Chapter 4

Elara Vance POV:

I gently examined the boy's leg in the dim light. It was dislocated at the knee, and I suspected a hairline fracture. My time on the streets after being exiled had taught me a few things about basic first aid. Using the strip of cloth from my uniform and a piece of splintered wood from a broken crate, I fashioned a crude splint, carefully setting the bone as best I could.

The boy whimpered, his small body trembling with pain, but he didn't cry out. He just watched me, his golden eyes filled with a mixture of fear and a fragile, emerging trust. His quiet bravery touched a part of my soul I thought was long dead.

With his leg stabilized, I turned my attention back to our prison. My eyes scanned the high, dusty walls until I found it-a small ventilation grate near the ceiling. It was too small for me, but for a child his size, it was a possible escape route.

The only way to reach it was to stack the heavy, rotting crates scattered around the warehouse. For a Wolfless she-wolf, the effort was immense. Each crate I lifted sent a jolt of pain through my protesting muscles. Sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down my back, plastering the thin fabric of my uniform to my skin.

The little pup watched me from his corner, his gaze filled with a silent, worried concern. His quiet presence spurred me on.

Finally, a teetering, unstable tower of crates stood beneath the vent. I carefully lifted the boy into my arms and began the precarious climb.

"Listen to me," I whispered when we reached the top, my voice strained. "You have to go through here. Run into the forest and don't stop. Find your family. Get as far away from this town as you can."

He shook his head, his small hands clutching the collar of my shirt. He didn't want to leave me. A warmth spread through my chest, but I pushed it down.

"You have to," I insisted, my voice firm. "It's not safe here."

I pried the rusty grate from the wall and gently pushed him through the opening. He looked back at me one last time, his golden eyes shining with unshed tears, and then he was gone, a small, limping shadow disappearing into the night.

A wave of relief washed over me, so profound it made me dizzy. My strength gave out. The crate beneath my feet wobbled, shifted, and then gave way.

I fell.

The world turned upside down, and my head connected with the concrete floor with a sickening crack. Pain, white-hot and blinding, exploded behind my eyes. Darkness swarmed at the edges of my vision.

As my consciousness faded, the floodgates of my memory broke. Five years of buried agony surged forth. I saw Ronan's face, cold and merciless as he rejected me. I saw Isolde's triumphant, venomous smile. I heard the pack's jeers, felt the rogue's claws tearing into my flesh, and relived the soul-crushing agony of losing my child.

The grief, the shame, the helplessness-it all coalesced into a single, pure emotion.

Hate.

A fire ignited in the ruins of my soul, a blaze of pure vengeance that consumed all the pain and weakness, forging it into something hard and unbreakable.

"Ronan... Isolde..." I rasped, the names a curse on my bloody lips. I swore on the grave of my mother and the soul of my lost child, if I survived this, I would make them pay. I would burn their world to the ground.

A final, fleeting thought of the little pup crossed my mind. I hoped he was safe. It was the last shred of softness in me before the darkness claimed me completely.

Faintly, as if from a great distance, I thought I heard footsteps and low growls outside the warehouse door. But it was too late. I was already gone, a pool of my own blood spreading slowly into the dust on the floor.