Something was wrong with Wyatt, and I could feel it in the space between us like a storm brewing.
For the past week, he'd been different in the archives, distracted. His usually sharp focus had fractured into something restless and uncertain. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he stared at the same document for the third time, his jaw tight with concentration that had nothing to do with pack records.
"The Sullivan treaty from 1847," I said, sliding another scroll across the table. "You've been looking at it for ten minutes."
He blinked, startled out of whatever thoughts had been consuming him. "Right. Yes. The treaty."
But his eyes weren't on the parchment. They were on me, searching my face like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't quite grasp. That familiar pull stirred in my chest—the same magnetic tug I'd felt during our walk yesterday, when the world had gone quiet around us and nothing existed except the space between our locked gazes.
I forced myself to look away, focusing on the stack of territorial agreements that needed cataloging. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and questions neither of us seemed brave enough to ask.
"Gail."
His voice was softer than usual, uncertain in a way that made my pulse quicken. I glanced up to find him studying me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Have you been sleeping well?" he asked.
The question seemed innocent enough, but something in his tone suggested he was really asking something else entirely. I thought of the restless nights I'd spent replaying our moments together, the way his hand had lingered on mine when he'd caught me from falling, the warmth in his eyes when he'd defended me against Garrett.
"Well enough," I lied.
"Because you seem..." He paused, running a hand through his dark hair. "Different. Lately."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Different how?"
"I don't know. More present, maybe. Like you're actually here instead of trying to disappear into the walls."
The observation hit too close to home. I'd spent eighteen years perfecting the art of invisibility, of making myself small enough that people forgot I existed. But lately, around him, I'd found myself speaking up more, meeting his eyes instead of staring at the floor.
"Maybe you're just noticing things you didn't see before," I said carefully.
He leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact. "Maybe I am."
The admission hung between us like a confession. I felt heat rise in my cheeks and turned back to my work, but I could still feel his gaze on me. The weight of his attention was both thrilling and terrifying.
"The mating ceremony is in two weeks," he said suddenly.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Everyone in the pack knew the date. It had been planned for months, discussed endlessly by the elders and pack members alike. Wyatt and Mira, the perfect political alliance that would secure both families' positions.
"Are you looking forward to it?" I asked, though the words tasted bitter on my tongue. He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"I keep thinking about the blood moon."
My hand stilled on the scroll I was unfurling. "What about it?"
"There's supposed to be one the night of the ceremony. They say it's lucky for new bonds." He paused, his fingers drumming against the table. "But I keep thinking about what happens under blood moons. The strange magic. The way things become... different."
I could barely breathe. He was talking about blood moons, about magic, about the very thing that had transformed my life. Did he suspect? Had he somehow connected the red-haired girl from the grove to the quiet archivist sitting across from him?
"Different how?" I managed.
"Hidden things become visible. Truths that were always there but somehow overlooked." His silver-blue eyes found mine again, and I felt that pull in my chest intensify. "People see what they were meant to see all along."
The double meaning in his words made my mouth go dry. I set down the scroll with trembling fingers, trying to process what he was really saying. "Wyatt-"
"You ever feel like something's right in front of you, but you still can't reach it?" he interrupted, his voice rough with frustration. The question caught me off guard. I stared at him, seeing the conflict written across his features, the way his hands clenched and unclenched as if he was fighting some internal battle.
"Sometimes," I said quietly, thinking of all the times I'd watched him from the shadows, loving him from a distance I could never cross. "But maybe it's not about reaching. Maybe it's about seeing it for what it is."
He went completely still, his eyes widening slightly as if my words had unlocked something he'd been struggling to understand. The silence that followed was deafening, filled with a tension so thick I could barely breathe.
"Gail," he said, my name coming out like a revelation.
I waited, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. Something was shifting between us, some fundamental change I could feel in the very air around us. But before he could say whatever was on the tip of his tongue, the archive door swung open and Mira stepped inside, her smile bright and oblivious to the charged atmosphere she'd just interrupted.
"There you are," she said to Wyatt, moving to his side. "Mother wants to go over the final details for the ceremony. Something about the processional order."
Wyatt's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Of course."
As he stood to leave, his eyes met mine one last time, and I saw something there that made my breath hitch. Recognition. Understanding. The beginning of a truth he was finally ready to face. But it was Mira who spoke as they reached the door, her voice carrying easily across the quiet room.
"Oh, and Gail? The seamstress wants to see you about your dress for the ceremony. We can't have the Beta's daughter looking anything less than perfect for such an important day."
The door closed behind them, leaving me alone with the echoes of their footsteps and the devastating realization that Wyatt had been on the verge of saying something that might have changed everything. Instead, I was left with the reminder that in two weeks, I would watch the man I loved pledge himself to another woman, and whatever moment of connection we'd just shared would be nothing more than a memory.
But the way he'd looked at me before Mira arrived, the recognition dawning in his eyes, it gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to see what had been right in front of him all along.