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He nods, relief washing across his features. "I'd like that."

Neither of us mentions the alternative—that he could join me in my bed, that we could pick up where we left off six years ago. It's too soon, too raw. We have time now. Time to heal, to rediscover each other, to build something new and stronger than what Edward destroyed.

That night, I fall asleep to the comforting knowledge that Thomas is just down the hall, that Maisie is safe in her bed, that for the first time in six years, I don't need to look over my shoulder or plan my next escape.

Morning brings a semblance of normalcy that feels almost shocking after yesterday's chaos. Maisie wakes hungry and energetic, showing remarkable resilience. She peppers Thomas with questions over breakfast—does he like pancakes, can he shift whenever he wants to, will he teach her to be a wolf too?

He answers each one with patient delight, soaking up every detail of her personality like a man dying of thirst. I watch them together, this instant bond that seems to bridge the years of separation, and feel something long-broken inside me begin to heal.

Nic's arrival breaks the domestic bubble. He looks exhausted but satisfied as he accepts the coffee I offer.

"The Council representatives arrived at dawn," he reports. "Edward and his top lieutenants are being transported to the holding facility this afternoon. The rest of his followers are in police custody."

"What charges?" Thomas asks, his arm resting casually on the back of Maisie's chair.

"Multiple counts of kidnapping, assault, attempted murder." Nic takes a long sip of coffee. "Plus, they found records at his base. Detailed logs of the wolfsbane poisoning going back years. He documented everything he did to your mother, Fiona."

The casual cruelty of it—the methodical documentation of my mother's slow murder—makes my stomach turn.

"He was proud of it," I say, remembering the cold satisfaction in Edward's eyes when he spoke of "cleansing" her.

"The Council's working with human law enforcement," Nic continues. "Special task force for crimes against shifters. He'll face justice in both worlds."

Maisie looks up from her drawing, crayon paused mid-stroke. Though we've tried to shield her from the details, she's absorbed more than we realize. "Is the bad man going away forever?" she asks.

"Yes, sweetheart," Thomas answers, his hand gentle on her hair. "He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Nic glances at his watch. "Transport leaves at two. If you wanted to..." He trails off, looking at me with understanding. "Some people find closure helps."

The thought of seeing Edward again makes my skin crawl, but beneath the revulsion lies something else—a need to end this chapter on my terms, not his.

"I'll go," I decide, meeting Thomas's concerned gaze. "I need to."

"I'll stay with Maisie," he offers immediately. "Take all the time you need."

Nic rises to leave, pausing at the door. "Ruby's coordinating security for the transport. She and James make quite a team. Haven't seen those two apart much lately."

The observation comes with a knowing smile that makes me wonder what I've missed during my self-imposed isolation these past months. The thought of Ruby—practical, no-nonsense Ruby—finding connection with James is unexpectedly cheering.

***

The transport site buzzes with activity when I arrive. Council representatives in formal attire consult with human law enforcement officers, their cooperation a testament to the progress made in shifter-human relations over recent decades.

Ruby spots me immediately, breaking away from where she's been reviewing security protocols with James. "They're almost ready to move him," she says, squeezing my arm. "Are you sure about this?"

"I need to see it finished," I tell her. The years of running, of looking over my shoulder, of fearing my father's reach—they deserve a proper ending.

James approaches, his usual stoic expression softened with concern. "Five minutes," he says. "That's all they'll allow. He's under heavy guard."

I nod, following their directions to a secure area where Edward waits in a transport vehicle. Silver-lined restraints bind his wrists and ankles—the same type he used on us. Two Council guards flank him, their postures alert despite his secured state.

He looks smaller somehow. The intimidating presence that dominated my childhood reduced to an aging man in handcuffs. His eyes, however, remain unchanged—cold and calculating as they meet mine.

"Fiona." He speaks my name like it's a disappointment. "Come to say goodbye to your father?"

"I said goodbye to my father years ago," I reply, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. "I'm here to see Edward Wright taken away."

His lips twist into something approaching a smile. "Still so dramatic. You get that from your mother."

