“All right, stop crying now. I’ll put salve on it.”

Kaiden’s voice softened as he brushed my hair back, his palm warm against my head in that familiar, almost careless affection. He rose to fetch the healer’s kit from the carved shelf by the wall.

“Honestly,” he muttered, half amused, “you’re already grown, Elyria Whitestone. Yet a little burn still makes you tear up. What would you do without me?”

Without looking at him, I stared at the raw mark on my wrist. The healer’s salve hadn’t even touched it yet—angry red against my skin like a reminder that pain, too, had chosen to stay.

Yes… I had been spoiled for seven winters under his care.

What would I do without him?

The thought should have comforted me.

It didn’t.

Quietly, beneath the weight of my wolf’s silence, I answered myself.

But Kaiden… I don’t want this anymore. Not this warmth that only exists when I am still useful to you.

That night, sleep refused me.

The moon hung pale outside my window, and I woke more than once, drenched in unease I could not name. My wolf paced beneath my skin, restless, unsettled by something I could not reach.

Just before dawn, the door of my chamber opened.

Kaiden.

He did not even wait for permission.

He pulled me up by the wrist. “Up,” he said lightly.

I groaned, trying to pull away. “It’s still night…”

He only chuckled, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to my lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My breath caught. Instinct sharpened.

I almost struck him.

Almost.

When he pulled back, he looked entirely pleased with himself.

“Awake now, sleeping fawn?”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, turning away in irritation. “It’s the rest day. Let me sleep.”

Kaiden sighed, but there was no real patience in it—only habit. “You had fever through the night. The healer said I should take you for a check with the clan physician.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re coming.”

So I went.

—

The stone corridors of the healer’s hall were cold, carved with old runes that hummed faintly under the touch of passing wolves. The air smelled of herbs, iron, and crushed moonleaf.

And then—

I felt her before I saw her.

Mirella.

My steps slowed without permission.

She stood near the bend of the corridor, pale and delicate, one foot barely touching the ground as she tried to steady herself.

Before I could even process it—

Kaiden moved.

The hand that had held mine moments ago released me without hesitation.

He crossed the distance in three strides and caught her before she fell.

“Mirella,” he said, voice tight, immediate. “What happened?”

She looked up at him, then—softly, deliberately—past him.

At me.

“It’s only a sprain,” she said gently, smiling as if nothing in the world had ever changed. “What a coincidence. You two came together?”

Kaiden hesitated.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then he turned slightly, as though remembering I still existed behind him.

“Ah,” he said, “my… little sister had a fever. I brought her in.”

Little sister.

The words landed cleanly, like a blade placed carefully between ribs.

I did not flinch.

I had learned not to.

Mirella nodded as if satisfied by the answer. “She’s staying with you, isn’t she? Then of course you must take care of her properly.”

She shifted, attempting to move again.

Kaiden didn’t even think.

He lifted her into his arms.

My wolf stirred once—low, warning.

“Let me carry you,” he said to Mirella, already walking. Then, over his shoulder, as if it cost him nothing at all:

“Elyria, wait here.”

And just like that—

he was gone.

No mind-link check.

No second glance.

No hesitation.

Only Mirella.

Only her scent.

Only her pain.

I leaned against the cold stone wall, letting the silence settle where my voice should have been.

Strangely… my strength left with him.

As if something in me had been quietly unfastened all along.

—

When I was finally examined, the healer’s expression darkened.

“Forty-one point three,” he muttered. “Moon’s mercy… this is no ordinary fever.”

The burn on my wrist had worsened. Infection had spread beneath the skin, fed by stress, by exhaustion, by something no salve could soothe.

“You need rest and infusion,” he said firmly. “Now.”

I nodded absently.

My hand moved on instinct toward the bone charm at my waist—to call him through mind-link, as I always had.

Kaiden.

The thought came easily.

Too easily.

I stopped.

My fingers hovered in the air, then slowly fell back to my side.

Habit.

That was all it was.

A dangerous, quiet habit of reaching for someone who no longer turned toward me when I called.

I let out a small, broken breath that almost passed for a laugh.

Then I stood.

Alone.

And walked toward the infusion chamber without looking back.

After finishing the healer’s infusion, my strength did not return as I expected. Instead, a heavy dizziness clung to me like damp fog. I took a few steps out of the stone chamber and nearly lost my balance.

