The flicker of torchlight danced against the cold stone walls of the Ironclad fortress, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch like claws. The war room, usually filled with the hum of strategy and whispered counsel, was now silent—except for the steady footsteps of the Twin Alphas.
Auron stood near the arched window, his amber eyes reflecting the distant glow of the waning moon. His jaw was tense, sharp enough to cut glass, his mind gnawed by thoughts he couldn't shake. Drystan leaned casually against the edge of the table, fingers tapping rhythmically, but his relaxed posture was a lie. Beneath the surface, he was a coil of tension wound too tight.
They were fraying. Both of them.
The hunger—the gnawing emptiness—was worse than ever.
"Send the message," Auron growled, his voice like gravel dragged across steel.
Drystan glanced at him, a dark glint in his gray eyes. "You sure? We could handle this face-to-face."
Auron shook his head. "No. Not yet. She's not the type to respond well to being cornered."
"Smart," Drystan muttered, though his impatience bled through his words. "But I hate waiting."
Auron didn't reply. Waiting was a torment neither of them could afford anymore.
Turning sharply, Drystan signaled for their beta-in-command, Ronan, a towering figure with sharp features and eyes as cold as winter steel. Loyal to the core, Ronan had been their shadow for years, the blade that moved when they didn't have to.
"You'll deliver a message," Auron ordered, his tone flat, hiding the storm underneath. "Not in person. Use the channels we've set up—the undercurrents. Make sure it reaches her, but not directly from us."
Ronan nodded once, sharp and efficient. "What do you want me to say?"
Drystan smirked darkly. "Tell her the kings are requesting an audience."
"No," Auron interjected, his eyes narrowing. "Not requesting. Informing. She doesn't get to choose."
Ronan gave a slight bow before vanishing into the shadows, leaving the twins alone with the weight of their decision.
Auron exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his control slipping like sand through fingers. "She has to come."
Drystan didn't argue. He just stared at the empty doorway, his thoughts louder than words.
She will.
---
Duskwatch—Kaelen's Apartment
The message arrived like a slap to the face—crisp parchment folded with precise lines, passed through enough hands to carry the faintest trace of unfamiliar scents. It landed on her desk with a soft thud, but its weight was heavier than stone.
Kaelen stared at the note for a moment before unfolding it with fingers that had crushed stronger things.
"The Twin Alphas seek your presence. Three nights from now. Come alone."
That was it. No explanation. No pleasantries.
Her jaw clenched, a slow burn rising in her chest. The audacity.
She crumpled the paper without a second thought, her knuckles whitening as the message disappeared into her fist. Her heart didn't race—Kaelen had long since trained herself to be indifferent to such trivialities—but her mind was a storm.
She stood abruptly, the old chair scraping harshly against the floorboards as she paced toward the grimy window overlooking the twisted streets of Duskwatch. The city lights flickered like distant memories, but her rage was sharp, clear.
She turned her head slightly, staring into the darkness beyond the glass, her voice a low growl to the empty room.
"I'll come."
A pause. A deep breath.
"But I'll decide when."
Her lips curled into something between a sneer and a promise.
"I'm not anyone's slave."
---
Ironclad Fortress
Miles away, in the cold depths of the fortress, Ronan delivered more than just confirmation of the message's receipt.
"She got the message," he said simply.
Auron's amber eyes snapped to him, sharp as a blade. "And?"
Ronan hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly before adding, "She said she'll come… but she'll decide when. She's not anyone's slave."
Silence.
For a heartbeat, it was as if the world itself had stopped breathing.
Then Drystan's smirk cracked into something darker, more primal. "She said what?"
Auron's jaw clenched, the muscles ticking as fury flickered in his molten gaze. No one spoke to them like that.
No one dared.
But instead of roaring or throwing the heavy war table across the room—things they had done countless times before—there was something different this time.
Auron's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"She's got guts," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "Good. It'll make breaking her all the more interesting."
Drystan's grin mirrored his brother's, but his eyes were darker than shadows. "We'll see who bends first."
---
Duskwatch—Kaelen's Apartment
Kaelen didn't sleep that night. She stared at the cracked ceiling, her mind replaying the message, her words, and the rage simmering beneath it all.
Not fear.
But something close enough to make her heart ache—not because she was scared of them… but because she wasn't.
And that terrified her more than anything.