Day three. The air was getting thin, and the tension was unbearable. They had solved the puzzle of the Hybrid code, confirmed Silas's treachery, and secured the evidence. The work was done, leaving only the agonizing silence of their personal conflict.
Kaelan cornered Anya near the single desk, his gaze intense. "The truth, Mate. It is time."
Anya braced herself, expecting another Command. "The truth about what?"
"Why I chose you," Kaelan replied, leaning in until his breath ghosted her ear. "The Hybrid conspiracy was one problem. The core problem is the Council Succession Law. The law states that to secure the Alpha title, the Heir must choose a Mate capable of defending the Pack in their absence. A Lycan Mate would always be a political threat—a rival."
He gripped her arms, forcing her to listen. "I chose you because you were a necessary non-threat. A human. Your brilliance was secondary; your humanity was the shield."
Anya felt a spike of searing humiliation. "I was a political tool. A pawn."
"No," Kaelan contradicted, his voice raw. "You were an unwitting shield. I needed someone I could control, someone whose death would not ignite a civil war. I planned to release you once the threat was neutralized. But now, you are essential. You saved me from Silas. You healed my hand. You are tied to the Pack. The Council will execute you the moment I let you go."
Anya stared at him, the weight of the confession crushing her. His choice was born of cold logic and a desperate need for peace, not cruelty.
"What do you want now?" she whispered.
"I want the truth from you," Kaelan demanded. "I need to know if you can set aside your hatred of my kind to survive this. Alpha Command: Tell me if you will actively fight for this Pack."
The Command was absolute. Anya felt the familiar, terrifying pull of obedience, but this time, it was balanced by the strategic knowledge that her survival was tied to his. She took a deep breath, her mind clear. "Yes," she whispered, the answer wrenched from her soul. "I will fight."