Three days before Thanksgiving, I started the turkeys.

Two twenty-pound birds sat on the kitchen counter at dawn. I rubbed them down with salt and herbs, then lowered them into the brine I'd mixed the night before. The recipe called for apple cider, bay leaves, peppercorns, and brown sugar. I'd done this every year since I became Luna. It was tradition. The pack expected it.

Chandler came downstairs while I was sealing the second brine bag. He poured coffee and leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone.

"Big day?" I asked.

"Meeting with the Gamma," he said without looking up. "Then I've got calls this afternoon."

I nodded. I wiped down the counter and started pulling ingredients for the side dishes. Sweet potato casserole. Green bean almondine. Cranberry relish. Cornbread dressing. Roasted Brussels sprouts. Parker House rolls. I had a list taped inside the cupboard door. I'd been adding to it for weeks.

"Do you need help with anything?" he asked.

I glanced at him. He was still looking at his phone.

"No," I said. "I've got it."

He left twenty minutes later. I didn't see him again until dinner.

The next two days blurred together. I peeled potatoes until my hands cramped. I chopped onions until my eyes burned. I baked six pans of cornbread and crumbled them by hand for the dressing. I coordinated the contribution schedule—who was bringing pies, who was bringing wine, who was setting up chairs in the gathering hall. I made calls. I sent reminders. I checked off items on my list one by one.

Chandler was home, but he wasn't present. He spent most of his time in his office with the door closed. At night, he sat on the couch with his phone. Sometimes he'd step outside to take a call. He never explained who it was. I stopped asking.

On Thanksgiving morning, I woke at four. The turkeys went into the ovens at five. I set timers and started the side dishes. By noon, the pack house smelled like butter and sage and roasting meat. It smelled like home. It smelled like something I'd built with my own hands.

The gathering started at six. Pack members arrived in waves, carrying covered dishes and bottles of wine. They greeted me warmly. They complimented the decorations in the hall—the garlands I'd strung, the candles I'd arranged, the centerpieces I'd made by hand. I smiled and thanked them. I directed traffic. I made sure everyone had a seat.

Chandler appeared just before we sat down to eat. He wore a dark sweater that made his shoulders look even broader. He moved through the room shaking hands, clapping backs, laughing at jokes. He looked like a leader. He looked like an Alpha.

Shay arrived ten minutes later.

She wore a cream-colored dress that hugged her frame and a pair of heels that clicked against the hardwood. Her perfume reached me before she did—something floral and heavy that clung to the air. She smiled at Chandler. He smiled back.

"You look beautiful," he said.

She touched his arm lightly. "Thank you. So do you."

I was standing near the kitchen doorway with a platter of rolls in my hands. Neither of them looked at me.

When we sat down to eat, Chandler seated Shay at the head table. In the chair beside his. The chair that was traditionally reserved for honored guests. The chair that should have been mine.

I stood at the threshold between the kitchen and the dining hall, watching. My wolf stirred faintly. She didn't speak. She just… felt. A dull ache that had no name.

Shay picked at her plate delicately, then looked across the table at one of the older pack members. Her voice carried.

"The stuffing is a little plain," she said lightly. "But bless her heart, Elodie made everything herself. That's so much work."

Chandler laughed. He refilled her wine glass. "She's dedicated," he said. "I'll give her that."

I turned and went back into the kitchen. I checked the ovens. I refilled serving dishes. I smiled at pack members who came in to thank me. I kept moving.

By midnight, everyone was gone. The hall was empty except for the tables covered in dirty dishes and crumpled napkins. I started carrying platters back to the kitchen. Chandler was nowhere.

I scraped plates. I loaded the dishwasher. I scrubbed the roasting pans by hand because they were too big to fit. My back ached. My feet throbbed. I'd been standing for eighteen hours.

Through the window above the sink, I saw movement in the parking lot. I looked up.

Chandler was walking Shay to her car. She had her hand on his forearm. He was leaning in slightly, listening to whatever she was saying. His posture was easy. Relaxed. Attentive.

He never stood like that with me.

I watched them until Shay got into her car and drove away. Chandler stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching her taillights disappear. Then he turned and walked back toward the pack house.

I looked down at the roasting pan in my hands. Soapy water dripped onto the floor.

My wolf whimpered once. Faintly. Then she went quiet.

I finished the dishes. I dried my hands. I turned off the lights.

Upstairs, Chandler was already asleep. I slipped into bed on my side and lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

I didn't cry. I didn't feel anything at all.

I just lay there. And I waited for morning.

The notice came in Wells's backpack on a Tuesday.

I found it folded at the bottom, underneath his lunch box and a crumpled math worksheet. The paper was printed on school letterhead. Second notice. Activity fees overdue. Amount: $240. Please remit payment by December 10th to avoid forfeiture of enrollment.

