As dusk approached, rain began to fall over the pack territory.

It began as a thin silver mist beyond the tall hall windows, drifting softly across the courtyard stones. Gradually, the mist thickened into steady rain, until the stone paths gleamed dark beneath the downpour and the torches along the walls hissed faintly in the damp air.

Just as I was sorting the last of the ledgers on my desk, the moonstone at my wrist warmed, glowing faintly with Lucian’s summons.

I paused for a moment before answering.

The moment I opened the connection, his voice came through, low and impatient.

“You’re finished at the hall, aren’t you? Come to the healer’s den and bring us home.”

He spoke as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

As though the future Luna should go out into the rain to fetch him and Rosalie.

As though I were some omega servant to be summoned whenever he pleased.

As though the humiliation of yesterday had never happened at all.

I almost laughed.

“There is a feast tonight for the stewards,” I said evenly. “I do not know when it will end.”

There was a brief pause, as though he had not expected refusal.

“You can bring us back first and return afterward.”

My fingers tightened slightly around the moonstone.

“You can ask for a carriage.”

Then I cut the connection.

I did not care whether he was angry.

That evening, I remained at the hall and shared supper with several stewards I was on good terms with. The long table glowed warmly with firelight, and cups of spiced wine passed easily from hand to hand. Someone told a story about a patrol captain slipping into the river during drills, and laughter rippled down the table.

For the first time in days, I smiled without effort.

The warmth of the hall, the quiet camaraderie, and the absence of tension felt strangely unfamiliar—yet comforting.

By the time I returned home, the rain had softened to a gentle drizzle. Water still clung to the eaves, dripping steadily into the courtyard below.

It was already late.

When I stepped inside, Lucian was sitting on the sofa in the front room, one arm resting along the back, his posture stiff.

He turned the moment he heard the door.

“Why are you back so late?”

I did not answer. I set aside my cloak, changed my damp shoes, and washed my hands at the basin near the entrance. My limbs ached with weariness, and the faint scent of rain clung to my clothes.

All I wanted was to return to my room, bathe, and sleep.

But as I turned toward the corridor, Lucian rose and stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

“Selene,” he said, his voice hardening. “What is the meaning of this?”

I lifted my eyes to look at him.

There was a time when his face alone stirred warmth in me. A single glance from him used to be enough to brighten my entire day.

Now, I felt nothing.

“What do you mean?” I asked calmly.

His expression darkened. “You refused to come for us, and now you return home at this hour. What exactly are you trying to do?”

Before I could answer, a soft voice drifted from the guest room.

“Selene… have you been drinking? The scent is making me uncomfortable.”

I turned sharply.

Rosalie stood in the doorway, pale beneath the lamplight, one hand resting lightly against the frame as though she needed support.

For a heartbeat, I simply stared.

I had thought Lucian had settled her elsewhere after bringing her back from the healer’s den.

I had not expected him to bring her into the Alpha house.

Into my home.

Absurd did not begin to cover it.

I looked at Lucian calmly.

“Would you like me to stay at an inn tonight?” I asked. “Or would you prefer to take Rosalie there yourselves?”

“Selene!” Lucian’s voice rose immediately. “How can you think so filthily?”

I almost laughed.

“Do not raise your voice to cover your guilty conscience,” I said coldly. “Am I the filthy-minded one?”

Then I turned to Rosalie.

“You fainted yesterday because I sealed my mindlink? Do not pretend to be so fragile. I sealed him out as well. And if the scent of wine bothers you, then close your door and sleep.”

Rosalie’s eyes reddened instantly.

Tears gathered with practiced ease.

But instead of replying to me, she turned to Lucian, her voice trembling.

“Perhaps I should leave… I do not want to upset Selene or make the two of you quarrel because of me.”

“It’s late,” Lucian said immediately, his tone softening. “Where would you go in weather like this? It isn’t safe outside. Go rest.”

So he did know that.

He did know a woman might be unsafe outside at night.

A bitter smile tugged faintly at my lips.

Once, when I lived far from the hall, I had walked home alone many nights. Rain or moonlight, it made little difference. One evening, I asked him to come for me.

He had laughed lightly.

There are people everywhere in the territory. What is there to fear?

He had been right.

Even deep into the night, the territory was never truly empty.

