Dawn came too fast.

The guards dragged me out of the dungeon.

The square was already packed with onlookers.

My father stood before the altar, wearing formal Alpha robes.

Caleb stood to the right in full armor.

Lucia was in a coma, too badly injured to attend.

She played the perfect victim.

Two warriors gripped my shoulders and hauled me forward.

They forced me down in front of the pack. My knees slammed against the stone with a dull crack.

"Lyla," my father said, "you stand accused of attempting to murder your fellow pack member, Lucia, and conspiring with outside enemies. Before the trial begins, you may give a final statement."

I lifted my head and met his eyes. "Dad, last night at the cliff—"

"Get to the point," Russ interrupted. "Did you betray the pack?"

"No."

I looked at my father, pleading silently for him to believe me just once.

"I didn't."

Boos rose from the crowd.

"Then why is Lucia injured?"

Caleb's golden eyes locked onto mine, sharp enough to cut through bone.

"Lucia was afraid the prophecy would come true. She thought I'd take everything from her."

His stare made my throat tighten. My voice came out dry.

"She framed me. All of this was her doing."

"What prophecy are you talking about?" my father asked.

I hesitated. Would they believe me?

"Nothing to say?" Caleb's voice turned cold. "Because there is no prophecy. Right?"

"There is!" I raised my voice. "She told me herself last night. She said a witch prophesied my bloodline would awaken. She said—"

"Where's the proof?" my father cut in.

Right. Proof.

No one else had been there. Only her and me.

"I'll find evidence," I said.

My father closed his eyes and drew a slow breath.

"Do you accept the trial?"

"What if I don't?"

I clung to the last fragile hope that he might still give me another chance.

"Refusal is an admission of guilt," my father said, staring straight at me. "And those who confess are executed immediately."

Wind swept through the square. Torches crackled in the cold air.

What difference did it make?

Something inside me finally went still. I stopped hoping.

"I accept."

At least the trial might leave behind the truth, even if it came too late.

My father nodded, his voice formal again.

"The Moonfire Trial requires direct contact with flame. Before the trial begins, the accused must remove their garments and stand exposed before the pack as a sign of repentance."

I froze.

"What?"

My fingers clenched around the rough leather cloak, trembling.

"I'm your daughter," I said, staring at him. "You really want me standing in front of everyone like this?"

"It is the procedure," he replied flatly. "If you're innocent, you won't fear showing your scars."

"This is humiliation!"

The words tore out of me, tears burning in my eyes.

"Then you shouldn't have done what you're accused of," Caleb said.

He gave a small gesture. Two female warriors stepped forward.

The moment they tore away my cloak, the crowd gasped.

"Moon Goddess..."

"Those scars..."

"The enemy must've done that."

"She said she escaped on her own. Maybe they sent her back as a spy."

My father stared at the long scar across my back. His lips moved slightly.

"The enemy did this, too?"

"No. After I escaped, a snow leopard attacked me. Someone stitched the wound with bone needles. Seventeen stitches, no medicine, no herbs to stop the bleeding. I thought I was going to die, but I woke up."

I looked up at him, tears finally falling.

"Because I kept thinking that once I crossed seven more mountains, I'd see the pack's signal fires. I just had to make it home. My father was waiting for me."

For a moment, something in my father's eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to speak.

Russ's voice cut through the silence.

"Alpha! The enemy's mark!"

Russ pointed at me, fury twisting his face. "She carries a Northlands slave brand!"

It sat on my left shoulder. A flame-shaped scar burned deep into my flesh.

"She was a slave?"

"Why didn't the enemy kill her?"

"Traitor! She's a traitor! I knew it!"

"I'm not!" I struggled, chains rattling loudly.

My father's hand trembled slightly.

His voice rose, crushing the noise. "Silence."

The square fell quiet.

But the stares hurt more than the shouting ever had. They were sharp and cold, like needles against my skin.

Caleb stepped closer again.

"Wait!" I shouted hoarsely. "I still have something to say! Mom—"

"Enough!" my father barked. "You don't deserve to mention her."

I froze where I stood.

My father stepped down from the altar, his voice shaking.

"She spent her entire life protecting this pack. And you? You come back only to betray us!"

"I didn't—"

"Take her up!"

He shoved me aside.

I staggered backward and slammed into a stone pillar.

Caleb approached, holding a heavy iron collar lined with silver spikes.

"Caleb," I said, looking into his golden eyes, "you said you'd protect me."

His movements paused.

"Do you remember?" My voice came out soft. "When we were six, we were playing behind the ridge. You fell into a trap pit and broke your leg. I carried you all the way back. You told me anyone who bullied me would have to answer to you."

His throat moved as he swallowed.

"I didn't betray the pack. Will you believe me just once?"

He tightened his grip on the chain and glanced toward my father.

My father avoided his gaze.

"Proceed," he ordered.

The strength drained from my body all at once. Despair settled over me like cold water.

The collar snapped shut around my neck. Silver spikes pierced my skin.

Pain flashed white across my vision, almost forcing a scream out of me.

I swallowed it down.

My father climbed back onto the altar and accepted a torch from the priest.

The flame burned an unnatural silver white. It was a fire meant to scorch a wolf spirit itself.

He stopped in front of me.

The torch hovered about a foot from my face. Heat rolled over my skin.

