You Will Never Be Able to Clear Your Father of the Wrongdoi

The heavy iron door clanged shut behind me, sealing away the last flicker of hope. The air was thick with the smell of rust and damp decay. Water dripped somewhere in the shadows, each drop echoing through the empty cell like a hammer against my heart. The guards had thrown me onto the cold stone floor. Silver-laced chains dragged at my wrists and ankles—specially forged to suppress wolf-strength. Where the metal touched my skin, a burning pain seeped deep, smothering any chance of shifting. Time blurred. It might have been a day, maybe two. There were no windows—only a flickering oil lamp hung from the ceiling, casting wavering, distorted shadows across wet stone walls. Huddled in the corner, I replayed it all: the King’s icy dismissal, Alpha Frank’s smug triumph, Prince William’s helpless gaze. My chest ached as though squeezed by an invisible hand—each breath felt ragged, insufficient. Just as my thoughts began to fray, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor—firm, measured,