What was there to fear?

Rosalie lingered another moment, watching him as though waiting for more reassurance. When none came, she lowered her head and slipped quietly back into the guest room.

I had no strength left to continue.

I brushed past Lucian, entered my room, and shut the door behind me.

A moment later, he knocked.

“Selene.”

Then again, sharper.

“Selene, open the door.”

I ignored him.

After a while, the knocking stopped. Through the door, I could hear the faint murmur of his voice, followed by Rosalie’s softer replies from the other room. Eventually, even those sounds faded.

The house had two bedchambers.

I took the master chamber.

Rosalie remained in the guest room.

And the Alpha of the pack, left between the two, spent the night on the sofa.

The next morning, he was already awake.

Or perhaps he had never slept at all.

He sat on the sofa in yesterday’s clothes, shoulders slightly hunched, dark shadows beneath his eyes. His hair was faintly disordered, and there was tension in the line of his jaw, as though he had spent the night stewing in irritation rather than resting.

The moment he saw me step out of my room, he straightened.

“You’re awake,” he said. “I reserved passage to Blightmoor. You once said you wanted to go there, didn’t you? I’ll accompany you. Ask for leave from the hall today.”

His tone was almost casual, as though nothing had happened the night before. As though bringing Rosalie into our home, arguing at the door, and leaving me to shut myself away had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“I cannot go,” I replied.

His brows tightened immediately.

“Are you still angry?” he asked, impatience creeping into his voice. “Selene, we’re already betrothed. We are not some young wolves in courtship. Must you be so childish?”

I said nothing.

I only looked at him quietly.

Then, very suddenly, a realization came with startling clarity.

When I argued, I was wrong.

When I stayed silent, I was wrong.

When I yielded, it was expected.

When I resisted, it was unreasonable.

No matter what I did, I was always the one expected to bend.

Perhaps the mistake had never been in my words at all.

Perhaps the mistake was loving him.

“Fine,” he exhaled at last, as though granting me a concession. “My fault, then. Is that enough?”

I shook my head faintly.

“You did nothing wrong,” I said calmly. “And I am not angry. Let us not speak of it anymore.”

I moved past him and went to the hearth to make coffee.

The kettle took time to warm, and the quiet stretched between us. I picked up my phone and opened Instagram, more out of habit than interest.

Rosalie had posted again.

The image showed her holding Lucian’s racing trophy against her cheek, her expression soft and gentle, as though she were cradling something precious. The lamplight behind her made the metal gleam faintly.

Below it, she had written:

[Sleeping peacefully beside Lucian’s most cherished possession.]

It was not the same account I had blocked yesterday.

This was a different one.

I opened the profile and saw we had never even exchanged a message. I could not remember when she had followed me—or when I had accepted.

For a moment, I only stared at the image.

Then I set the phone down.

There was no need to block her again.

I remembered too clearly the day I had moved that very trophy while cleaning. It had been sitting near the edge of the shelf, and I had only lifted it to wipe the dust beneath.

Lucian had walked in at that exact moment.

He had stopped cold.

Then his face darkened in a way I had never seen before.

“Who told you to touch that?” he had asked sharply.

I had been startled, apologizing at once, explaining that I was only cleaning. But he had taken the trophy from my hands with visible displeasure, setting it back in place himself as though I might damage it simply by holding it.

Back then, I had blamed myself.

I had thought I had crossed some boundary without realizing.

Now, it seemed the rule had never been that no one could touch it.

Only that I could not.

How ridiculous.

I used to tell myself that love required patience, understanding, and sacrifice. I had smoothed over every sharp edge until I could pretend it no longer hurt.

But love and indifference had never looked alike.

I had only been too blind to tell them apart.

“Selene,” Lucian said, watching me carefully, clearly displeased by my calm. “I know I shouldn’t have left that day. But it was a matter of life and death.”

Life and death.

The words sounded hollow now.

I picked up my phone again, opened Rosalie’s post, enlarged the image, and turned the screen toward him.

“Life and death is one thing,” I said quietly. “Then what is this?”

His expression shifted slightly.

“Lucian,” I continued softly, a faint trace of mockery threading through my voice, “do you remember the day you shouted at me for touching your first racing trophy?”

I held his gaze.

“Do you remember what you said to me back then?”