The first grey light of dawn had not yet breached the high, narrow windows of their bedchamber when Lyra stirred. The profound, bone-deep warmth of the furs and of Kael's powerful body curled around hers was a stark, cruel contrast to the ice forming in her veins. Last night had been a sanctuary, a temporary haven carved from fear and desperation. But sanctuaries were, by their very nature, temporary. The real world, with its brutal demands and impossible choices, had returned with the creeping light.

Kael's arm was a heavy, protective band across her waist, his breathing deep and even against her neck. She could feel the steady, reassuring thrum of his heart against her back. For a long moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in that safety, memorizing the feeling of his skin against hers, the scent of pine and male that was uniquely his. Then, the memory of the Northern emissary's words sliced through the peace like a shard of glass.

"Alaric wants the woman. The Luna. A simple trade. One life for another."

A tremor ran through her, so violent that Kael instinctively tightened his hold, a low, sleepy murmur rumbling in his chest. "Lyra?"

She didn't trust her voice. She simply pressed back against him, her hand covering his, lacing their fingers together. How could she explain the war raging inside her? The sister who had sworn to protect her only family at any cost was screaming at the Luna who had sworn to protect an entire pack. The mate who had found her other half was being torn from the woman who had fought her entire life to keep the fractured pieces of her family together.

"I can feel your thoughts spinning," he murmured, his lips brushing her shoulder. "We will find a way. I promised you."

"Promises are a luxury for those who have time, Kael," she whispered, the words raw. "We have less than a day."

Before he could answer, a sharp, urgent knock echoed through the chamber. The sound was like a gunshot in the fragile quiet. Kael was on his feet in an instant, pulling on his breeches with a warrior's swift efficiency. Lyra wrapped a fur around herself, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Ronan's voice was strained through the thick oak door. "Alpha. Luna. You need to come to the war room. Now."

The scene that greeted them was one of controlled chaos. Valen stood over the large strategy table, his face a grim mask. Several trackers and senior warriors were gathered around, their expressions a mixture of anger and grim determination. And in the center of it all, standing beside the cold hearth, was the Northern emissary, Jorn. He looked even more arrogant in the daylight, his pale eyes assessing the room with detached amusement.

"You are early," Kael said, his voice dangerously calm as he took his place at the head of the table. Lyra stood beside him, her posture straight, her face a carefully schooled mask of composure, though she felt anything but composed inside.

"Alaric is an impatient man," Jorn replied, his gaze flicking to Lyra and lingering there. "And he wished to provide… an incentive for your decision."

From a pouch at his belt, he produced a small, flat object and tossed it onto the table. It was a communication tablet, the kind used for recorded messages. With a tap of his finger, a holographic image flickered to life above the wood.

It was Elias.

He was on his knees in a stark, white cell, his hands bound behind his back with glowing energy cuffs. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, and a trickle of blood dripped from his split lip. But it was his eyes that made Lyra's breath catch—they burned with a defiant fire, even in his broken state.

The image was silent for a moment, then Elias's voice, rough with pain but unwavering, filled the room. "Lyra. If you can hear this… don't. It's a trap. He doesn't just want you. He wants to break him." His eyes, in the recording, seemed to look right at Kael. "Don't let him. I knew the risks. I accept them."

A figure stepped into the frame then—Alaric. He placed a hand on Elias's shoulder, a mockery of comfort. "Such bravery," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "But bravery has its limits." He looked up, as if addressing them directly. "The coordinates remain the same. You have until dawn tomorrow. Come alone, Lyra Hale, or the next message I send will not be one you can bear to watch."

The hologram flickered and died.

A red haze descended over Lyra's vision. The roar of blood in her ears drowned out the outraged growls of the warriors in the room. She took a step forward, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails bit into her palms. "If you have harmed him further—"

"He is alive," Jorn interrupted coolly. "His condition, however, is entirely dependent on your cooperation." He looked at Kael. "Your scout is correct, of course. It is a trap. But it is a trap you cannot afford to spring, and one you cannot afford to ignore. That is the beauty of it."

Kael's control was a palpable force in the room. Lyra could feel the rage vibrating through their mate bond, a contained storm that threatened to shatter his icy composure. "You have delivered your message," he growled. "Now get out of my sight before I forget the laws of parley."