"I'm proud to have inherited anything from her." I stand straighter, refusing to be diminished by his tactics. "She was stronger than you ever knew."

"She was weak," he spits, mask slipping briefly. "Corrupted by animal instincts, she couldn't control. I was trying to save her. To save you."

"You were trying to control what you feared." The realization feels like a key unlocking a door I've kept shut for years. "You couldn't stand that she was special in ways you could never be. That I was, too."

"Special?" He laughs, a hollow sound. "Is that what you call it? You're deluded, Fiona. Genetic aberrations aren't gifts."

"You're wrong." I step closer, no longer afraid of this man who once loomed so large in my nightmares. "And you failed. I'm still a shifter. Maisie is a shifter. We're exactly what you tried to destroy, and we're thriving."

Something flickers across his face—frustration, perhaps, or the first glimmerings of doubt.

"That animal has poisoned your mind," he says, falling back on familiar hatred. "You and that mutt of a child—"

"My daughter," I interrupt, "is extraordinary. And she has a father who loves her for exactly who she is."

"Love," Edward scoffs. "Another delusion. I loved you enough to try to fix you, Fiona. More than your mother ever did, wasting away with her precious wolf instead of fighting to stay human for her family."

The words are calculated to wound, to provoke the insecurity and guilt he cultivated in me for years. But they fall flat, empty shells that no longer contain power.

"You never loved me," I say, the truth of it washing through me like a cleansing tide. "You never even knew me."

For the first time, I see uncertainty in his eyes, as if my immunity to his manipulation has shaken him more than anger ever could.

"We're ready to move," one of the guards announces, cutting short whatever response Edward might have made.

I take a step back, oddly peaceful. "Goodbye, Edward."

He stares at me, this stranger who shares my blood but never my heart. "This isn't over," he says, but the threat sounds hollow, diminished.

"It is for me." I turn away, walking toward the sunlight without looking back.

Luna waits for me at the edge of the clearing, her presence a quiet offering of support. She still has a bandage on the side of her head from her injury, but she looks far better.

"You okay?" she asks as the transport pulls away.

"Better than I expected." I watch the vehicle disappear down the road, taking with it the shadow that's hung over my life for so long. "It's strange, but I feel... lighter."

"Freedom will do that." She links her arm through mine as we walk back toward the compound. "By the way, did you notice Ruby and James? They've been practically inseparable since yesterday's rescue operation."

I smile, grateful for the shift to ordinary pack gossip after the intensity of the moment. "Nic mentioned something about them working well together."

Luna snorts. "'Working well together' is one way to put it. I caught them behind the supply shed earlier. They weren't exactly discussing security protocols."

The mental image of straight-laced Ruby and stoic James sneaking moments together like teenagers makes me laugh—really laugh—for what feels like the first time in years.

***

I return home to find Thomas and Maisie in the kitchen, a dusting of flour covering both of them as they attempt to make cookies. Maisie stands on a chair, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she carefully measures vanilla extract.

"You have to be exact," she explains to Thomas with adorable seriousness. "Mama says baking is science."

"Your mama is very smart," Thomas agrees, catching my eye over her head with a smile that makes my heart flip in my chest.

"Mama!" Maisie brightens when she spots me. "We're making chocolate chip cookies! Daddy says they're his favorite, too, just like me!"

Daddy. The word falls so naturally from her lips, as if she's been saying it all her life. Thomas's expression—a mixture of joy and lingering disbelief—tells me he's still adjusting to the miracle of being claimed so readily by the daughter he didn't know existed until yesterday.

"Is that right?" I join them at the counter, accepting the spoon Maisie offers for tasting the dough. "Looks like you two have been busy."

"He showed me how to crack eggs without getting shells in the bowl," Maisie informs me proudly. "And he says tomorrow we can practice shifting together! Just a little bit, like paws and stuff."

"Did he now?" I raise an eyebrow at Thomas, who has the grace to look slightly sheepish.

"If that's okay with you," he adds quickly. "Dr. Knowles said controlled practice is good, and I thought—"

"It's perfect," I assure him, touched by his deference to my authority as Maisie's mother despite his eagerness to teach her. "She'll need both of us to guide her through this."