Chapter 282
The corridor stretched long and narrow, iron–barred yards flanking either side.
Inside those cages, the broken remnants of wolves lingered in their madness.
Some sat lifelessly on benches, eyes glazed, lips moving with ceaseless whispers to phantoms only they could see.
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Others trudged in slow, mechanical loops, heavy steps dragging them through an endless cycle, as though chained to an invisible wheel of torment.
And some fought shadows–snarling, swinging their arms at empty air–faces contorted with terror and fury, as if forever trapped in battle against unseen enemies.
Riley Vale followed the white–clad healers down the corridor until they emerged into a garden, a bleak courtyard where the moonlight itself seemed to recoil.
And there, at the far edge, sat á woman.
Her hair, once rich and dark, was now streaked with silver and tangled. Her skin sagged and coarsened, robbed of all the refinement she had once flaunted as the Luna of the Ebonclaw Pack. She looked a decade older than her years, a specter of ruin.
In her arms, she cradled a doll–no more than a crude facsimile of a child. Rocking it gently, she hummed a tune of no name, her voice cracked but tender, as though the rest of the world had been erased and only that false babe remained.
Luna Zara.
Riley’s breath stilled in her throat. Her amber eyes, sharpened by both grief and vengeance, fixed upon the pathetic figure.
Zara… Have you ever thought–because you chose a wretched male, because you rushed into marriage with Alpha Alaric- you dragged your bloodline into the abyss?
A son, Kael Vale, left rotting in prison. A daughter, Riley herself, maimed and scarred for life. And Zara–half–blind, spirit shattered, reduced to rocking a doll in a madhouse.
It might have been a life of brilliance. Instead, it was ashes.
You deserve it, Riley thought coldly, lips curling into a humorless smile. You deserve every shard of ruin that found you.
Her chest seethed with scorn. To have such a mother was her life’s greatest shame.
She loathed Alpha Alaric. But she loathed Zara just as deeply.
Riley’s gaze cut like steel as she watched Zara kiss the doll’s cracked porcelain cheek, murmuring words that dripped with delusion.
“My precious pup… my sweet Riley. Mama will always protect you. No one will ever take you away again. You must believe me, pup. Mama loves you… more than anything.”
She kissed the doll again, as though it were Riley herself–the child she had forsaken
Riley’s sneer deepened, Too late.
Too late to cherish what she had thrown away. Too late to repent for abandoning her daughter when she was swallowed by the dark.
Riley had not come here for comfort, nor forgiveness. She had come to watch. To see the wolf who had wounded her brought Tow.
She had seen enough.
Just as she turned to leave, the air broke with sudden violence.
3:35 PM P
Chapter 282
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A mad wolf lunged at Zara, claws swiping the doll from her arms. He tore away, shrieking laughter as he bolted through the yard.
The moment Zara’s arms emptied, her composure detonated.
“No! My daughter–stop! Give her back! Give my pup back!”
Her voice ripped through the asylum, feral and raw, shaking with the full force of maternal hysteria.
She surged after him, blind to reason, blind to the weakness of her body. But the crippled wolf ran swift, fueled by mania, and Zara’s stumbling chase fell short.
“My daughter! My Riley!” she howled, voice cracking into blood.
The lunatic turned, grinning with jagged teeth at the sight of her anguish.
“She cries! She cries! How fun, how fun!”
He lifted the doll high, then smashed it to the ground with savage glee. Porcelain cracked, limbs shattered.
Each impact echoed like a hammer on Zara’s soul.
Her eyes flooded red. “I’ll kill you! I’ll tear you apart, you filth!”
She hurled herself forward again, but the mad wolf scooped up the broken doll and fled anew, his cackles ringing like carrion–birds in the night.
Zara chased, wild and desperate, until her path staggered–and she froze.
Her one good eye locked upon the figure standing beyond the madness.
Riley Vale.
Her daughter.
Not the porcelain mockery, not the false comfort in her arms. The real one–flesh and blood, gaze of molten gold, standing in the moonlit garden like judgment itself.
Zara’s lips parted, her chest heaving with torn breath. The doll slipped from her shaking fingers.
“Riley…”
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