"Lyla," he said one last time, "do you confess?"

I looked at the werewolf I called "Dad".

"My only crime," I said quietly, "was believing I still had a home here."

For a brief second, his face twisted in the firelight.

Then he lowered the torch and lit the altar.

Silver flames came alive, crawling toward me like living things.

The instant the fire touched my skin, a scream tore out of me.

The world blurred. Memories ripped free from my soul.

Light gathered above the altar, and the flames grew higher.

My thoughts began slipping away.

At the same time, my father was gripping his staff tightly and Caleb was staring upward, unmoving.

The trial had begun.

The sky shifted.

The first fragment pulled from my memories ignited above the altar.

Everyone lifted their heads to watch.

I looked up, too.

The memory formed into a scene.

A small stone room appeared. I recognized it immediately. It was the storage room I had been given after returning home.

A crack ran through the wall, leaking water every time it rained.

"This was your third day back." My father's voice rang out. "Do you remember what happened that night?"

I kneeled against the stone floor, my throat tight. "I remember."

"Good," he said. "Because Lucia cried all night."

The image moved.

The door opened, and Lucia stepped inside.

"Lyla," she said softly. "Are you asleep?"

The version of me in the memory sat up from the stone bed.

I looked thinner then. My gaze was wary, like a frightened animal.

"Do you need something?"

"I brought you something."

She pulled out a small cloth pouch and held it toward me. "Chamomile powder. Mix it with hot water. It'll help you sleep. You just got back. I figured you might be having trouble resting."

I didn't take it.

"I'm good."

Her hand lingered in the air.

"Lyla... do you hate me?"

I stayed silent.

"I know my presence makes things hard for you," she said, her voice catching. "Sometimes I feel like… I took your place."

In the memory, my expression was complicated, caught between doubt and hesitation.

"I don't hate you," I had said. "I'm just not used to any of this."

"Then please take this, okay?"

She offered the pouch again, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

I hesitated for a long time before finally reaching out.

The moment my fingers touched the pouch, Lucia suddenly let go.

It dropped to the floor. Gray powder scattered across the stone.

Something else fell out with it.

A silver stone the size of a robin's egg rolled across the floor, glowing softly under the moonlight.

A gasp rippled through the crowd watching the memory.

"That's a moonstone!" someone shouted. "Ms. Lucia's mother's keepsake!"

In the memory, Lucia's expression changed instantly.

"My moonstone..." Her voice trembled. "Why is it... Lyla, when did you take it?"

I froze. "I didn't."

"But it fell out of your bag." She stepped back, eyes filling with hurt.

I bent down to pick it up. "You handed me the pouch. How would I know—"

"Don't touch it!" she screamed.

The door opened at that exact moment.

My father stood in the doorway with Caleb behind him.

"What's going on?" my father asked, frowning.

Lucia turned and rushed into his arms, tears spilling instantly.

"Dad, my moonstone disappeared. I searched all day, and then... it showed up with Lyla..."

Her shoulders shook as she cried, voice breaking.

"I just wanted to bring her something to help her sleep. I don't understand how this happened..."

My father looked at me.

The stone was still in my hand.

"Lyla, explain yourself."

"The pouch came from her," I said calmly. "She let go while I was taking it. The stone fell out. I don't know why it was inside."

Caleb spoke, "Why would Lucia frame you using something her mother left her?"

"I don't know," I said. "But it came from the pouch she handed me."

My father stared at me for a long time.

Then he said, "Give the stone back to Lucia."

I handed it over.

Lucia clutched the stone tightly, tears still falling. Her voice trembled as she spoke, "Lyla, this is the only thing my mother left me. If you wanted it, you could've just asked..."

"What are you even crying for?" My voice began to shake, anger slipping through. "Why put on this act? Why?"

She cried harder, clinging to my father as if she'd been wronged beyond repair.

"Dad..."

She didn't need to say anything else. A few tears were enough to tilt everything in her favor.

My father closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

He said to me after opening them again, "Apologize."

I went still. "What?"

"Apologize to Lucia. Then return to your room. You're grounded for three days."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I raised my voice. "She set me up!"

The memory froze there.

The projection in the sky slowly faded away.

My father lowered his gaze from the fading image and looked at me.

"This is the innocence you claim?"

"That was a setup," I said, my voice dry.

Russ spoke again. "Why would Lucia risk her mother's keepsake just to frame someone who poses no threat to her?"

"Because she was afraid of the prophecy—"

"Enough with the prophecy!" my father snapped. "Do you have anything else to say?"

I clenched my jaw.

Caleb spoke next, "If you were innocent, why didn't you fight harder back then?"

I froze.

Why?

Because in that moment, watching my father hold a crying Lucia, I understood something clearly.

Nothing I said would matter.

The answer had been obvious.

"Can't answer?" my father said, disappointment heavy in his voice. "Because you knew you were wrong even then?"

"No."

I lifted my head and met his eyes.

"Because I already knew you wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said."

His expression stiffened for a brief second.

"Alpha," Russ said, "this memory doesn't reveal who her accomplices are."

"I know," my father replied. "Continue."

The instant he finished speaking, the collar around my neck tightened violently.

Pain struck like lightning, tearing through my consciousness.

The sky flared again.

Before the image even fully formed, I heard my own trembling voice echoing out.

"I really didn't touch that dress..."