Raine was upset, furious, humiliated, and exhausted, and yet, she decided not to scream. That was the first thing she decided after the iron door slammed shut and the sound echoed down the stone corridor like a verdict.
Screaming would not change anything; it wasted energy. She had learned very early in life that energy should be used only when it would benefit her.
So, she restrained herself from screaming, asking for Alpha Janson to meet her.
Yet, she tried anyway, in a much more civilized manner. She pushed herself to her feet and stepped closer to the bars, her voice carrying down the corridor without becoming a shout. "I need to speak to the Alpha."
Silence. She waited for a moment. But nothing answered her. After several attempts, Raine felt this effort was a waste.
Finally, she continued to sit on the cold stone floor with her back against the wall. Her mind replayed the last two weeks over and over again until the memory felt worn thin.
The concoction. The ingredients. The timing. Landon’s reaction. Blood.
Her jaw tightened. "No," she muttered under her breath. "That doesn’t make sense." Because it didn’t. Nothing made sense.
She had given him the same mixture for days. Adjusted doses carefully. No mistake. No wrong measurement. She carefully watched his pulse, his breathing, and the way he reacted after each attempt. There was no unstable reaction. If something had been wrong, it would not have appeared so suddenly.
Raine pressed her palms over her eyes, exhaling slowly as frustration tightened in her chest. "Everything was fine," she murmured to herself, the words sounding stubborn even in the empty cell. She kept repeating the same thing. "It was the same mixture."
.
She dropped her hands and stared at the opposite wall, her thoughts spiraling through possibilities. External interference. Environmental trigger. Delayed compound reaction. None of them felt right.
She exhaled through her nose. "This is inefficient," she said under her breath, then leaned her forehead briefly against her knees. "Very inefficient."
She took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly to clear her mind. Then, when she thought she was ready, she forced herself back into stillness, back into analysis, retracing every detail of the last two weeks once more—every ingredient, every meal, every reaction, every scent—searching for something small enough that she had overlooked.
Her eyes snapped open. The scent kept bothering her. The water lilies. Her fingers tapped faster against her knee as her thoughts accelerated. "That can’t be enough to cause—"
That was when footsteps echoed down the corridor. Not one person, but several people. Raine straightened her body instinctively—alert. The footsteps stopped in front of her cell.
Ariana appeared first.
Raine’s expression shifted before she could stop it. She was surprised and confused because Ariana was the last person she expected to see in the dungeon.
Behind her were two omegas whom she recognized from the kitchen; their posture was stiff with uneasiness, and two warriors looked far less comfortable than they tried to appear.
Raine blinked. "Well," she said dryly, "this is unexpected."
"You look less frightened than I expected," Ariana observed.
"I’ve had worse accommodations. At least this one doesn’t pretend to be welcoming." She gave Ariana a thin smile. "This visit either brings very good news or very bad news, and your expression suggests I should not get my hopes up."
Ariana did not smile. "Open the cell."
One of the warriors hesitated. "Lady Ariana... the Alpha did not give—"
"Open the cell," Ariana repeated, sharper this time, with the kind of tone that carried authority without needing volume.
The warrior glanced at the other, and the second warrior spoke more cautiously. "If the Alpha finds out—"
Ariana stepped closer, and the temperature of the corridor seemed to drop. "The Alpha is not in his right mind," she said, her voice low but cutting. "His son could be dying. And if Landon dies," she continued, glancing at Raine, her voice lower now, controlled in a way that felt more dangerous than anger, "she dies anyway."
Well. That was blunt. Raine blinked.
Ariana continued; her eyes were cold. "You two are here, and there are dozens of warriors outside. With warriors everywhere, she is not escaping a pack house. She will not be able to run."
Simple yet practical logic. The warriors exchanged a look.
Raine folded her arms, watching the exchange with quiet interest despite the knot tightening in her chest. "I appreciate your assessment of my escape abilities," she murmured.
No one reacted, and after a long silence, the warrior obeyed and unlocked the cell. The iron door opened with a heavy sound.
Raine pushed herself to her feet slowly, brushing dust from her clothes as if she were leaving a mildly inconvenient waiting room instead of a dungeon. She stepped forward.
Neither of the warriors seemed relaxed. Smart men.
Ariana gestured. "Bring her out."
Raine raised a brow. "You know," she said lightly as the warriors took position beside her, "this would be significantly more convenient if someone cared to explain what is happening."
No one answered, but they led her a few steps away from the cell.
Then Ariana spoke again. "Make her kneel."
The words hung in the air. The warriors shifted uncomfortably, uncertainty flickering across their faces.
Raine looked at Ariana, really looked at her—at the tension around her mouth, the exhaustion in her eyes. There was something about this moment in a way Raine could not yet define. "That seems unnecessary. You could just ask questions. It would save time."
Ariana’s expression tightened. She stepped closer, and Raine felt the subtle shift—the authority Ariana carried despite not being an alpha, the way the others responded to it, the quiet power built from years of presence rather than rank.
"Make her kneel." She repeated.
The warriors moved, clearly expecting resistance, but Raine didn’t resist. That surprised everyone.
Raine held her gaze, then slowly lowered herself to her knees. The stone was cold through the thin fabric of her dress.
It was not a submission. It was her choice. There was a difference.