The halls of the packhouse were quieter than usual after dinner—thick with tension and the unspoken weight of everything that had been said and not said. I walked slowly, barefoot, the cold stone floor grounding me as I tried to process the whirlwind of the evening.
Dominic's lies still echoed in my ears, each false word a knife twisting deeper. And Draven's defense of me had left my heart twisted in a knot of relief and disbelief. I hadn't expected it—had never dared to hope for it.
He'd stood up for me. He'd chosen me. But I still couldn't let my guard down. Not with them here. Not with Dominic's calculating eyes watching my every move.
The corridor near the guest wing curved around a quiet sitting room—one rarely used, mostly for nobles or pack guests who preferred privacy, lined with old furniture and dust-covered books.
I wasn't headed there. I was just passing through, taking the long way back to my quarters to avoid running into anyone, to have a moment alone to breathe.
Until I heard them. Voices drifting from the sitting room, low but distinct. I froze the moment I recognized my Mother's voice, sharp and cold as winter ice.
"You shouldn't have brought it up," she was saying, her tone clipped, irritated. "We agreed. The fewer who know, the safer we all are. You're being reckless."
"He needs to know, to understand his place finally," Dominic replied, his voice calm, measured. "And it's his, too. He has a right to the truth, even if it condemns him."
Mother scoffed, the sound bitter and cruel. "He was born of shadow. What else do you expect from a creature like that? He was marked from birth." My stomach dropped, plummeting like a stone into dark water.
I stepped back into the alcove of the hallway wall, pressing myself against the cold stone, heart thundering so loud I was certain they could hear it. The shadows pooled around me instinctively, wrapping me in silence, in darkness. Neither of them knew I was there.
"He always was the cursed one," my Mother muttered, disgust dripping from every word. "Ever since the prophecy. I knew it the moment I saw that mark on his face. The crescent. The mark of the destroyer."
Dominic's voice lowered to a near whisper, intimate and poisonous. "Two sons, born under the moon's shadow. One will bring ruin. The other, glory." The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"And it's true," Mother said, conviction absolute in her tone. "You've risen like the moonlight. You are our hope, Dominic. The one destined to lead, to bring our pack to greatness. You are everything we could have hoped for."
"And Atlas?" Dominic asked with a slow, poisonous edge, savoring each word. "The destroyer?" A beat of silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then Mother sighed, the sound weary and resigned. "You've seen what he's capable of. He draws chaos to him like a flame draws moths. Disaster follows in his wake. He was never meant to rule, never meant to stay with us. We were foolish to keep him as long as we did. We should have sent him away years ago."
The words struck like physical blows, each one landing with devastating precision. I didn't wait to hear more. Couldn't bear to hear more. I turned and fled, my steps silent as the shadows that carried me, that had always been my only true companions.
By the time I reached the balcony off the north wing, I couldn't breathe, lungs burning, chest tight.
The night air hit my face like ice, sharp and biting. I clutched the railing, knuckles white, fingers digging into the cold metal until it hurt, until the physical pain could distract from the emotional agony. My eyes stared blankly out at the darkened forest, seeing nothing, seeing everything.
The prophecy. I had always known something was off about the way they treated me. The cruelty that went beyond normal sibling rivalry. The neglect that felt deliberate, calculated. The pain that seemed designed to break me, to remind me of my place. I thought it was favoritism. Simple hatred. Disappointment in a weak son.
But it had been destiny? Written in the stars? Decreed by fate from the beginning? Two sons. One to bring glory. The other… ruin.
My throat closed, constricting until I could barely swallow. I couldn't tell if I wanted to scream or throw up, couldn't tell if the burning in my chest was rage or despair or both.
Had they always known? Since birth? Is that why they kept me weak, why they never trained me properly? That's why they made me feel small, worthless, a burden to be endured? That's why they let Dominic torment me without consequence, without intervention, watching as he pushed me to the breaking point again and again?
Because they thought I was supposed to become a monster? Because the prophecy had already condemned me?
I pressed a hand to the mark on my cheek, fingers tracing the crescent-shaped birthmark that had always set me apart, that I'd always thought was just an odd quirk of genetics. The moon-mark that people stared at, that made me recognizable, memorable.
Had it always been a warning? A sign of what I was destined to become? A brand marking me as the destroyer, the bringer of ruin?
My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes, hot and stinging. Not from sadness. Not from grief. From rage. Pure, burning, all-consuming rage. How dare they?
How dare they bury something so important—so defining, so fundamental to my entire existence—and act like my very existence was a curse to be tolerated? How dare they treat me like I was already guilty of crimes I hadn't committed, condemned for a future that hadn't happened?
And worse… what if it was true? What if the prophecy was real, unchangeable, inevitable?
What if I truly was the destroyer? What if chaos and ruin followed me wherever I went, infecting everything I touched?
What if I brought danger to Crimson Fang? To the pack that had given me a home, a purpose, a place where I belonged? To Draven? The thought struck like lightning, terror flooding through me.
What if staying here meant condemning them all? What if caring about Draven—letting him care about me—was the catalyst that would bring everything crashing down? What if the prophecy was already unfolding, and I was too blind to see it?
Hyde stirred in my mind, restless and angry. "No. We are not cursed. We are not a destroyer."
But my wolf's conviction felt hollow against the weight of my mother's words, against years of conditioning, against the prophecy that had apparently shaped my entire life.
I stared out at the darkness, at the forest that held secrets and shadows, and wondered if running away was the only way to save the people I'd come to love.
If leaving was the only way to prove the prophecy wrong. Or if I'd already sealed their fate the moment I'd stepped across the border into Crimson Fang territory.