Jorn gave a slight, mocking bow and turned to leave. As he passed Lyra, he paused, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear. "He screams your name, you know. In his sleep. It's almost pathetic."

Lyra stood frozen, trembling with a fury so pure it felt cold. She watched him go, her mind racing, the image of her brother's battered face seared into her memory.

The moment the door closed, the war room erupted.

"We cannot consider this!" Valen slammed his fist on the table. "It is suicide! He will take the Luna and kill the scout anyway!"

"He's right, Alpha," Ronan said, his voice tight. "This is about breaking you. If you lose her…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. The devastation would cripple Silverfang, and Alaric knew it.

"So what is your plan?" Lyra's voice cut through the arguments, quiet but sharp enough to silence everyone. She turned to face them, her eyes moving from Valen's scarred face to Ronan's troubled one, finally landing on Kael. "We have less than a day. Do we send the recon team? They could be walking into an ambush. Do we mobilize our entire force? We don't know where their main strength is. We could be leaving the Keep defenseless. Do we do nothing?" Her voice broke on the last word. "Do we sit here and wait for them to send me my brother's fingers?"

The grim silence that followed was its own answer. There were no good options. Only varying degrees of failure.

Kael finally spoke, his voice low and heavy. "Dismissed. All of you. I need to speak with my Luna alone."

The warriors filed out, their expressions troubled. When the door shut, leaving them in the vast, silent room, Kael turned to her. The mask of the Alpha fell away, and she saw the raw fear in his eyes, the torment of a man being forced to choose between his mate and his pack, between his heart and his duty.

"Lyra," he began, his voice rough.

"Don't," she whispered, crossing the space between them. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. "Don't say it. Don't ask me to let him die."

"I am asking you to trust me," he said, covering her hands with his. "To trust that I will move the very mountains to get him back without sacrificing you. You are my heart, Lyra. Without you, there is nothing. I would burn the world to ash for you, but I cannot let you walk into the fire."

Tears she had been fighting finally spilled over. "And without my brother, a part of me withers and dies. The part that remembers how to fight, the part that learned how to love. He is my past, Kael. You are my future. I cannot have one without the other."

She stepped back from him, her mind clicking into a cold, terrifying clarity. The emotional storm had passed, leaving behind the sharp, calculating mind of the spy she had once been, the strategist who had outmaneuvered her enemies from within.

"He expects a trade," she said, her voice now steady and sure. "He expects you to be ruled by emotion, to either send me recklessly or refuse and be consumed by guilt. He is playing a game of high-stakes pack politics."

She walked to the map table, her eyes scanning the Northern territories, the marked coordinates for the exchange. "But he's forgetting something."

"What?" Kael asked, watching her, a flicker of hope in his gaze.

"He's forgetting that I wasn't raised in a pack. I wasn't raised with your rules, your codes of honor." She looked up, her gaze fierce and brilliant. "I was raised in the shadows. I was raised to cheat."

A plan, desperate and dangerous, began to form in her mind. It was a gamble with the highest possible stakes, a delicate house of cards that could collapse with a single wrong move.

"I will go to the coordinates," she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "But I will not be the sacrificial lamb. I will be the wolf in sheep's clothing."

She began to outline her idea, her words quick and precise. It involved misdirection, a hidden team not of warriors, but of specialists, using the terrain and Alaric's own arrogance against him. It relied on her unique abilities as a half-breed, on the faint, guiding thread of her bond with Elias, and on a level of risk that made Kael's face pale.

"It's too dangerous," he breathed when she finished.

"Staying here is certain death for Elias," she countered. "This, at least, gives him a chance. It gives us a chance." She moved back to him, taking his hands. "You asked me to trust you. Now I am asking you to trust me. Trust the Luna, trust the spy, trust the sister. Trust your mate."

The conflict in his eyes was a war in itself. The Alpha knew the plan was borderline madness. The mate couldn't bear the thought of her in such peril. But the man who loved her saw the unyielding steel in her soul and knew he could not chain her, not in this.

He pulled her to him, crushing her in an embrace that felt like both a goodbye and a promise. He buried his face in her hair, his voice a raw whisper. "If this goes wrong…"

"It won't," she whispered back, pouring every ounce of her conviction into the words.

But as they stood there, clinging to each other in the quiet war room, they both knew the terrible truth. They were gambling with everything they held dear. The bargain was on the table, and the price of a brother might just be their entire world.

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