Morning came heavy over Northcrest, gray clouds sagging low as if the sky itself was tired. The halls were colder than usual, and not from the weather. Servants whispered behind their hands. Warriors kept to themselves. Seraphine’s screams had echoed again the night before.
She had thrown a servant down the grand stairs—because of a torn hem. The boy hadn’t even screamed, just hit the floor and didn’t move for a long time.
No apology came. Just Seraphine’s voice cutting the silence: “Next time, don’t breathe near me.”
Some said she was cursed. Others said she was cracking.
Morale plummeted. Wolves who had once stood proud behind Ronan now avoided eye contact. Some left the training fields early. Others whispered about the Luna that should have been—the one who had vanished into the snow.
“Mira would’ve never allowed this,” someone muttered near the kitchen hall. “She was quiet, but she had fire.”
Ronan tried to keep order. He met with commanders, signed papers, barked orders. But his hands trembled when no one looked. His thoughts were a spiral—always circling Mira. Her voice. Her eyes. The feel of her slipping away.
The tracking missions continued. Scouts returned, dirty and silent. Always with the same answer: no sign. Until one didn’t.
“There was a rogue,” one warrior reported. “Near the western ridge. Said he saw a woman. Silver eyes. Carried twins.”
Ronan stood slowly. “Where is he?”
“Cell block. Refuses to talk to anyone but you.”
Ronan went himself. No guards. No council. He opened the cell door, stepping into the dim space where the rogue sat bound.
“You saw her?” Ronan asked.
The rogue looked up, face bruised, lips split. “Silver eyes. She didn’t look back, but I know what I saw.” “Did she speak?”
“No. But the kids—two boys. One clung to her leg. The other had her eyes.”
Ronan’s throat tightened. “Was she safe?”
“She was fierce,” the rogue said. “And she wasn’t alone.”
“Who?”
“A big wolf. Older. Scarred. Watched her like she was the moon.”
Ronan stepped back. “You better be telling the truth.”
“I am. And if you wait too long, she won’t need you anymore.”
He missed the next council meeting. When he finally arrived the next day, the room was ice.
“You’ve become unstable,” Elder Kess said sharply. “You let a ghost unravel your reign.”
“You think this pack fears you?” another elder growled. “They follow routine. But not you. Not anymore.”
Seraphine sat at the edge of the room, legs crossed, smiling like she owned the floor.
“She doesn’t belong here,” Ronan snapped. “She’s poison.”
“You chose her,” said the Beta from the eastern packs. “You crowned her.”
Later, in the corridor, Seraphine blocked his path.
“You still want her,” she said, voice low. “Admit it. You dream of her. Of those little bastards she took.”
“I regret pretending you were her equal,” Ronan answered coldly.
“You made me Luna,” she spat.
“And I can unmake you.”
She slapped him. He caught her wrist midair.
“Don’t test me again, Seraphine,” he said, stepping forward. “You’ll lose.”
“You never deserved her,” she whispered. “That’s why she ran.”
The council’s voices followed him long after he left the chamber. Words like “failure,” “obsession,” and “collapse” echoed in his mind. He slammed the door of his study behind him, but even silence didn’t bring peace.
Ronan stared into the fire, fists clenched. Mira haunted every inch of this house. Her absence was louder than Seraphine’s presence. That scarf in the drawer—he hadn’t touched it in months. Now, it called to him like memory given form.
A knock sounded. He didn’t answer.
Seraphine entered anyway. She walked slowly, deliberately, her gown whispering against the stone.
“You’re losing everything,” she said. “You think they’ll wait much longer?”
“They can vote,” he muttered. “They always wanted to.”
“They want strength. And you? You chase Mira’s ghost.”
He turned. “Say her name one more time.”
“Why? Afraid it still tastes better than mine on your tongue?”
He stepped toward her, heat in his blood. “You don’t know what fear is.”
She smirked. “Then teach me. Be the Alpha you pretend to be.”
“I was, once,” he said, voice dropping. “Until I threw away the only thing that made me one.”
Seraphines hook her head. “You’re pathetic.”
“And you’re forgotten,” he said. “Even in your own halls.”
She flinched, but turned away without another word.