Aria
Elias didn’t speak. Not to me. Not to the council. Not even to Matthew. He simply turned after the Alpha’s declaration, straightened his shoulders, and walked out of the war room like it didn’t hurt.
But it did.
The shattered look in his eyes said more than any words ever could.
He didn’t slam the door. He didn’t ask for justice. He just left—and I felt every step like it echoed through my chest.
I didn’t follow him. Maybe because I didn’t know what I would say.
Maybe because the part of me that used to run to him had nothing left to hold.
After that, the pack moved on. At least, that’s what it looked like from the outside. But I didn’t. Not really.
I threw myself into work instead. I reorganized the patrols. I sat through long council meetings. I created a mentorship program for young she-wolves—girls who’d been told they were too soft or too strange to lead.
And I trained. Every morning before sunrise, I was on the field with the warriors, sparring, sweating, fighting. Letting the sting of blades and bruises replace the ache in my heart.
But when the days ended and the halls emptied, I wrote.
It started with a few lines. Then pages. I kept the journal tucked beneath my pillow, away from the world, away from Matthew.
Each entry became a confession.
Memories. Regrets. Things I wished I’d said to Elias. Things I’d been too afraid to say to Matthew. And things I desperately wished I could tell the girl I used to be—the one who showed up at the Blue Stone border thinking no one would ever want her.
You were never unworthy. You were just unseen.
I wrote it one night after training. My fingers trembled as the words hit the page. I cried in silence, curled under the covers, clutching the journal like it was the only part of me still whole.
I didn’t know Matthew had found it. I came back late from the warrior hall the next night. My muscles ached, and I’d barely made it into the Luna quarters when I heard the flick of a page turning.
Matthew sat on the edge of the bed, the journal in his lap.
I froze. “What are you doing?”
He looked up at me—not angry. Not cold. Just… quiet.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said softly. “It fell when I was changing the sheets.”
My throat tightened. “You read it?”
He nodded once. “Only one entry.”
I stepped forward, heart pounding. “Which one?”
He opened the journal, turned it around, and read aloud in a low, steady voice.
“You were never unworthy. You were just unseen.”
The room went still. He looked up from the page and met my eyes. “I see you now,” he whispered.
The wall I’d been holding up for days… weeks… it cracked.
I walked toward him slowly, unsure if my legs would carry me all the way. But he stood up before I got there and reached for me—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch me anymore.
I leaned into him. His arms wrapped around me tightly, like he was afraid I’d disappear. My face buried into his chest, and I let myself breathe again.
It was the first time we’d held each other in days. No anger. No power struggles.
Just us.
He rested his chin on my head. “I thought protecting you meant keeping you close. Keeping you from breaking.”
My voice was muffled against him. “I don’t need protection. I need honesty. I need someone who doesn’t flinch when I lead.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Then I’ll learn. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”
I didn’t say anything.
But I didn’t pull away either. He cupped my cheek, fingers warm against my skin. Then he leaned in—and kissed me. Not fast. Not forceful. Just deep, and slow, and full of everything we hadn’t said.
And for the first time I didn’t doubt if it was real.