The doors to the Alpha's quarters closed with a sound too final to be comforting.
Mira stood just inside, muscles tight, senses flaring. The space was vastly larger than any dwelling she'd ever seen but it didn't feel luxurious. It felt occupied, marked. The air carried Ryker's scent strongly here: pine, smoke, something sharp and wild beneath. It wrapped around her like an invisible net.
"This is unnecessary," she said flatly.
"It's the law," Ryker replied.
She turned on him. "Law already stripped me of choice. Now it strips me of privacy too?"
Ryker exhaled slowly, the sound controlled but strained. "After the Stay, the council demanded additional safeguards. My quarters are warded. No one enters without my permission."
"So I'm a prisoner," she snapped.
"No," he said. "You're a target."
That shut her up—only briefly.
She moved farther in, boots echoing against stone. The quarters were divided into levels: a raised sleeping platform at the far end, a long hearth carved into the wall, and shelves stacked with old texts and weapons alike. Everything spoke of discipline and readiness, not comfort.
"This is where you live?" she asked.
"It's where I rule," Ryker said. "There's a difference."
Mira stopped near the hearth, arms crossing over her chest. "And where do I fit into that?"
Ryker hesitated.
The bond stirred—uneasy, watchful, and reacting to the silence between them.
"You'll take the outer chamber," he said finally, gesturing toward a smaller adjoining room. "There's a lock on the inside. Food will be brought twice a day. You won't be restrained."
"How generous," she muttered.
Ryker's jaw tightened. "Mira..."
"Don't," she said sharply. "Don't pretend this is for my comfort."
He stepped closer, stopping just short of her. "This is for your survival."
She looked up at him, eyes bright with contained fury. "Then start telling me the truth."
His brows knit. "About what?"
"About your uncle," she said. "About why he looked so satisfied when the council cornered us. About why the bond reacted when you accused someone of profiting from the war."
The bond pulsed faintly at the words, as if acknowledging the question.
Ryker studied her for a long moment, then turned away, pacing once. "This is not a conversation for tonight."
"Because?" she pressed.
"Because you're exhausted," he said. "And because if I say the wrong thing right now, it could cost lives."
"Mine included," she said quietly.
He stopped.
"Yes," he admitted. "Yours included."
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Mira moved toward the smaller chamber but stopped at the threshold. "You realize," she said without turning, "that forcing me to stay here won't make me trust you."
"I'm not asking for trust," Ryker replied. "I'm asking for time."
She laughed softly. "That seems to be the one thing fate refuses to give us."
She stepped inside and closed the door hard.
On the other side, Ryker remained still, staring at the wood as if he could see through it.
Sleep did not come easily.
Mira lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, every sound amplified by the unfamiliar silence. The bond hummed beneath her skin, restless, tugging faintly in Ryker's direction like a compass needle refusing to settle.
She hated it.
Hated the way her body felt more aware here. Hated the warmth that lingered in the air, the echo of his presence. Hated that some treacherous part of her felt… safer.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Do not mistake shelter for sanctuary, she reminded herself.
A sound pulled her from her thoughts—low voices beyond the door.
She sat up slowly, listening.
"…can't protect her forever," someone said.
Varek.
Mira's heart thudded.
"She doesn't need protection," another voice replied—Ryker's, cold and controlled. "She needs the truth."
"And you think she can handle it?" Varek asked lightly. "A Nightshade raised on lies?"
Mira's fingers curled into the blankets.
"Careful," Ryker warned. "You speak of lies as if you weren't there when the first blood was spilled."
A pause.
Then Varek chuckled. "Be very sure of your memories, nephew. War has a way of rewriting itself."
Footsteps retreated.
Mira's breath came shallow. The first blood.
She swung her legs off the bed and moved silently to the door, pressing her ear against the wood but the conversation had ended.
The bond pulsed once, sharp and uneasy.
She backed away, heart racing.
Morning brought no relief.
Two guards escorted her to the bathing chamber—never touching her, but never leaving her alone. When she returned to the Alpha's quarters, Ryker was already there, poring over a map spread across the stone table.
"You slept," he observed without looking up.
"Poorly," she said. "Your walls listen."
He glanced at her sharply. "Did you hear something?"
"Enough," she replied.
He rolled the map closed. "We need to talk."
"About my confinement?" she asked.
"About the packs," he said. "And what happens if this Stay fails?"
She approached cautiously. "Go on."
Ryker rested his hands on the table, shoulders squared. "The council will push harder. They'll provoke Nightshade. Force your father's hand."
Mira's stomach tightened. "He won't back down."
"I know," Ryker said. "That's why I need you."
She stiffened. "For what?"
"To help me prove the war's origin," he said. "Your pack keeps records my council never saw."
Her laugh was short and humorless. "You expect my father to hand them over?"
"No," Ryker said. "I expect you to remember things others dismissed."
The bond stirred—curious, alert.
Mira hesitated. "If I help you," she said slowly, "I'm betraying my pack."
"If you don't," Ryker replied, "you may doom it."
The words landed like a blow.
She turned away, pacing. "You ask for impossible choices as easily as breathing."
"I am an Alpha," he said quietly. "Impossible choices are the job."
She stopped, facing him again. "And what about you? What do you risk?"
He didn't hesitate. "Everything."
The honesty startled her.
Before she could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the outer door. One of the guards entered, face tense.
"Alpha," he said. "Scouts report movement at the eastern border."
Mira's blood ran cold.
"Nightshade?" Ryker asked.
"Yes," the guard replied. "Armed. And moving fast."
The bond flared—fear, urgency, something dangerously close to dread.
Ryker's gaze snapped to Mira.
"If that's a rescue attempt," she said hoarsely, "they'll kill anyone in their way."
"And the council will demand blood in return," Ryker finished grimly.
Another knock—harder this time.
"Alpha," came a different voice, strained. "The council requests Mira Nightshade's immediate presence."
Mira's heart pounded.
Ryker's eyes darkened, power rolling off him in waves.
"They're moving sooner than expected," he said.
She swallowed. "So much for time."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Stay behind me. No matter what they say."
"And if they demand me?" she asked.
Ryker's jaw set. "Then they'll have to go through their Alpha first."
The bond surged—fierce, electric, binding them together in that moment whether she wanted it or not.
Outside the quarters, alarms began to sound—low, resonant horns echoing through the mountain.
Mira looked at Ryker, fear and resolve colliding in her chest.
The forced stay had ended. The war was knocking at the door.