POV: Silas

Grant Quinn arrived to take Sophie home while the evidence proving he had tried to kill her was still lying on Evelyn's blanket.

He brought a judge's signature, four officers, and his mother.

He did not bring a car seat.

Silas noticed that first.

Men who came for children remembered restraints only when they intended to keep them safe.

"Emergency transfer order," Sergeant Mercer announced from the hospital corridor. "The minor child will be placed with her paternal grandmother pending review. Mrs. Quinn is not to interfere."

Evelyn sat upright in bed with Sophie tucked against her side. The sealed seat-belt evidence bag rested between them and Paula Reed. Briar stood near the window, reading the new order without touching it.

Silas remained inside the room because Evelyn had invited him.

His wolf wanted the hallway.

It wanted Grant's throat, Mercer's gun hand, and every uniform that had mistaken paper for permission to deliver a terrified child back to the man she feared.

Silas counted Sophie's breaths instead.

One. Two. Too fast.

"The order names Diane Quinn as temporary guardian," Paula said. "It does not restore Grant's visitation."

"My son will drive us," Diane replied.

She stood behind Grant in a cream wool coat, silver hair pinned neatly beneath a rain scarf. She had Sophie's eyes and Grant's talent for making contempt sound reasonable.

"He is not visiting," she continued. "He is transporting his daughter."

"No Daddy," Sophie whispered.

Diane's mouth tightened. "This is what comes from letting children listen to adult accusations."

Evelyn's body changed.

She did not shrink. She drew Sophie closer.

"She was in the car."

"She is six."

"Yes. And she still knows who frightened her."

Grant held out his hand. "Mom, don't argue. Take Sophie and go."

The command was aimed at Diane, but his eyes stayed on Silas.

He wanted resistance.

The hallway held body cameras, hospital security, and enough phones to turn violence into the only story anyone remembered. If Silas touched him, the filed gun at the clubhouse would disappear beneath a headline about a biker attacking a decorated officer.

Grant knew it.

Silas knew it.

His wolf knew only that the mate-child was crying.

Mine, it snarled.

Not mine, Silas answered.

Herself.

He looked at Evelyn. "What do you want me to do?"

Grant laughed. "You need her permission to breathe now?"

"I need her decision before I act in her room."

Evelyn met Silas's eyes.

Fear was there. So was the exhausted calculation of a woman who had spent years predicting which kind of resistance would cost least.

"Keep him away from the bed," she said.

Silas stepped between Grant and the bedrail.

Nothing more.

Grant tried to move around him. Silas matched the step. Grant moved left. Silas moved left.

No shove. No threat. No exposed fang.

Just a wall that had asked where it was wanted.

"You are obstructing a court order," Mercer said.

"The named guardian is behind him," Briar replied. "Mr. Blackwood is not obstructing Mrs. Quinn from approaching the child."

Every face turned toward Diane.

For the first time, she looked uncertain.

Paula held out a clipboard. "Before transfer, the guardian must acknowledge Sophie's injuries, trauma instructions, current medication, and the prohibition on contact with Grant."

Diane did not take the pen.

"My son would never hurt his daughter."

"That sentence is not on the form," Paula said.

"This is insulting."

"Then decline custody."

Grant's composure cracked. "Sign it, Mom."

Diane flinched.

Small. Almost invisible.

Silas saw Evelyn see it too.

The command had not begun with her. Grant had learned it somewhere.

Diane took the clipboard.

She read the first condition aloud. "The guardian agrees that Grant Quinn will have no direct, indirect, electronic, or third-party contact with Sophie Quinn."

Her pen hovered.

Grant spoke through his teeth. "Sign."

"If I sign this, you cannot come to my house."

"It is temporary."

"You said the judge fixed it."

"He did."

"Then why does this say you are forbidden from seeing her?"

The argument turned in the space of one breath.

Grant had brought his mother as a clean pair of hands. He had not expected her to notice the blood he was asking her to carry.

Briar lifted the evidence bag from the blanket.

"Mrs. Quinn, before you accept custody, you should know the state laboratory found fresh tool marks on the child's seat belt. We are requesting testing of a fiber recovered from the cut."

Mercer stepped forward. "That is an open investigation."

"Correct," Briar said. "Which is why I did not name a suspect."

"You did not need to."

"Neither did the evidence."

Grant's gaze dropped to the bag.

Recognition lasted less than a second.

It was enough.

Silas felt his wolf rise, not in rage this time but in certainty. Grant had seen the thread before. He knew where it came from.