~Amias’s Point Of View~

silence in the estate is no longer the peaceful quiet of a home; it is the suffocating stillness of a tomb.

It has been one month since Amias’s brother melted into the stones of the dungeon. One month since they buried the remains of a family that was a lie from the very beginning. The Duskwind pack is the talk of the territories—the "Tragic Bellamys," a cautionary tale whispered in every tavern and town square. They speak of them as if they are a play, a series of scripted horrors, but to Amias, it is the air he breathes. It is the salt in his wounds.

He stands in the shadows of the hallway, watching Heidi.

She is in the middle of one of her many training sessions, being groomed for the throne. She walks with a straight back, her eyes like flint, and speaks in a cold voice that brooks no argument. The girl who used to laugh at the wind, the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, is gone. She is stone-hearted now. Strict. She barely smiles, and when she does, the light never reaches her eyes.

Amias’s heart aches with a longing so sharp it feels like a physical blade. He misses her. He wants to reach out and pull her into his arms, to tell her that they can find their way back to the light. But he stays in the shadows.

He believes he is cursed.

Every person who has ever truly loved him, or whom he has loved, is dead or broken. Lira is in a grave. Grayson is ash. Morgan is a dead demon. Even Rayne—the woman who was always the smiling one in this forsaken estate—took her own life three weeks ago, unable to bear the weight of her sins and their consequences.

If he touches Heidi, he fears he will destroy her, too. He will wait until the Moon claims his mother, and then he will disappear. He will leave the Alpha seat to the God-Wolf and take his curse far away from here.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, Amias turns toward the west wing. Surprisingly, his mother’s skin has stopped peeling; the sickness has retreated from her flesh but settled deep in her bones. She is fading like a candle flickering in a drafty room.

As he approaches her door, it swings open.

Ines steps out. Darien’s mother looks as pristine and sharp as ever, her silk gown rustling like a snake in the grass. Despite the deaths, she remains unchanged—mean, cold, and untouched by the wreckage around her.

"Amias," she says, her voice a condescending purr.

She offers no condolences and no comfort. She simply looks at him as if he were a stain on a rug she intends to clean.

"Ines," Amias responds with a stiff nod.

She brushes past him without another word, the scent of her expensive perfume clashing with the smell of medicinal herbs. He wonders what she wanted with his mother, but he shrugs it off. He has no strength left for her games.

He pushes open the door and freezes.

His mother, Clarissa, is bolted upright in bed. Her chest is heaving, her eyes wide and bloodshot. She looks worked up—terrified.

"Mother? What is it? What’s wrong?" Amias rushes to her side, grabbing her thin, trembling hands.

"Amias..." she gasps, clutching his shirt. "Ines... she said... is it true? All of it?"

Amias’s blood turns to ice. "What did she tell you?"

"She said Morgan killed Grayson! She said he killed Tobias! She said Morgan is dead!" Her voice rises to a frantic, thin shriek. "She said Rayne... that she killed herself? Amias, tell me she’s lying! Tell me she’s just trying to hurt me one last time!"

Amias looks away, his jaw tight. He had hidden it all, wanting her to die in peace, thinking the world was still whole.

"It’s true, Mother," he whispers. "All of it."

She lets out a jagged, broken moan, collapsing back against the pillows. "Why didn’t you tell me? My own son... keeping me in the dark..."

"I thought you’d be happy!" Amias snaps, the frustration and grief finally boiling over. "I thought you’d feel a wicked satisfaction! Your rivals are gone. The husband who made your life a living hell was butchered by his own blood. I didn’t want you to go to the Moon Goddess with that kind of darkness in your heart."

"Satisfaction?" Clarissa sobs, and the sound is so hollow it breaks something inside him. "Amias, you fool. I didn’t want them dead. I wanted to live! I wanted to flaunt my success in front of them, to make Tobias regret every day he spent ignoring me. I wanted to win by surviving, not by being the only one left in a graveyard!"

She begins to cough—a wet, hacking sound that rattles her fragile frame.

"And Lira..." she wheezes, tears streaming into her hair. "Ines said... she said your wife... your precious Lira... she’s dead too? That Morgan broke her?"

Amias cannot speak. He only nods, the lump in his throat feeling like a stone.

"No..." she whispers. "No, no, no. Then how will you survive without me? My poor—"

Her monitor begins to chirp in a fast, frantic rhythm. Her grip on his hand tightens, her fingernails digging into his skin, and then her eyes roll back.

"Mother? Mother!"

The heart monitor emits that long, flat, piercing tone that has haunted his dreams for a month.

"NO! NO, NOT YOU TOO!"

Amias throws himself over her, his hands hovering over her chest as if he can force the life back into her. He screams—a raw, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated agony that tears his throat raw. It isn’t a wolf’s howl; it is the sound of a man who has finally been stripped of everything.

"MOM! PLEASE! WAKE UP!"

He weeps, his hot tears falling onto her cold, still face. He shakes her, he begs the Goddess, he curses the moon, but the room remains silent.

He is alone.