The apartment was still steeped in shadow when I arrived, its silence stretched so thin it felt brittle, like it might crack under the weight of one more memory. No lights had been left on. No warmth lingered in the walls. Only the staleness of undisturbed air and the faint, sour scent of something decaying in the kitchen sink—like even the home had started to rot from within in my absence.

I didn’t bother flipping the switch.

I dropped my bag just inside the doorway, the echo of it hitting the floor louder than it should’ve been, and kicked the door shut behind me with more force than necessary, as if slamming it might keep the past from crawling in behind me. The only sound was the quiet thud of my soaked hoodie dripping onto the tile.

I didn’t change out of the hospital gown—not because I forgot, but because I didn’t care. The thin, papery fabric scratched beneath my hoodie, clung to my bandages, and chilled my skin. Still, I collapsed onto the couch, face-first, arms dangling like dead weight, my body folding like something boneless and broken. The fabric burned where it pressed against fresh stitches, but exhaustion was stronger than pain.

Sleep came, but it was not merciful.

Not when your dreams know the truth before your mouth ever dares to speak it aloud.

It was hours before I stirred again, groggy and sore and disoriented, blinking into the thick dark that clung to the corners of the apartment like a predator watching from just out of reach. I shifted, every muscle in my body aching from something deeper than the wounds. That was when I heard it.

Clattering.

A sharp, rhythmic noise from the kitchen—metal against metal, the soft hum of the stove, the scrape of movement where no one should’ve been.

I moved slowly, my breath shallow, my feet bare against the cold floor, each step slow and deliberate as if I were stalking something or being stalked myself. I thought maybe it was a thief. Maybe a ghost. Maybe the echo of some half-formed nightmare still bleeding into the waking world.

But when I turned the corner, I saw them.

Alpha Damon. Beta Malric.

Standing side by side, just like they always did when pretending to be something they weren’t.

Damon was at the stove, flipping a slab of meat in a cast iron pan, the scent of searing flesh filling the room—a scent that made something in my chest twist, something ancient and hungry that didn’t understand betrayal, only instinct. Malric stood at the counter with a knife in hand, slicing vegetables with too much precision, like each cut was a ritual, a preparation for something neither of them dared name.

The table was already set.

Plates. Cutlery. Water glasses. Cloth napkins folded like offerings. A strange echo of a family that never truly existed.

They both looked up when I entered, their gazes cautious, calculating.

Alpha Damon spoke first, his voice carefully casual. “We thought you were at your aunt’s. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

Malric, always quieter, always following his lead, glanced at the knife in his hand and then down to the floor before meeting my eyes. “We didn’t know you were in the hospital,” he murmured, the words hollow in the air between us.

I said nothing.

Instead, I walked forward and sat at the table, the chair legs creaking beneath me. I didn’t touch the food. I just sat there, letting the heat from the cooked meat curl around me like a lie I refused to swallow.

Alpha Damon frowned, reaching to turn off the burner. “You have to eat,” he said, as if that made everything better. “You just got discharged.”

I looked at him, long and cold and clear. “You didn’t check on me for a week.”

The silence that followed was so dense it felt like the air itself had frozen. The room seemed to shrink inward, thick with the scent of cooked meat, scorched trust, and unspoken apologies that would never come. No one moved. No one breathed.

Then the doorbell rang.

A sharp, deliberate chime.

Damon and Malric both turned, as if pulled by the same invisible string, and without speaking, Malric moved to open it.

And of course—there she was.

Nina Frost.

Fragile. Pale. Porcelain in pastel silk.

Her wrists were wrapped in fresh white bandages, barely visible beneath the lacy sleeves of her blouse. Her lips were tinted pink, but her eyes were ringed with the kind of sorrow that performed well in candlelight. She looked like a doll that had been shattered once, glued back together, and now pretended not to remember the fall.

The moment they saw her, they moved.

Alpha Damon rushed to her like she was made of glass and flame, scooping her into his arms without hesitation. He laid her gently onto the couch like she might vanish if she hit the cushions too hard.

“You shouldn’t be out,” he murmured, brushing her hair back, his voice full of concern that had never once been directed at me. “What if something happened to you?”

“I was alone,” she whispered, looking up at him with eyes wide as moons. “I kept thinking… what if I never woke up again? What if no one was there when I did? I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

He melted instantly.

Malric stood behind him like a sentinel, like the Beta trailing after his Alpha’s chosen Luna. “We’ll take you back to the hospital later,” he said gently. “After we check on Lyra.”

I didn’t speak.

I picked up my fork.

