I needed to run.

The training academy had trails that cut through the forest behind the main compound. They were marked, maintained, safe. I'd been using them every morning since I arrived, pushing my body until my wolf stirred enough to feel real again.

Today I went farther than usual. The marked trail ended at a creek, but I kept going, following the water upstream until the trees thickened and the ground turned soft with moss. My wolf was awake now, pacing inside me, restless but not panicked. Just present.

That's when I saw it.

A cluster of pale blue flowers growing at the base of an old oak. Delicate petals, almost translucent in the filtered sunlight. I stopped running and crouched down, careful not to disturb the stems.

Lunar Bellflower. I'd only ever seen it in my field journal, pressed between pages from a specimen I'd found years ago. It was supposed to be rare this far south.

I pulled out my phone and took a photo. The angle wasn't great—too much shadow—but it captured the color, the shape. I opened the mind-link to Kara without thinking and attached the image.

*Found something,* I sent.

Then I realized the training link was still open. The one I shared with Maximus. I'd copied him by accident.

I stared at the screen. I could unsend it. Or I could just leave it. It was only a flower. It didn't mean anything.

I left it.

I stood up, brushed the dirt off my knees, and started the run back. My wolf settled as I moved, falling into the rhythm of my stride. The rejection pain was still there—it always was—but it felt distant today. Manageable.

By the time I reached my quarters, I'd almost forgotten about the photo.

Almost.

My phone buzzed as I stepped inside.

The message came through the training link. Maximus.

*Where did you find it?*

I blinked at the screen. Three words. Simple. Direct.

Another buzz.

*Did it make you happy?*

I sat down on the edge of my bed. My hands were steady, but something in my chest twisted. Not pain. Something else.

Another message.

*The soil looks rich. There might be more nearby. Worth checking tomorrow if you want company.*

I read the messages twice. Three times. He'd asked where I found it. Whether it made me happy. Whether I wanted company looking for more.

Corey used to leave me on read when I sent him things like this. Or he'd respond hours later with something flat and dismissive. *You're so childish, Had.* Once, after I'd sent him a photo of a butterfly I'd found on a training break, he'd told me I needed to focus on things that mattered.

I pressed my thumb into my opposite palm. The sting helped.

I didn't respond to Maximus. I set the phone down, face-up on the bed, and stared at it until the screen went dark.

I didn't block the link either.

---

Two days later, I stepped outside my quarters and stopped.

There was a garden.

Not a garden. The garden. Lunar Bellflower, planted in careful rows along the stone path leading to the training field. Dozens of them. Maybe more. The pale blue petals caught the morning light, delicate and perfect.

I stood there for a long time. My wolf stirred, curious, but I didn't move. I just looked at the flowers and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

No note. No announcement. Just flowers.

I knew who planted them.

My chest tightened. Not with pain this time. With something I didn't have a name for.

I pressed my thumb into my palm. Hard. The sting grounded me, pulled me back from whatever edge I was standing on.

I went back inside without seeking him out.

That night, I slept without the rejection pain waking me. For the first time since the banquet, I slept all the way through until morning.

---

Corey felt wrong.

His wolf had been restless since the banquet. Pacing. Whining. Pushing at the edges of his control in ways that made no sense. He was Alpha now—officially. The ceremony had gone perfectly. Amora was by his side. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

But his wolf wouldn't settle.

During a pack training session, his aura flickered. Just for a second. Not long enough to be obvious. But long enough that a few of his wolves glanced at each other, their expressions uncertain.

He dismissed them early and went to his office.

The silence was worse inside his own head. His wolf, usually a constant presence—vocal, commanding, eager—had gone quiet. Not gone. Just… absent. Like it was there but refusing to speak.

He tried to reach for it. Tried to coax it forward. Nothing.

It's temporary, he told himself. Stress from the ceremony. Adjustment to the new role. It would pass.

But deep down, in a place he didn't want to examine, he knew what it was.

Hadlee.

Her absence sat in him like a hollow. He hadn't realized how much space she took up—how much her quiet, unconditional presence had steadied him—until it was gone. Until he'd destroyed it himself.

He pushed the thought away. He had Amora. He had his pack. He had everything he was supposed to want.

His wolf stayed silent.

He told himself it didn't matter.

The Pack Run was always the same.

Every year, the three allied packs gathered at the clearing near the border between our territories. Silvercrest, Ironridge, and Crescentmoor. We'd line up by rank—Alphas at the front, Lunas beside them, Betas and Gammas following, then the Deltas, and finally the Omegas at the rear. The run itself was symbolic, a display of pack unity and strength. But everyone knew what it really was: a hierarchy made visible.

I always ran at the back of Silvercrest's formation. The "almost-Omega" position. The spot reserved for wolves who hadn't quite earned a place anywhere else.

This year felt different.

I stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the other wolves gather. The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. My wolf stirred inside me, restless in a way she hadn't been since the banquet. Not anxious. Awake.

Kara appeared at my side, her arms crossed. "You don't have to run with Silvercrest," she said quietly.

"Where else would I run?"

"Anywhere you want." She glanced toward the front of the formation, where the Alphas were gathering. "You're not what they think you are, Hadlee. You never were."

I didn't respond. My wolf pushed at the edges of my control, pacing, eager. I pressed my thumb into my opposite palm.

The Silvercrest wolves began lining up. I saw a few of them glance my way, their expressions carefully neutral. They expected me to take my usual place. The spot I'd occupied every year since my wolf awakened late.

I didn't move.

One of the Deltas—Marcus, a wolf I'd trained with for years—turned and gestured toward the rear of the formation. "Hadlee, come on. We're starting soon."

I stayed where I was. My feet felt rooted to the ground. My wolf surged forward, pressing against my ribs, and I felt the weight of her certainty settle into my chest.

"No," I said.

Marcus blinked. "What?"

"I'm not running at the back."

The clearing went quiet. Not completely—wolves were still talking, still moving—but the Silvercrest formation stilled. Eyes turned toward me. I felt the weight of their attention like a physical thing.

Marcus's expression shifted from confusion to something sharper. "Hadlee, this isn't the time—"

"I'm not running at the back," I repeated. My voice was steady. Calm. Final.

Before anyone could respond, I felt it.

Moonflower and frost.

The scent hit me first, then the presence. Massive. Undeniable. Every wolf in the clearing turned as Maximus stepped from the tree line. He moved with that same deliberate calm I'd come to recognize—unhurried, purposeful, impossible to ignore.

He didn't look at the Alphas. He didn't acknowledge the formations. He walked straight to me and stopped at my side.

Then he shifted.

The transformation was seamless, fluid, and the wolf that emerged made every other wolf in the clearing instinctively step back. He was enormous—easily twice the size of the largest Alpha present—with fur that was pure silver-black, shimmering faintly in the morning light. His aura rolled out like a wave, ancient and absolute, and I felt every wolf around us lower their eyes.

He stood beside me. Not ahead. Not behind. Alongside.

My wolf went still inside me. Not afraid. Reverent.

The field was silent now. Completely silent.

Maximus's wolf turned his head toward me. His eyes—silver-gray, bottomless—met mine. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The message was clear.

*Run with me.*

I shifted.

It happened faster than I expected. My wolf surged forward with a force I'd never felt before, and the transformation swept through me like fire. When I opened my eyes again, the world was sharper, brighter, more alive.

I looked down at my paws. Silver. Sleek. Luminous.

My wolf was beautiful.

I felt Maximus's presence beside me, steady and grounding, and when I looked up, his wolf pressed his muzzle gently to mine. The contact sent a shock through the mate bond—not painful, not overwhelming, just present. Real.

Through the bond, I heard his voice. Low. Certain. Unmistakable.

*You were never broken. Only waiting.*

My wolf responded before I could think. A low, rumbling sound that wasn't quite a growl—something softer, warmer. Acknowledgment.

The run began.

We moved together, side by side, cutting through the forest with a speed and grace I'd never experienced before. My wolf didn't struggle to keep up. She didn't falter. She ran like she'd been built for this—like every year of waiting, every moment of doubt, had been preparation for exactly this.

The other wolves fell away behind us. I heard their paws hitting the ground, their breathing, the rustle of leaves as they moved through the underbrush. But we were faster. Stronger.

Maximus's wolf stayed beside me the entire time. Never ahead. Never pulling away. Just there, his massive form a constant presence in my peripheral vision, his moonflower scent surrounding me like a shield.

We reached the far edge of the territory and circled back. The clearing came into view again, and as we slowed to a stop, I realized something.

Every wolf was watching.

Not just watching. Staring. The Alphas, the Lunas, the Betas and Gammas and Deltas. Even the Omegas at the back of their formations. All of them had their eyes on us.

On me.

I shifted back to human form, breathing hard, my skin still tingling from the run. Maximus shifted beside me, his hand coming to rest lightly on my shoulder—steadying, grounding.

No one spoke.

I met Marcus's eyes across the clearing. His expression was unreadable. Stunned, maybe. Or something close to it.

Kara appeared at my other side, her grin sharp and satisfied. "Told you," she murmured.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. My wolf was still humming inside me, alive and awake in a way she'd never been before.

Maximus's hand squeezed my shoulder once, gently, then fell away.

I looked at him. He met my gaze, steady and certain, and in his eyes I saw something I hadn't let myself believe until now.

He'd been waiting for this. For me. For the moment I stopped running from what I was and finally let myself be it.

My chest tightened. Not with pain. With something else entirely.

I pressed my thumb into my palm. The sting helped.

But this time, I didn't need it.

The news traveled fast.