I read it twice. Then I smoothed it flat on the kitchen counter and stared at the date. December 10th. That was four days away.

The stipend was supposed to cover this. The $800 monthly allocation Chandler had promised when Wells started school. But the November stipend never came. And now December's was already spoken for—Chandler had mentioned something about pack security upgrades last week, his tone casual, like it wasn't my business to ask questions.

I folded the notice carefully and slipped it into my notebook. Then I went upstairs.

Chandler's office door was closed. I could hear him on the phone inside, his voice low and steady. I waited in the hallway until the call ended. Then I knocked.

"Come in."

I opened the door. He was sitting behind his desk, laptop open, a stack of invoices spread out in front of him. He didn't look up.

"Chandler," I said quietly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Make it quick." He clicked something on his screen. "I've got another call in ten."

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I kept my voice calm. Diplomatic. "Wells's school sent another notice. The activity fees are overdue. It's $240. I was wondering if the December stipend could be restored so I can pay it before the deadline."

His fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. He looked up slowly.

"The stipend," he repeated.

"Yes. The $800 monthly allocation. For Wells's expenses."

He leaned back in his chair. His jaw tightened. "You're bringing this up again."

"I'm just asking—"

"You're nagging, Elodie." His voice was rising. "Constant nagging. Do you know how exhausting that is? Every week it's something. Boots. Fees. Supplies. You act like I'm not providing for this family."

My hands tightened around the dish towel I'd been holding when I came upstairs. I hadn't even realized I'd brought it with me. "I'm not saying that. I'm just trying to manage Wells's needs—"

"Wells's needs are fine." He stood up. His presence filled the room. "What's not fine is your constant focus on money. It's materialistic, Elodie. It's small. If you were a better Luna, I wouldn't need to spend so much energy elsewhere."

The words hit like a slap. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

He drew a slow breath through his nose. I knew what was coming.

"Elodie." The Alpha tone dropped into his voice like a stone into water. It pressed against my chest, my throat, my lungs. My wolf whimpered and curled inward, shrinking into a space so small I could barely feel her. "This conversation is over. Do you understand me?"

I nodded. I couldn't do anything else.

"Good." He sat back down and returned his attention to the laptop. "Close the door on your way out."

I left. My hands were shaking. The dish towel was twisted into a tight knot between my fingers. I went downstairs and stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing.

My wolf was silent. Completely silent.

I untwisted the towel. Smoothed it. Hung it back on its hook.

Then I went to check on Wells.

That night, after I tucked Wells into bed and kissed his forehead, I went to my room. Chandler was still in his office. I could hear the low murmur of another phone call through the walls.

I opened the drawer of my nightstand and pulled out the book.

It was old. The cover was cracked leather, the pages yellowed and soft at the edges. My father had left it to me. A history of the Lycan bloodlines. Noble houses. Territorial laws. The old ways.

I hadn't opened it in years. I used to read it when I was younger, tracing the genealogies with my finger, imagining what it would be like to live in a world where power was inherited, not earned through dominance and volume.

But I'd stopped reading it after I mated with Chandler. It felt dangerous somehow. Like holding onto something that didn't belong in this life. In this pack house. In this version of myself.

I sat on the edge of the bed with the book in my lap. I didn't open it. I just held it.

The leather was smooth under my palms. Warm. Familiar.

I sat there for a long time. The house was quiet. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the branches against the window.

I thought about my father. About the way he used to look at me when I was small, like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.

I thought about Wells. About the way he didn't wave at the bus stop anymore.

I thought about the $240 I didn't have. The $900 coat. The three thousand, two hundred dollars I'd circled in my notebook.

I thought about the Alpha tone pressing my wolf into silence.

I sat there until my legs went numb. Then I put the book back in the drawer and turned off the light.

I lay in the dark and waited for Chandler to come to bed. He didn't.

Two weeks later, I was at the pack training grounds.

It was a Saturday morning. Cold and clear. The Deltas were running drills in the clearing, and I'd brought a cooler of water bottles and protein bars for the break. It was one of those small Luna duties no one noticed until it didn't happen.

I set the cooler down near the benches and started arranging the bottles in rows. Two of the pack women—Iris and Gemma—were standing a few yards away, talking in low voices. I wasn't trying to listen. But sound carried in the cold air.

"I'm just saying," Iris murmured, "it's strange. She's here all the time. At the pack house. At events. And the money—"

"I know," Gemma cut in. "My cousin works at the bank. She said there's been a lot of transfers. Big ones. All going to the same account."

"Alpha Chandler's foster sister," Iris said. The way she said it—foster sister—had quotes around it. "She must have some kind of hold on him. I mean, what else explains it?"

Gemma laughed softly. It wasn't a kind sound. "Maybe she's just good at asking."

I straightened. My hands stilled on the water bottles.