The steak was dry—burned at the edges, still pink in the middle, and tasted like dust and memory. I chewed it anyway, like it was penance, like it was a lie I needed to swallow just to stay upright.

He made steak.

My least favorite.

He didn’t even remember.

I let out a laugh—sharp and bitter, quiet enough to pass for a cough—and washed it down with water that tasted like steel. Across the table, Damon and Malric were already helping her into a chair, already encouraging her to eat, already tending to her every movement like she was royalty wrapped in gauze.

She ate daintily. Delicately. Every now and then, her eyes flicked to mine, and when they did, she smiled faintly.

A smile that said you lost.

That was when my phone buzzed.

I glanced down and saw the name: Mom.

She had sent over a dozen images of wedding dresses—lace and satin and beadwork that looked like frost spun into cloth. Each gown was more extravagant than the last. I paused on the third one: off-shoulder, structured bodice, silk cascading like a river of ivory.

I tapped the call button before I could stop myself.

She answered on the third ring, her voice warm with the kind of excitement that didn’t know pain. “Lyra! Did you get the dresses? I think the third one’s best. Classic, timeless. But if your fiancé prefers white—”

“I love the third,” I interrupted quickly, my voice light, almost too light. “It’s perfect. I can already see it. I’m really… excited.”

There was a pause, brief, but enough to suggest she heard something strange in my tone. “Oh, sweetheart, I knew you’d love it. You’ve always had an eye for the classics.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I think it’s going to be beautiful. I’m really looking forward to the wedding.”

Across the room, something shifted.

Something subtle. Instinctual.

I didn’t look up—but I felt it.

“How much longer do you need over there?” she asked. “Just a week. I’ll finish up and be home.” “Good. Everything here’s almost ready.”

I hung up and set the phone down on the table, and that’s when I felt it—that silence that isn’t empty, but heavy. Like breath being held.

The energy twisted.

Alpha Damon stepped forward first, slow, cautious, voice low and clipped. “Wedding?”

Beta Malric followed, his jaw tense, brows furrowed like storm clouds gathering behind his eyes. “What wedding?”

And even Nina—Nina, with her trembling fork and her angel’s mouth, froze with it suspended midair.

The room smelled different now. Not just of steak and rain.

But of jealousy. Of a challenge. Of blood waiting to be spilled.

The pack was shifting.

They just didn’t know it yet.

I rose slowly from the armchair, the frayed hem of my hoodie catching on the curve of my wrist as I smoothed it down, not because it was wrinkled, but because I needed the ritual—needed to feel in control of something, anything. My eyes found Alpha Damon’s across the room. The corners of my mouth lifted in a smile—not friendly, not forgiving. It was precise. Polished. Razor-sharp beneath the silk.

“Oh… The wedding…” I said, my voice calm, rich with purpose. “It’s the one you’re not invited to.”

At first, Alpha Damon let out a short, startled laugh, like he thought he’d misheard me, like the very idea of my banishing him from anything that used to be ours was some kind of elaborate joke.

Beta Malric followed with that low, patronizing chuckle he always used when he thought I was being dramatic, when he assumed I was biting off more than I could chew. “Nice one,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. “You almost had us.”

I said nothing. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. I simply stood there, watching as their amusement echoed through the room like something infected.

Nina, still draped over my couch like a porcelain martyr from a tragic poem, tilted her head with delicate cruelty. Her smile, sly and sugary, twisted like the scent of spoiled fruit. “Oh, please. No one’s actually trying to steal Lyra,” she purred. “Have you seen how she dresses? Baggy hoodies, shapeless jeans—like she’s afraid of her own body. Like she’s hiding something under all that fabric.”

Alpha Damon snorted, amused by her pettiness, and nudged Malric with a smug grin. “She really does dress like she’s in hiding,” he said, without a hint of shame. “You should take notes from Nina, Lyra.”

They laughed again, faithless, soulless sounds that rang like insults carved into bone.

But I didn’t crumble. I didn’t lower my eyes like the way I used to before.

This time, I didn’t pity myself.

Instead, I smiled again. Just barely. Cold and unreadable.

“You’re right,” I murmured. “It’s a joke. It’s my cousin’s wedding.”

The laughter stopped.

“I meant it,” I continued, eyes unwavering. “You’re all invited… to that.”

Damon scratched his neck and avoided my gaze for the first time, suddenly aware of how close the air had gotten—how thin it felt.

“We’ll be busy,” he said, feigning regret. “Nina’s birthday trip. Switzerland. Doctors said she’s finally well enough to travel.”

