I was folding laundry in the pack house when the call came through.
Mom's voice was tight. "Sienna. Your father's been arrested."
The shirt in my hands—one of Elijah's—slipped through my fingers and hit the floor. "What?"
"Pack security came to the house an hour ago. They said he killed someone. A wolf named Hank Patterson." Her breath hitched. "They took him, Sienna. They just—they took him."
I was already moving toward the door. "I'm coming. Stay there."
I didn't wait for Elijah. I drove to my parents' house myself, gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles went white. The mate bond hummed faintly under my skin, a distant pulse that told me Elijah was still at the pack house. He hadn't come after me. Hadn't called. That alone made my chest tighten in a way I didn't want to examine.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table when I arrived, her hands wrapped around a mug of cold tea. She looked up when I walked in, and the expression on her face made something crack inside me.
"Tell me what happened," I said quietly.
She did. Slowly. Carefully. Dad had been patrolling the eastern edge of Black Moon territory when he'd heard a girl screaming. He'd run toward the sound and found Hank Patterson on top of a young she-wolf, her shirt torn, her face streaked with tears. Dad had pulled Hank off her. There'd been a fight. Hank hadn't survived it.
"He saved her," Mom said, her voice steady but hollow. "He stopped an assault, Sienna. And now they're calling him a murderer."
I pressed my fingers against the side of my neck, where Elijah's mark sat just beneath my jaw. The bond pulsed again, stronger this time, like he'd felt my distress and was reaching back across the link. I dropped my hand.
"There was a witness," I said. "The girl. Julieta. She'll testify."
Mom nodded, but she didn't look convinced. "They said they're looking for her. She hasn't come forward yet."
I stayed with her until late, cleaning the kitchen and folding the blankets Dad always left on the couch after his evening shifts. Small things. Normal things. Things that let me pretend the world hadn't just tilted sideways.
When I finally returned to the pack house, it was past midnight. Elijah was in his study, the door half-open, the light still on. I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the faint shuffle of papers and the low rumble of his voice on the phone. Then I pushed the door open.
He looked up. His expression was unreadable.
"Sienna."
"My father was arrested tonight," I said. My voice came out calmer than I felt. "You know that, right?"
"I know." He set the phone down and leaned back in his chair. "Marcus briefed me."
Marcus. His Beta. Not his mate.
"He was protecting someone," I said. "A girl named Julieta. Hank Patterson was assaulting her. Dad stopped it."
Elijah's jaw tightened. "That's his version."
I stared at him. "That's the truth."
"The only witness is missing, Sienna." His tone was flat. Factual. Like he was discussing pack finances instead of my father's life. "Without her testimony, the evidence says Leon killed a pack member without provocation."
"Then find her," I said. "You're the Alpha. You have resources. Contacts. You can—"
"I can't interfere with an active investigation."
The words hit me like a slap.
I took a step closer. "You're not interfering. You're making sure the truth comes out."
"The system will handle it."
"The system?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Elijah, this is my father."
"I know who he is." His voice dropped, taking on that low Alpha resonance that usually made every wolf in the room go still. It had never been aimed at me before. Not like this. "And I know the law, Sienna. Leon will get a fair trial. If he's innocent, the court will clear him."
I felt something inside me go cold.
"You don't believe him," I said softly.
Elijah stood, rounding the desk toward me. "I believe in evidence. And right now, the evidence says—"
"I don't care what the evidence says." My voice cracked. "I care what you say. I care whether my mate is going to stand beside me or stand aside while my father is destroyed for doing the right thing."
He reached for my hand. I pulled back.
The bond flared between us, sharp and sudden, like it was trying to pull us back together. I pressed my fingers to my neck again, where his mark sat beneath the skin. This time, the touch didn't burn. It ached.
"Sienna—"
"Find Julieta," I said. "Please."
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he shook his head.
"I can't."
I left the study without another word. Behind me, I heard him exhale—low and rough, like something was breaking in his chest too. I didn't turn around.
In the hallway, alone, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. The bond pulsed faintly under my skin, a rhythm I'd trusted for years. For the first time since Elijah had marked me, it felt like a chain.
---
The trial moved faster than I expected.
Without Julieta, the prosecution painted Dad as a violent wolf who'd killed an innocent pack member in a territorial dispute. They brought forward witnesses who said Hank had been a good man. Quiet. Respectful. The kind of wolf who helped his neighbors and never caused trouble.
I sat in the gallery beside Mom, my hands folded in my lap, and listened to them rewrite my father's life.
Audrey Patterson testified on the third day. She wore black. Her voice was soft, measured, and devastatingly effective. She talked about Hank's kindness. His love for his family. The way he'd always looked out for her after their parents died.
She cried twice. Both times, the jury leaned forward.
I watched Elijah across the courtroom. He sat in the Alpha's reserved section, his expression unreadable, his hands resting loosely on the armrests. He didn't look at me once.
The verdict came down on a gray afternoon.
Guilty.
Maximum security.
Mom's hand tightened around mine. I heard her breathing go shallow, but she didn't cry. Not there. Not in front of the pack.
I turned to look at Elijah one last time. He was already standing, his Beta at his side, preparing to leave. For just a second, our eyes met across the room.
Then he looked away.
The bond pulsed under my skin—faint, distant, like a heartbeat that no longer matched my own.
