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..."

Before the image fully formed, Caleb's voice cut through the air, cold enough to freeze blood.

"It was my coming-of-age ceremony."

He stood at the edge of the altar, looking down at me.

Silver flames crawled across my skin, tearing through my wolf spirit. Pain ripped through me again and again, but I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to scream.

"At my ceremony," Caleb said again, "you ruined Lucia's dress."

The memory sharpened into focus.

Caleb's coming-of-age.

He had just turned 18 and had officially become a warrior. My father was presenting him with his ceremonial sword.

Lucia wore a pale silver gown trimmed with shimmering shell pieces that caught the light like moon glow. My father had hired the best tailor in town to make it. It took three months of work.

And there I was in the corner, wearing an old gray dress.

It had been given to me by a fallen warrior's widow who felt sorry for me.

"Look at her," someone whispered. "Like a stray that wandered inside."

"Ms. Lucia is even bringing her juice."

"What a waste of her kindness."

In the memory, Lucia walked through the crowd carrying two glasses of berry juice.

"Here you go."

She offered one to me.

I didn't take it.

"I'm not thirsty. Thanks."

"Today's important for Caleb," she said gently. "We should at least celebrate him."

After a moment, I accepted the glass.

"Thank you."

Lucia smiled and raised her own drink. "To our future warrior."

She tilted her head back and took a sip.

I lifted mine as well, but I barely let it touch my lips.

Then suddenly, Lucia stumbled.

The glass slipped from her hand. Red berry juice splashed across her chest.

Her silver dress instantly stained dark red.

"Ah!" Lucia cried out.

The next second, she staggered backward into a long table, knocking over a candle stand.

Flames spread across the tablecloth. Chaos erupted instantly.

In the middle of it all, my glass was still in my hand, untouched.

But no one noticed.

Every eye was focused on Lucia.

"My dress!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Dad gave me this dress..."

My father hurried over.

"What happened?"

"Dad!"

Lucia threw herself into his arms, then looked at me through tear-filled eyes.

"Lyla, why did you push me?"

I froze. "I didn't!"

Lucia sniffed weakly. "If you hated seeing me wear this dress, if you hated Dad giving me something so nice, I would've taken it off and given it to you. Why push me?"

"I didn't push you."

The entire pack turned to look at me. I felt lost under their stares.

My father looked at me, his expression darkening.

"Lyla."

"I really didn't." I gripped the glass so tightly that my knuckles turned white. "Ask the pack members nearby. They must've—"

"I saw it."

Caleb's voice cut through everything.

He stepped forward from the crowd, his face tight with anger. His proudest day had just been ruined.

Caleb stared straight at me. "I saw you push Lucia."

The words hit like a physical blow.

"What?"

"I was standing on the other side of the pillar," Caleb said, pointing toward the hall. "I had a clear view."

"You're lying." My voice shook. "You weren't there. You were accepting congratulations from the elders. I saw you!"

"So now you're saying Caleb framed you, too?" My father's voice rose sharply.

"He's lying!" I practically shouted. "Why would I push her? I didn't even want to stand near her!"

Lucia sobbed softly. "Lyla, if you wanted something, I would've given it to you. I would give you everything. But you shouldn't have ruined Caleb's ceremony..."

She looked as if she could barely stand. My father held her tightly in his arms.