Malric jumped to echo him. “It’s supposed to be good for her recovery. Clean mountain air. Wolf-friendly altitudes.”

Alpha Damon turned to look at Nina with something almost reverent in his expression. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she leaned into him like the Luna she believed she already was.

She looked at me again, her gaze glinting with victory.

I smiled.

But I didn’t say another word.

I walked away. Slowly. Deliberately. My footsteps carried the weight of every betrayal that had built this moment. I ascended the stairs without urgency, as though I were already beyond the reach of their small, stupid lies.

When I reached the top floor, I stepped into the room. It still smelled faintly of sage and something metallic—faint echoes of everything that happened here.

I closed the door without locking it, because I knew none of them would dare follow me now.

I laid down on the bed and pulled the old blanket over my legs, staring up at the ceiling, listening to their laughter drifting up from below, curling through the air like smoke from a fire I no longer feared.

Damon’s voice. Nina’s cough. Malric’s fussing. Their false harmony settled into the walls like mildew.

And still, I didn’t cry.

Instead, I closed my eyes and let the weight of exhaustion press into me like teeth sinking into flesh. I was almost asleep when the door creaked open.

I turned my face toward the wall, not bothering to look.

The scent hit first, warm milk laced with lavender. And underneath it, her.

“I brought you something,” Nina Frost said, her voice soft and syrupy. Too sweet. Sweet like poison.

I didn’t move.

She crossed the room, her footsteps silent on the rug, and hovered beside the bed like a shadow pretending to be human. “Why did you come back?” she asked after a moment, her tone more curious than cruel. “Was it some misguided attempt to reclaim what’s already mine?”

I rolled over slowly, pushing myself upright, letting the blanket fall from my shoulder. “Why are you still in my house?” I countered, my voice flat as iron.

Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving. Alpha Damon and Beta Malric are taking me to the healer later. I just thought I’d say goodbye before I go.”

I didn’t thank her.

She approached the nightstand and set the glass down, her fingers lingering on it just a little too long.

“Is it painful?” she asked suddenly. “Watching your mate care for me like I’m the one he was meant to protect all along?”

Still, I gave her nothing.

“I mean, why were you in the hospital anyway? Trying to get attention? Did it hurt when no one came?”

The rage beneath my ribs flared. My wolf shifted under my skin, clawing to the surface. I gritted my teeth and lay back down.

“I don’t care,” I whispered, and this time, it wasn’t a lie.

Silence followed, thick and tense. I thought she might leave.

But then came the sound—shattering glass.

I bolted upright.

Milk and blood stained the rug, and Nina was on the floor, sobbing, curled into herself like a broken doll. Her wrist bled freely, and the air filled with the metallic scent of fresh blood, enough to trigger the wolf in anyone nearby.

They came running.

Alpha Damon burst through the door like a soldier on instinct, eyes already wide with panic. He didn’t even glance at me. He dropped to his knees and swept her into his arms like she was his moon and stars and every forgotten promise in between.

“Nina!” he breathed, over and over, like the word alone could stop the bleeding.

Malric hovered behind them, his jaw tight, face pale.

I sat still on the edge of the bed, watching it all unfold.

Watching them choose her. Again.

She sobbed harder, milking the moment, her body cradled against his chest. Her eyes flicked up to mine, glassy, victorious.

And I smiled.

But not kindly.

The wolf inside me was no longer sleeping.

She was waiting.

Damon didn’t even glance at me. His entire focus locked on Nina, who was still curled on the floor like a fallen porcelain idol.

“Nina…”

He whispered her name again, over and over, like repetition might mend broken bones or twisted truths. His voice was low, reverent, and it made something raw coil in my chest.

Beta Malric’s eyes found mine with fire and accusation behind them. His aura surged, the air rippling with Beta dominance. “What the fuck did you do to her, you unstable freak?”

I said nothing. Not yet. My silence stretched like tension before a full moon shift.

Nina trembled dramatically in Damon’s arms, clutching his shirt as though the world might rip her away, her voice quivering, small and soaked in faux innocence. “I only wanted to offer her some warm milk,” she said, her wolf peeking just beneath her tone, playing the fragile card too well. “Just like she gave me cake at my birthday…” Her eyes shimmered wet and manipulative, a tactic I’d seen her perfect for years.

Alpha Damon’s arms tightened protectively around her as he lifted his gaze to me, blazing now with quiet, dangerous fury. “You pushed her?” His voice was a low growl, threaded with Alpha command and disbelief.

I didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t justify myself.

I just watched them.

I kept my heartbeat steady and my face unreadable. I was too tired to plead and too smart to think it would matter.

