POV Blake
Insomnia is a bitch when your husband's side of the bed feels like the Arctic fucking tundra.
I've tried everything. Literally.
Counting sheep (boring), counting lies I've told (depressing), counting the ways this whole thing could explode in my face (gave up at 47).
Nothing works.
The sheets smell like him, which should be creepy but is actually the only thing keeping me from full panic mode.
By morning, I'm running on anxiety and whatever fumes desperation produces.
No Matthias. No Zack. Just me and my Oscar-worthy performance of "Luna Who Definitely Isn't Dying Inside."
The dining hall assault begins at dawn.
"Luna Amelia!" Austin, the wolf with the golden voice, practically bounces over. "Did you hear? The pups want you to judge their art contest next week."
"Art contest?" I channel Amelia's enthusiasm while my brain screams static.
"Yeah! They're drawing their favorite pack memories. Little Norah already started hers—it's you reading that story about the Moon Goddess." His smile could power small cities. "You've really made an impact."
Impact. Right.
Like a meteor. Devastating and full of lies.
"I'd be honored," I manage, and he beams before scurrying off.
Before I can escape, Elder Catherine corners me near the coffee station. "Amelia, dear, wonderful work with the new patrol schedules. So much more efficient than the old system."
The patrol schedules I betrayed to Kai. Fantastic.
"Just trying to help where I can."
"And the medical supply reorganization? Brilliant. Alex says inventory time has been cut in half." She pats my arm with grandmotherly affection that makes me want to spontaneously combust. "We're lucky to have you."
Lucky. Sure.
Like finding a live grenade in your birthday cake.
Training grounds offer no reprieve. Sarah, one of the female warriors, intercepts me before I can make my escape.
"Luna! Perfect timing. The women's combat class wants to know if you'll demonstrate that takedown move again. The one you showed us last week?"
The one I learned from years of being everyone's favorite punching bag at Nightshade.
"Of course. When?"
"Tomorrow? If that works with your schedule." She hesitates, then adds, "It means a lot, you know. Having a Luna who fights with us, not just for us."
Jesus Christ on a cracker.
These people are going to make me cry in public.
By noon, I'm unraveling faster than a cheap sweater. Every interaction is another twist of the guilt knife. These people trust me, value me, and I'm documenting ways to destroy them.
Fuck it. I need Mom.
Not my actual mom, who'd probably sell me for parts. I need Sage Helen and her magical fix-everything tea.
Her cottage looks like Pinterest threw up. All that herbs hanging from every surface, crystals catching light, the whole witch aesthetic minus the child-eating.
She opens the door before I knock because of course she does.
"Amelia, my dear. Come in. You look like you haven't slept."
Just Amelia.
Normal. Safe. I can handle this.
"Rough night," I admit, following her inside. "Matthias is still gone?"
"Investigating the border situation with Zack. They're fine." She busies herself with the kettle, movements practiced and soothing. "He didn't want to leave you, especially after yesterday. But duty calls."
"Story of our lives." I try for light, but it comes out bitter.
Helen studies me with those too-knowing eyes. "Sit, my dear. You're swaying on your feet."
The kitchen smells like herbs and home, two things that shouldn't compute in my brain but do. I sink into a chair while she prepares tea with the focus of a surgeon.
"I can sense the ache in you," she says, settling across from me. "Not just physical. Deeper."
My spine goes rigid. "It's just stress. Alex said—"
"Alex is a good doctor, but he's still young." She takes my hand, and her touch is warm, maternal—everything I've never had. "This pain, it's been building for weeks, hasn't it?"
I want to lie, but something in her voice makes deception impossible. "Yes."
"Your body is trying to tell you something." She squeezes gently. "Something you're not ready to hear."
"That I'm falling apart?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "That I'm not cut out for this?"
"That you're stronger than you know." She stands, moving to a cabinet filled with mysterious bottles. "This life, this pack… it's awakening things in you. Things that have been dormant."
"Sage Helen—"
She turns back, holding a vial of something that glows faintly.
"Hmm." She presses the vial into my hand. "Drink this. It will help with the pain."
I down it without question because apparently, I have zero self-preservation instincts. It tastes like honeysuckle and ginger, and instantly warmth spreads through my bones, easing the constant ache.
"Better?"
"Yeah." I study her face, looking for signs she knows, but her expression remains calmly neutral. "Thank you."
"Grief changes us," she says suddenly. "Losing a twin, taking on new responsibilities, finding love in unexpected places. It can feel like becoming someone entirely new."
"Sometimes I don't recognize myself anymore," I admit, the truth slipping out like smoke.
"I'm saying that sometimes we have to lose everything we thought we were to find out who we really are." Her eyes bore into mine. "And sometimes, the Moon Goddess sends us exactly where we need to be. Even if we arrive under false pretenses."
The air thickens. Every instinct screams she knows, but she's still calling me Amelia, still playing along.
"I should go," I whisper. "Thank you for the tea."
"Of course." She walks me to the door, then pauses. "Be safe, Blake."
I freeze. Every cell in my body turns to ice.
Blake.
She just called me Blake.