The night air was cool against Celine’s skin, but she felt feverish—like her blood was too warm, her body too full of everything she couldn’t name. The moon hung low, pale and quiet, watching as her thoughts spun in restless circles.
She had fought. Gods, she had fought so hard.
She had trained until her muscles burned, until her lungs screamed. She had taken every hit, every insult, every doubt—and kept going.
But it still wasn’t enough.
She couldn’t shift. No matter how badly she wanted it, no matter how hard she tried, her wolf remained locked away, silent.
And the truth was a weight she carried alone.
She didn’t hear him approach.
But she felt it.
The shift in the air. The sudden stillness. The quiet gravity of his presence, like the woods themselves paused to make space for him.
“You want to be Luna,” Leon said.
She turned, startled. His voice was softer than usual—no command, no challenge. Just a simple truth laid bare between them.
Her throat tightened. “What?”
He stepped closer, the shadows parting around him. His eyes met hers—not demanding, not cold. Just steady.
“The Ceremony isn’t over,” he said. “You still have one chance.”
Celine’s breath hitched, but not from fear. Something in his voice caught her off guard. It wasn’t pity. There was no edge of obligation. It settled deep, quiet and steady.
She wasn’t used to hearing that tone. Not directed at her.
Her fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve. “I can’t shift,” she said, the words barely holding together. Her voice cracked at the edges, raw and exposed.
Leon’s jaw tightened. A small movement. His eyes didn’t leave hers.
“Then we figure it out.”
No hesitation. No pause. Just that.
Her knees felt unsteady. She blinked, unsure if she had imagined it.
He hadn’t said you’ll figure it out. He hadn’t said I’ll help you.
He said we.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out at first. Heat pushed behind her eyes. She shook her head, barely managing the words. “And if I can’t?”
Leon took a step closer. The space between them narrowed, the air shifting with it. He didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at her—really looked. Not past her. Not through her.
His voice dropped low, so quiet it barely touched the air. “Then you’ll have to trust me.”
A breath left her in a rush. She hadn’t realized she was holding it.
He raised his hand slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair back from her face. The touch was careful, light, like he was afraid of breaking something delicate.
Her skin tingled where his knuckles passed. Not from the touch itself, but from the way he looked at her while doing it. Like she mattered. Like she wasn’t something broken, or something waiting to be fixed—but someone he had already chosen to stand beside.
Then he leaned in.
No sudden rush. No pull of urgency.
His lips met hers, soft and steady. He kissed her like he wasn’t trying to claim anything. Like he already had.
When he pulled back, the space between them felt smaller than it had ever been. Her chest rose and fell too fast, and her lips still held the warmth of his.
Leon’s eyes stayed on her. His voice came quiet again, but this time it carried weight.
“You’re not done yet.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Something had cracked open inside her, something she wasn’t ready to name. But she didn’t turn away. And this time, when she looked at him, she let herself believe. Just a little.