Both women glanced over and saw me. Their faces went blank. Iris cleared her throat. Gemma looked away.

They walked off quickly, their voices dropping to whispers I couldn't hear.

I stood there for a moment. Then I finished arranging the bottles. I smiled at the Deltas when they came over for their break. I handed out the protein bars. I made small talk.

And I said nothing.

That night, I added a new line to my notebook.

Pack members are noticing.

I circled it twice.

Then I closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer.

My wolf stirred faintly. Just once. A flicker of something I couldn't name.

Then she went quiet again.

Shay came by on a Tuesday afternoon.

I was in the kitchen making Wells's after-school snack when I heard the side door open. I didn't need to look. I knew the sound of her footsteps by now. Light. Deliberate. Like she was always performing even when no one was watching.

She walked through the kitchen without greeting me. Her perfume arrived first—that heavy floral scent that clung to everything. I kept my eyes on the apple slices I was arranging on a plate.

"Chandler's in a Beta meeting," I said quietly. "He'll be back around five."

"I know." She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. One of the expensive ones Chandler kept stocked for her. She twisted the cap off and took a sip, leaning against the counter. "I'm not in a rush."

I nodded. I drizzled honey over the apple slices and reached for the peanut butter.

Shay wandered toward the other counter. She picked up the framed photo sitting there—me and Wells from last summer, both of us smiling, his arms wrapped around my neck. She studied it for a long moment. Then she set it face-down on the counter.

I stilled. My hand tightened around the butter knife.

She didn't say anything. She just took another sip of water and looked out the window.

I set the knife down carefully. I walked over and righted the frame. The glass was cool under my fingers.

Shay glanced at me. "Oh, sorry. I was just tidying."

I met her eyes. She smiled faintly. It didn't reach anywhere near her face.

"Do you always cook this much?" she asked lightly. "The pack house smells like… I don't know. Cooking. All the time."

I held her gaze for another beat. Then I turned back to the stove without answering.

She stayed for another twenty minutes. She sat at the kitchen table scrolling through her phone, her nails tapping against the screen. She didn't speak again. Neither did I.

When she finally left, I stood at the sink and washed the dish towel I'd been holding. I scrubbed it harder than I needed to. The water ran cold over my hands.

My wolf stirred faintly. Not weak this time. Something else. Something low and coiled.

I hung the towel to dry and went to meet Wells at the bus stop.

That evening, I tucked Wells into bed.

He was quiet while I smoothed the blankets and adjusted his pillow. He usually talked at bedtime—about school, about his friends, about the new game he wanted to try. But tonight he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

"You okay, sweetheart?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer right away. Then he turned his head to look at me.

"Mom," he said slowly. "I don't like it when she comes over."

I paused. My hand stilled on the edge of the blanket. "Who?"

"Shay." He said her name carefully, like he was testing whether it was safe. "The house smells different when she's here. It smells sharp and wrong. Like when a storm is coming but it doesn't rain."

I looked at him. His eyes were wide and serious. He wasn't being dramatic. He was just telling me what he felt.

I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. My chest ached. "I understand," I said quietly.

"Does Dad know?" he asked.

I didn't know how to answer that. So I just kissed his forehead and told him to get some sleep.

He closed his eyes. But I could tell he wasn't sleeping. Not yet.

I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching him. My wolf stirred again. That low, coiled feeling. Not weak. Not silent.

A growl. Faint but unmistakable.

I closed the door softly and went downstairs.

Two weeks before the winter pack gathering, Chandler made an announcement at dinner.

Wells was picking at his chicken. I was halfway through my salad. Chandler sat at the head of the table, cutting his steak with precise, deliberate movements.

"I'm canceling the year-end Alpha bonus," he said. His tone was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like he was commenting on the weather. "Pack budget constraints. We need to tighten things up."

I set my fork down slowly. I looked at him.

He didn't look back. He just kept cutting his steak.

"Understood," I said quietly.

He nodded once. Then he changed the subject. Something about the Gamma's training schedule. Something about a supply shipment that was delayed.

I picked up my fork again. I took another bite of salad. I chewed slowly.

Wells's birthday was next month. I'd been quietly hoping to use part of that bonus to throw him a small party. Nothing extravagant. Just a few friends. Cake. Balloons. The kind of birthday a six-year-old should have.

I swallowed. The lettuce tasted like nothing.

That night, after Wells was asleep and Chandler had disappeared into his office, I sat at the kitchen table with my notebook.

I opened it to the page where I tracked expenses. I stared at the columns. The numbers. The careful, meticulous record of everything I'd tried to manage on nothing.

I didn't write anything.

I just sat there. The house was quiet. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the faint creak of the floorboards upstairs.

My wolf stirred again. That growl. Low and steady.

I closed the notebook. I put it back in the drawer.

Then I sat in the dark and waited for morning.