention." He hesitated, his gaze flicking past Kael for a moment. "It's about the... guest."

Kael's posture straightened, the relaxed man of the morning receding as the Alpha stepped forward. "What about him?"

"He's asking for you. Specifically. He says it's urgent. That there's something else you need to know about your mother." Ronan's jaw tightened. "The guards report he's been agitated since first light."

A cold trickle, unrelated to the morning chill, ran down Kael's spine. Something else. The stone of truth in his gut felt heavier. He nodded curtly. "Tell him I will be there shortly."

As Ronan departed, Kael closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, his eyes closing. He felt Lyra's presence before her hand touched his back.

"You don't have to face him alone," she said softly.

"I won't be," he said, turning to her. "You're coming with me. I need your eyes. Your mind. He's a manipulator. I need you to see what I might miss through... through my own bias."

An hour later, cleaned, dressed, and armored in their public personas, they entered the west wing. The "guest quarters" were spacious and well-appointed but undeniably a gilded cage, with two stern-faced enforcers stationed outside the door. Inside, Silas stood by the window, his back to them. He turned as they entered, and the change in him was noticeable. The broken prisoner was gone, replaced by a man whose cunning intelligence was reasserting itself, even with one eye swollen and his body still bearing the marks of Thorne's cruelty.

"Nephew. Luna," he greeted, his voice smoother than it had been the day before. "Thank you for coming."

"You said it was urgent," Kael stated, not bothering with pleasantries. He remained standing, a clear signal that this was not a social call.

Silas's gaze drifted to Lyra, assessing, before returning to Kael. "The truth is a hydra, Kael. Cut off one head, and two more grow in its place. I told you of your mother's death. But I did not tell you why my sister was truly in Silverfang territory when she was killed."

Lyra felt a prickle of warning. She moved to stand slightly to Kael's side, her posture relaxed but her senses on high alert.

"She was meeting your father," Kael said, his voice flat.

"Yes, but it was not a secret tryst," Silas said, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "It was a peace summit. A desperate, last-ditch effort brokered by her to end the hostilities before they escalated into all-out war. She believed in the union of our packs, not just through her bond with your father, but politically. She was a visionary, just like you."

He took a limping step forward. "The meeting was betrayed. Thorne's father knew the location. He ambushed them. Your father fought his way out, gravely wounded. Your mother... she was not so lucky." He paused, letting the weight of the betrayal settle. "The official story, from both sides, was that she was kidnapped and murdered during a rogue Silverfang raid. It was a lie that served both our fathers—mine, to rally the pack for war, and yours, to hide his failure to protect her and to fuel his rage."

Kael was silent, his face a mask of stone, but Lyra could feel the turmoil through the bond—a fresh wave of grief and anger for the mother who had died not just for love, but for peace.

"But that is not the new head of the hydra," Silas continued, his single eye sharpening. "The question that has haunted me for twenty years is this: Who betrayed the meeting?"

The air in the room grew cold.

"Thorne's father is dead. I killed him myself in the first years of the war," Kael said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Indeed. But he was a blunt instrument. The one who provided the location, the timing... that required someone with access. High-level access. On our side, I always suspected a rival of mine, but he died in the war. I could never prove it." Silas's gaze was intense, unwavering. "But what if the leak did not come from our side? What if it came from yours?"

The implication hung in the air, toxic and devastating. The betrayal that started the war, that led to his mother's death, could have come from within Silverfang.

"Who?" Kael's question was a whisper, but it carried the force of a command.

Silas spread his hands. "I do not know. I have only a theory. Your father was fiercely secretive, but he trusted his inner circle. His Beta. His Head Enforcer. His Head of Intelligence. One of them, perhaps. Someone who believed that peace with Crimson Paw was a weakness. Someone who wanted the war."

Lyra's mind raced, connecting threads. Jax, the previous strategist, had been a traitor. An insider had just freed Seraphina using an old, purged code. The pattern was one of deep, long-standing rot within Silverfang.

Kael took a step back, his composure cracking for a single, visible moment. The foundation of his world, which he had just begun to rebuild, was being shaken once more. The war that had defined his life, the war that had killed his mother, might have been sparked not just by an enemy, but by a traitor his own father had trusted.

He turned and walked out of the room without another word, his stride stiff. Lyra shot a final, piercing look at Silas—a look that promised this was not over—before following her mate.

In the corridor, Kael stopped, bracing his hands against the cold stone wall, his head bowed. Lyra placed a hand on his back, feeling the tension thrumming through him.

"He's playing you," she said, though a cold dread was seeping into her own heart. "He's giving you just enough truth to make you doubt everything."

Kael pushed off the wall, his eyes blazing with a new, cold fire. "Is it doubt, Lyra? Or is it finally seeing the full battlefield?" He looked down the hall, towards the heart of the Keep. "The war never ended. It just went underground. And now, it's time we dug it out. Root and stem."

The peaceful sanctuary of the dawn was a memory. A new hunt had begun, and the prey was a ghost from a twenty-year-old betrayal, whose shadow still stretched over their future.

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