By the time I returned to my quarters after the Pack Run, my phone was buzzing with messages. Most were from Silvercrest wolves I barely knew—congratulations on my shift, surprise at my wolf's power, questions about where I'd been training. I didn't answer any of them. I set the phone face-down on the desk and stared at the wall.

My wolf was still humming inside me. Awake. Alive. She'd been silent for so long that this new presence felt almost foreign. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was right.

I pressed my thumb into my opposite palm. The sting helped ground me, pull me back from the strange weightlessness I'd felt since the run ended.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

I opened it expecting Kara. Instead, I found Corey.

He stood in the hallway, hands in his pockets, his expression carefully casual. He looked the same—dark hair, sharp jawline, the easy confidence of someone used to being welcomed. But something was off. His aura felt thinner than I remembered. Muted.

"Hadlee," he said, his voice warm. Practiced. "I'm glad I caught you."

I didn't respond. My wolf stirred, wary.

He smiled. "I heard about your shift. That's—that's really great. You look good. Strong."

I stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, blocking his entry without making it obvious. "What do you want, Corey?"

His smile faltered slightly. "I thought we should talk. Clear the air. We've known each other our whole lives, Had. I don't want things to be weird between us."

Weird. He thought things were weird.

I felt something cold settle into my chest. My wolf pushed forward, her presence solid and certain.

"There's nothing to clear," I said quietly.

His expression shifted. The warmth drained, replaced by something sharper. "Look, I know the banquet was—intense. But you have to understand, I was doing what was best for the pack. For both our packs. Amora's Crescentmoor bloodline—"

"I don't care."

He blinked. "What?"

"I don't care about Amora's bloodline. I don't care about your reasons. I don't care about any of it."

His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Hadlee, be realistic. You shifted. That's good. But you're still—" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "You're still a late bloomer. You're still from Silvercrest. And this Lycan—Maximus—he's using you. You have to see that."

My wolf surged. I felt her power rise through me like fire, and for the first time in my life, I didn't try to suppress it.

"Using me," I repeated flatly.

"Yes." Corey's voice took on a patronizing edge. "He's a Lycan Prince. You think he actually wants a wolf who didn't shift until she was sixteen? A girl the pack called 'almost-Omega'? He's making a political statement, Hadlee. And you're falling for it because you're—" He stopped himself.

"Because I'm what?" My voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet.

"Naïve," he finished. "You always have been. You see the best in people even when it's not there. You spent ten years thinking I—" He cut himself off again, but the damage was done.

My eyes flashed gold. I felt the shift ripple through them, felt my wolf's presence blaze to the surface.

Corey stepped back.

"You're right about one thing," I said. My voice was steady. Calm. Final. "I was naïve. I spent ten years loving someone who never deserved it. But I'm not that girl anymore."

He opened his mouth to respond, but I kept talking.

"Our bond isn't rejected, Corey. It's erased. You're nothing to me. Not a friend. Not a memory. Nothing."

His face went pale. His wolf—what was left of it—whimpered audibly. I heard it through the thin thread of connection that still existed between us, the last remnant of what we'd once been.

I stepped back and closed the door.

I didn't look at him. I didn't wait to see his reaction. I just shut the door quietly and locked it.

Then I leaned against it, breathing hard, my hands shaking.

My wolf settled inside me. Satisfied.

I pressed my thumb into my palm. The sting helped.

But this time, I didn't need it as much.

---

The whispers started the next morning.

I felt them before I heard them—the shift in energy when I walked into the training hall, the way conversations stopped mid-sentence, the sidelong glances that followed me across the room.

I kept my head down and went to my usual spot. My wolf was restless, pacing, but I pushed her back. Not now.

Kara appeared at my side, her expression dark. "You heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Amora's spreading rumors. Through the inter-pack mind-link network. She's saying you used dark magic to seduce Maximus. That a 'wolfless Omega' couldn't attract a Lycan through natural means."

I stopped moving. My hands went still on the practice staff I'd been holding.

"She's saying what?"

Kara's jaw tightened. "It's all over the network. Every pack. Every rank. She's framing it like she's concerned—like she's warning people about dangerous manipulation."

I looked around the training hall. The glances made sense now. The whispers. The careful distance people were keeping.

My wolf snarled inside me, but I held her back. Barely.

"Hadlee." Kara's voice was sharp. "Don't retreat. Don't disappear. That's what she wants."

I didn't respond. I set the practice staff down carefully and walked out of the hall.

I went back to my quarters. I locked the door. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.

My phone buzzed. Messages from wolves I didn't know, asking if the rumors were true. Asking if I was okay. Asking if I needed help.

I turned the phone off.

I pressed my thumb into my palm. Hard. The sting helped.

But it didn't stop the cold certainty settling into my chest: Amora had found a new way to destroy me, and this time, she was doing it where everyone could watch.