The wind howled through the trees that night, cold and restless. I stood on the balcony of the Crescent Moon Pack house, arms braced against the railing, staring out into the darkness. The moon was full overhead, blanketed in a thin veil of clouds, casting a ghostly glow over the land.
Something was wrong.
I couldn’t explain it. I’d felt off all day — a strange tension coiling beneath my skin like a storm waiting to break. The air was too still. The night too quiet. Every instinct I had clawed at me, warning me of something just beyond reach.
I hadn’t slept well in weeks. Not since the festival invitation had been sent. Not since I decided to accept. Part of me hoped attending would silence the ghosts. Part of me feared it would stir them awake.
But tonight wasn’t about the festival.
Tonight, something else shifted.
I could feel it — a pulse, distant and subtle, like the beat of a drum muffled through fog. Something…someone…was brushing up against the threads of fate, and it felt like a thread I used to know. Like a scent half-forgotten. A heartbeat once tied to mine.
I didn’t know where she was. I hadn’t known for years. But the weight of her absence never left me. I carried it every day — in the way I worked, in the way I ruled, in the way I kept everyone at arm’s length. And yet, right now, as I stood staring into the cold void of the forest beyond, I could’ve sworn…
She was out there.
Somewhere.
Fighting to survive.
I gripped the railing tighter, jaw clenching. I didn’t believe in fate anymore — I’d abandoned that idea the night she walked away — but this…this wasn’t coincidence. Something had changed in the air tonight.
My wolf stirred beneath my skin, uneasy.
I turned away from the balcony, the sharp echo of my boots on the floor ringing louder than usual. I tried to shake the feeling, tried to focus on the reports waiting on my desk. Border disputes. Rogue incursions. Trade negotiations. The usual.
But I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t shake the chill that crawled down my spine — the irrational certainty that a part of me had just crossed a threshold I couldn’t see.
And for the first time in years, I whispered her name.
“Felicia.”
It tasted like blood and ash and longing. And I didn’t know why.