Chapter 7

(Seraphina POV)

The blinding glare of my father’s high-beams cut through the freezing drizzle ten minutes later. He stepped out of his sleek, armored SUV, his posture rigid with the furious indignation of a Beta summoned to a low-level border checkpoint in the middle of the night.

"What is the issue?" his voice boomed over the pattering rain, sharp enough to slice frosted glass.

Caspian hurried forward, suddenly looking notably smaller bereft of his schoolyard bravado. "Beta Reginald, Sir. This female presented a fake identification card claiming to be your... your daughter. She aggressively demanded we call you."

My father didn't spare me a single, peripheral glance. He locked his intense, predatory stare entirely on the trio of stumbling guards. "Did you run the identification card through the digital scanner?"

"N-no, sir."

"Did you alert the active officer in charge of Sector Four?"

"No, sir."

"Did you scent the vehicle for explosives, contraband, or rogues hiding in the trunk before confronting a potential threat?"

Caspian gulped audibly. "We... we made her step out of the vehicle, Sir."

Jasper, possessing the terminal survival instincts of a lemming, decided to interject on behalf of his friend. "Sir, we just thought since she was so obviously impersonating the freak—"

My father pivoted with terrifying speed. His massive fist slammed into the exterior brick wall of the guardhouse, right next to a framed, faded portrait of Gwendolyn. The thud sounded like a mortar shell, making all three wolves flinch hard.

"LOOK AT HER!" he roared, pointing a trembling, battle-scarred finger at the portrait. "Protocol is not a suggestion! A breach in border protocol, a failure to report, is exactly what got my daughter—your future Luna—torn to pieces in these very woods!"

The guards stared at the wet asphalt, practically shrinking into the concrete.

"You don't know the enemy. You don't make judgment calls based on your limited, arrogant perceptions. You execute the protocol," my father hissed, his broad chest heaving under his tailored coat. A solitary, traitorous tear welled in the corner of his eye, betraying the shattered father hiding beneath the iron-clad Beta.

My heart physically ached for him. He blamed himself. He had always blamed himself for the rogue breach that catastrophic night. It was the absolute root of his agonizing, unyielding obsession with the rules.

He finally turned his head, his cold, deadened eyes landing on me. For a second, he just stared, dissecting the changes the last six years had wrought on my features. Then he snatched my license from Caspian’s trembling hand, shoved it into his pocket, and jerked his head toward his SUV. "I'll take the 'imposter'. You three are assigned to latrine and stable duty for the next month. Standard Alpha protocol."

The ride back to the packhouse was an exercise in suffocating silence. The ambient hum of the engine felt louder than a marching band.

"You commanded them to call me, knowing full well they were violating the chain of command," he said, not taking his eyes off the dark, winding road.

"I got tired of their insults," I replied softly, my voice barely audible over the heater.

"You should have let them process you properly. It would have kept you out of the packhouse a few hours longer," he completely dismissed my discomfort, his voice echoing with absolute detachment. "Since she died, there are no good nights for any of us. Do not make this weekend harder than it already is."