**Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane**
**Chapter 55**
In the dimly lit restaurant, where the air was thick with the scent of rich coffee and the soft murmur of conversations, Alaina’s voice sliced through the ambiance like a sharp knife. “You ask that question as if the reason for this restaurant’s menu being exclusively in French is beyond your comprehension. This is America, yet here, in a haven for werewolves, you must validate your power level and pack crest just to order a simple drink.”
Samantha felt a bead of sweat form at the nape of her neck, a chill running down her spine as she stiffened against the back of her chair, her heart racing. “Mrs. Simmons, I truly don’t understand.”
Alaina’s tone shifted, adopting the cadence of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. “This petite French menu serves a dual purpose; it acts as a filter for the guests. The Alphas who frequent this establishment are accustomed to exuding a bit of their aura. You see, the silverware will warm in their presence, a subtle cue. The waitstaff will promptly bring forth the rare wines and Moonbrew, exclusively reserved for those of high rank within the werewolf community. These details speak volumes; they need not utter a word.”
She paused, her expression soft but her words firm. “However, for a rogue like you—one without a crest, without a pack, who has just emerged from the wilderness—things are quite different. You carry no mark of any pack. When the Alpha of Ironthorn steps through those doors, he is treated as the esteemed host. But when you enter, you are merely a guest, your identity needing scrutiny.”
A dawning realization washed over Samantha.
Mrs. Simmons, a she-wolf who had mastered the art of looking down on others, was employing a delicate yet pointed reminder of her lowly origins. She was neither a candidate for Luna of an ancient pack nor a significant member of any established clan.
Even if she somehow managed to infiltrate their “circle,” she would only become the subject of whispers and ridicule, a mere punchline in their cruel jokes.
Gathering her courage, she spoke, her voice trembling slightly. “Mrs. Simmons, Cassian is your son. Don’t you want him to be happy?”
Alaina leaned back, her hands resting on her lap, her demeanor cool and collected. “Ms. Fernandez, you cannot have it all. You took sixty million dollars from Howard and left six years ago. In doing so, you forfeited your eligibility to be the Luna candidate for the Ironthorn Pack.”
Her gaze bore into Samantha’s, devoid of malice but equally devoid of any compassion. “Even if my son and his current Luna were to sever their bond, it would not be your turn to be accepted back into the Ironthorn Pack.”
Samantha felt her heart drop, her eyes momentarily flickering as she rubbed her fingers nervously against the cool glass of water before her. “Mrs. Simmons, I did that for Cassian’s future. If Howard had forced him out of the Pack, making him start from scratch… you wouldn’t have been pleased either.”
She was alluding to the painful trade-off they had made.
She had walked away with the money, but in her mind, it was a sacrifice—a necessary one to ensure that Cassian retained his status as the heir to Ironthorn.
Alaina stood, adjusting the collar of her jacket with an air of finality. Her tone remained impeccably polite, yet it carried an undercurrent of resolve. “Save your words for Cassian. I am here for one reason only.”
Samantha sprang to her feet, desperation clawing at her. “Mrs. Simmons, please, just tell me what it is.”
Alaina regarded her with an unsettling calmness, her eyes as placid as a still lake, yet they sent a chill down Samantha’s spine. “If Cassian and Trista remain unaffected by your presence, the Ironthorn Pack can afford to overlook your existence.”
As she finished speaking, her fingers lightly tapped the saucer beneath her coffee cup.

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