Malric took a step toward me, the pack’s Beta now in full enforcer mode, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. “Lay another hand on her,” he snarled, “and I swear to the Ancients, I’ll have the Council drag you out in chains. Luna bond or not.”

I tilted my head, unbothered. “She dropped the glass herself,” I said quietly, my voice low and even, like I was discussing the weather. “I never touched her.”

But the truth didn’t matter.

Not to Damon, the blinded Alpha of the Blackwell Pack.

He was too busy ordering the first aid kit, checking her wrist with trembling fingers, brushing her hair from her face with the kind of tenderness that used to be mine. The kind of touch that came with memories… and now betrayal.

Nina sobbed again, burying her face against his chest, her voice muffled but dripping venom. “It’s okay, Alpha,” she whispered sweetly. “Maybe she didn’t mean to… I just wanted to be kind.”

Malric looked at me like I was some feral creature in a cornered den. “You’re jealous. And clearly unfit,” he bit out. “You shouldn’t be living under this roof. Not until you get your damn emotions under control.”

This is my house!

I wanted to scream, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg.

There was no point in doing all that.

Instead, I stared at the rug, milk spilled across it like a ritual gone wrong—before I turned and walked out of my own room.

Every step down the stairs felt like descending deeper into the belly of a house that no longer belonged to me. The walls seemed to shrink around me, thick with judgment and silence. Behind me, I could still hear Alpha Damon murmuring softly to Nina, promising her everything would be alright, assuring her he’d fly her to the Swiss mountain packs the moment she was stable. Then the front door opened… and closed.

They rushed her back to the healer’s.

I didn’t chase.

I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water with hands that trembled more than I cared to admit. The cup nearly tipped, but I caught it, my palms pressed against the cool glass as I sat at the table in a house that no longer felt like home. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was cavernous. Haunted.

**

It was well past midnight when the silence turned strange, too perfect, too staged. Like the entire house was holding its breath to avoid me.

I sat on my bed, my knees drawn up, back against the headboard, the pain in my ribs flaring like a memory carved in flesh. I was scrolling through old photos, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t, letting my thumb hover over familiar faces I barely recognized anymore. Damon’s arm was around my shoulders. Malric’s crooked smile. Nina’s harmless smile was tucked neatly in the background, her wolf always lurking.

I smirked bitterly and felt the burn rise in my side again. I didn’t wince. I simply started deleting. One memory. Then another. Then another.

My wolf stirred restlessly inside me.

I remembered the way Alpha Damon used to look at me, like I was the tether keeping him from unraveling completely. “Lyra,” he had whispered once, his forehead resting against mine, breath warm from a long run beneath the stars. “You’re my compass. If I ever lose you… I’ll lose myself.”

Back then, I had laughed, young and foolish. “You’re overdramatic.”

“No,” he had said, his voice too honest. “You’re the reason I stay sane.”

Even Malric had once cared. He’d show up uninvited at my quarters with food I didn’t ask for and a protective scowl. “You skipped your meal again,” he’d mutter, setting it down like he hadn’t tracked me through the woods to deliver it.

“I had patrols,” I’d argue.

“I don’t care. Eat. Or I’ll chew it for you like a mother wolf.”

We weren’t perfect. But we were something. A chaos stitched into routine. Quiet evenings of burnt venison, old war documentaries, and bickering over whether to adopt a direhound or a shadowcat first.

Then came Nina.

She returned like a ghost, wide-eyed, with her pride shattered and her future in pieces. I was the idiot who opened the door.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” she had whispered as I held her, her tears soaking into my shirt.

“You’ll figure it out,” I told her.

And I meant it.

I covered her rent. Paid for her therapist. Left her meals when I got home late from training. Checked in. Gave her space. Let her stay.

Because that’s what family does.

And she repaid me by inching closer to Damon every night. Laughing at his jokes, grazing his arm like it was hers to touch.

“You’re so funny, Alpha Damon,” she giggled during a pack feast, leaning in like she’d been born to fit at his side.

I asked her for the salt. She blinked, all innocence. “Sorry,” she said with a sugary smile. “I was just laughing.”

But I knew.

I knew what she was doing.

So I asked him.

“Are you sleeping with her?” I asked, my voice soft but sharp.

He blinked at me like I’d insulted the moon goddess herself. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A fair one,” I replied, arms crossed. “She’s not a pack member. She’s a parasite.”

He scoffed. “She’s your friend. Your responsibility. Why are you jealous of your own damn friend?”

I didn’t answer.

Because somewhere deep down, I already knew the truth.

And so did he.