Kaiden still hadn’t returned.

No mind-link. No sending stone echo. Nothing.

For a moment, I hesitated—then raised my hand anyway.

A habit older than reason.

The connection opened at once.

“Kaiden,” I called softly through the link, steadying myself against the corridor wall. “I’m still at the healer’s hall.”

There was a pause.

Then his voice came, slightly distant. “Elyria… I’m sorry. I meant to return after I sent Mirella back to her quarters, but her stomach turned uneasy so I—”

A second voice drifted through the link before he could finish.

A servant, clear and unaware: “Young master, your meal is ready. Please enjoy before it cools.”

Silence followed.

Then a faint rustle—as if his hand had covered the bond too late.

But I had already heard.

So that was it.

A meal.

Warm food.

Not a broken promise. Not even urgency.

Just… another interruption.

“It’s fine,” I said before he could explain further. My voice was lighter than I felt. “I can return on my own.”

“I’ll come back,” he said quickly. “Elyria, go home first. I’ll explain later.”

Explain.

Always that word.

As if explanations could mend what the heart already understood.

I ended the link before he could say more.

**

The carriage ride back to the manor was silent.

That night, Kaiden did not return.

Outside my window, the pack’s festival fires crackled in the distance, and someone lit firecrackers near the riverbank. The sound echoed faintly through the valley like distant thunder celebrating something I was no longer part of.

I could not sleep.

So I took out my bone stylus and began sketching talisman jewelry for a client—silver-threaded designs meant to ward off ill fortune. My hands moved out of instinct, not feeling.

While working, my tablet slate—left idle beside me—glowed faintly.

A message flickered in the corner.

A post from Mirella’s circle.

A painted image of the night sky bursting with firelight above the packlands. Beneath it, words flowed like poetry carved too carefully:

“After half a lifetime away, I return to you. And here, the sky itself blooms to welcome me home.”

My gaze lingered.

Only then did I realize—

the chat stone synced to the tablet still bore Kaiden’s seal.

His private channel.

Still open.

Still logged in.

I stared at it for a long moment.

Then, without reading further, I closed it.

Not anger.

Not curiosity.

Just… a quiet absence of desire to see what I already understood.

**

The next morning, I went to the artisan hall as usual.

The forewoman held my resignation scroll in her hands, her expression softening as she read it.

“You’re truly leaving?” she asked.

“I’m returning home,” I said. “There will be a marriage arranged.”

She let out a long breath, half proud, half reluctant. “We’re losing one of our finest craftsmen.”

I bowed my head slightly. “Thank you for everything.”

When the news spread through the hall, my colleagues insisted on a farewell gathering. I did not refuse.

We chose a familiar tavern near the old stone bridge—the same place I had once visited with Kaiden during quieter seasons when the world still felt simple.

Now it only felt distant.

Halfway through the meal, I stepped out for air.

The corridor outside was lined with hanging lanterns carved from bone and glass. I had barely taken a few steps when I stopped.

Mirella stood there.

As if she had been waiting.

Her smile was gentle, practiced. “I didn’t think I’d meet you here.”

I inclined my head politely, already turning to leave.

But she continued anyway.

“This place… Kaiden brought me here first,” she said lightly. “Back when we were still in the academy. We used to come often.”

I paused only because I had no reason not to hear her out.

She stepped closer, tilting her head. “I noticed something before.”

My fingers tightened slightly at my side.

“When he peels shrimp for you,” she said, almost conversationally, “he always rinses them in spring water first. Does that mean you also avoid spice?”

The word also struck softly—but cleanly.

I frowned, faint confusion threading through me.

Spice.

I did eat spice. I liked it. Always had.

But Kaiden…

Every time he prepared food for me, he would rinse it. Carefully. Almost ritualistically. Saying it was better for my throat. For my health.

I had never questioned it.

I had thought it was care.

Now the memory shifted—just slightly—and fell into place somewhere else entirely.

Because I suddenly remembered:

Mirella used to hate spice.

And Kaiden had always known that first.

Mirella’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, slow and deliberate, like a wolf circling something it already knew was cornered.

Then she tilted her head slightly, the moonlight catching in her hair like spun silver.

“I’ve been meaning to ask since we first met,” she said softly, almost kindly. “Don’t you think… we look alike, little sister?”

The words struck deeper than any claw.

Little sister.

