Celine sat on the stone ledge of the secluded terrace, knees pulled to her chest. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the courtyard below. She hadn’t planned on leaving her room, but the walls had started pressing in, suffocating her with memories she couldn’t outrun.
A breeze stirred through the open space, cool against her skin, carrying the distant sounds of the pack below—laughter, voices, life moving on without her.
Her hands were cold despite the fading sun, her skin still chilled by the memory of that ceremony. Of her wolf not coming. Of the eyes on her—judging, dismissing.
She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when she heard the quiet crunch of boots on stone.
Not just anyone’s steps.
She tensed before the scent hit her—pine and something older, something hers once, something she'd spent years trying to forget.
“Celine.”
Luke’s voice was low, hesitant.
She turned slowly. He was leaning against the archway, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders stiff beneath his jacket. He looked tired. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t really looked at him in years.
And still, something inside her stuttered at the sight of him.
“You weren’t at dinner,” he said.
She turned back toward the courtyard. “Didn’t feel like pretending I belonged.”
He walked toward her, each step deliberate. He stopped beside the ledge but didn’t sit, like even now he didn’t know if he was allowed to.
“Lilith’s in the hall,” he said after a pause. “Bragging. Gloating. Like always.”
“Why are you here?” Celine asked, her voice thinner than she wanted.
Luke looked at her for a long moment. “Because you came back. Because you stood next to Leon and didn’t look at me once.”
Her breath caught.
“You didn’t have to,” he said. “I already knew.”
She turned her head sharply. “Knew what?”
“That I picked wrong.” His voice cracked on the edges. “That I let them twist everything. That I let her twist me.”
Silence stretched.
“I saw your name on the Luna nominations,” he went on. “And I was... relieved. You’re better than her, Celine. You always were.”
She swallowed hard. “You didn’t say that at the wedding.”
“I couldn’t say it then. I didn’t know how to look at you and not see every mistake I made.”
“Then why now?”
Luke hesitated. “Because I’m afraid I’ll never get another chance.”
The wind picked up, brushing between them like a third voice.
“You were supposed to be my mate,” she said, each word like a stone in her mouth. “And you let her take everything from me. You let them all erase me.”
“I know,” Luke said quietly. “And I hate myself for it.”
Her voice was flat, empty. “You married her anyway.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice,” he admitted, gaze dropping. “They told me you were gone. That it was over.”
“And when I came back?” she asked, steel threading through her voice. “When I stood in front of you and you looked at me like I was a stranger?”
“I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“You don’t get to fix it.”
She stood, the distance between them suddenly unbearable. She felt his hand twitch at his side like he wanted to reach for her.
“Don’t,” she warned.
His hand dropped. “You’re still the only one I ever—”
“Don’t,” she said again, sharper this time.
She took a step back. Then another.
Luke didn’t follow.
“I’m not that girl anymore,” she said. “And you’re not my mate.”
Celine turned and left, her steps quick and certain—even if her chest was crumbling with every heartbeat.
Behind her, Luke stood still in the dying light, watching her disappear into the fortress.
And in that moment, he knew. He had lost her a long time ago. But now, he’d lost her completely.