Not mate. Not rival. Not even stranger.

Just an echo standing in the wrong place.

Heat rushed to my face—shame, disbelief, something raw and unnameable tightening in my chest. Around us, the corridor felt suddenly too narrow, the air too sharp with her scent, too confident.

She was smiling.

I couldn’t bear it.

So I turned and left before my wolf could do something foolish.

**

Back inside the private hall, the laughter of my colleagues should have soothed me.

It did not erase what I had just heard—but it dulled it, like warm wine poured over ice. For a moment, I let myself sit among them, pretending I was still whole.

Pretending I was still untouched by this night.

Then the door opened.

The sound cut through the room like a snapped branch.

Kaiden stood there.

For a heartbeat, he did not move. His gaze swept over the room, over the gathered pack members, before landing on me.

Something in his expression shifted.

Not relief.

Not warmth.

Anger.

Contained, sharp, and already restrained too tightly.

He clenched his jaw. “Elyria.”

My name, spoken like command.

Before I could respond, he turned and stepped back into the corridor.

“Come out.”

I hesitated only a moment before following.

The moment I crossed the threshold—

Pain.

His hand struck my face with force enough to turn my head.

The sound echoed against stone.

Silence followed.

It was the first time Kaiden Fenwick had ever raised his hand to me.

I stared at him, stunned, as my cheek burned hot beneath his palm’s memory.

But he did not look away.

No regret softened his eyes. Only fury.

“Why did you push Mirella?” His voice was low, controlled, but trembling at the edges. “She twisted her ankle, Elyria. I told you I would explain everything when I returned, and you still chose to act like that?”

My breath caught.

Push?

“What are you talking about?” I whispered.

Down the corridor, Mirella appeared.

Slowly.

Carefully.

As if the world itself might break her if she moved too fast.

Her clothing was slightly disheveled, faint stains on her sleeve, her steps unsteady—yet she fell just before reaching us.

A perfect fall.

Kaiden moved instantly.

He pushed past me without hesitation, crossing the distance in seconds, catching her before she hit the ground.

As if I had never been there at all.

“I told you I would bring her to you to apologize,” he said, voice gentler now as he held her. “Why did you come out here alone?”

Mirella shook her head softly in his arms. “It’s nothing serious. She probably didn’t mean it.”

Her eyes lifted briefly—just briefly—to mine.

Then away again.

“I’m fine,” she added. “Don’t blame her too much.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “If Alpha Garrick hears that you struck his sister… it may strain the bond between you.”

At the mention of my brother’s name, Kaiden’s expression flickered.

Only for a heartbeat.

Then it hardened again.

“She is Garrick’s sister,” he said firmly, “and he entrusted her to me. If she is in the wrong, it is my duty to correct her.”

Correct me.

The word landed like a stone dropped into still water.

I let out a small laugh before I could stop myself.

It sounded wrong even to my own ears.

“Correct me?” I repeated softly. “What exactly did I do wrong, Kaiden?”

He turned back to me.

His eyes were sharp now.

“You knew there were no witnesses in that corridor,” he said coldly. “So you thought you could act without consequence.”

For a moment, I almost couldn’t believe him.

Not because it hurt—

But because it was so effortless.

So decided.

“If there were no witnesses,” I asked slowly, “then how are you so certain it was me?”

Mirella stepped forward slightly, still leaning into his support.

“Why would I lie?” she said gently, almost wounded. “You think I would accuse you without reason?”

Kaiden didn’t look at her.

He only looked at me.

“And I have known Mirella since we were children,” he said. “She does not lie.”

A pause.

Then—

“And you do?”

Something inside me went still.

After seven winters of shared hunts, shared winters, shared silence beneath the moon—

That was all I had become.

A question mark beside her certainty.

My voice came out quieter than I intended.

“So that’s it?”

No answer.

Only his silence.

And in that silence, everything I had once called ours quietly ceased to exist.

I turned away.

“Elyria!” his voice sharpened behind me. “Stop.”

I did not.

My cheek still burned where his hand had struck me. My chest felt strangely hollow, as if something had been taken without me noticing when it left.

At the front hall, I did not return to the private room.

I did not explain.

I simply settled the silver marks for the meal, left word for my companions through the attendant, and sent a final message carved into a small rune slip:

Something has come up. Continue without me. It is on me.

Then I walked out into the night air alone.