Chapter Five
1501 Words
The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment neither of us spoke.
The curtains in my room were half drawn, letting in thin ribbons of evening light. Dust floated lazily in the air. I kept my back to him at first, pretending to rearrange the books on my shelf, pretending my eyes weren’t swollen from crying.
I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t know how to exist.
If he had something to tell me, he should just say it. I didn’t have the strength to perform today. I was already barely holding myself together.
I felt his gaze on me—steady, observant, patient.
“Seraphina.”
His voice was softer than usual.
I turned slowly, schooling my features into something calm. Something controlled. Something that did not resemble the girl who had just sobbed into her pillow.
He studied my face carefully.
“Are you alright?”
There it was.
The question I hated most.
I forced a small smile—the kind I had perfected over the years. Gentle. Reassuring. Convincing.
“Of course,” I said lightly. “I’m okay.”
The lie rolled off my tongue with disturbing ease.
He didn’t believe me.
I could see it in the faint tightening of his jaw, the way his brows dipped ever so slightly. But he didn’t call me out on it. He never did.
And I was grateful for that.
He didn’t have to believe me.
As long as he didn’t question my judgment.
As long as he didn’t look too closely.
He stepped further into the room, closing the distance between us. The Beta of the pack—my father’s right hand, the pack’s strongest warrior—yet somehow the only person who ever spoke to me like I was still worth something.
“You’ve been distant lately,” he said carefully.
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
Surviving, I almost replied.
Instead, I shrugged. “Helping where I can.”
His eyes flickered. He knew how little that meant these days. No official duties. No council seat. No political engagements. No mate bond to secure alliances.
Just a wolfless daughter taking up space.
“You used to clear your head by training,” he said after a pause.
The words hit something buried deep in my chest.
Training.
The field.
The clash of blades. The burn in my muscles. The rush of adrenaline. The brief, fleeting illusion that I was still strong.
Before everything changed.
I swallowed.
“I remember,” I said quietly.
“You were relentless,” he continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Even as a child. You refused to leave the field until you landed a proper hit on me.”
A faint image surfaced in my mind—sunlight over the training grounds, my braids whipping around my shoulders as I lunged forward. I had been small, but fierce. My wolf had shimmered at the edge of my senses even then—bright, powerful, impossible to ignore.
“You cried the first time I disarmed you,” he added.
“I was eight,” I muttered.
“You bit my hand.”
Despite everything, a small breath of laughter escaped me.
He chuckled softly. “You said no one would ever defeat you.”
The memory stung now.
Back then, I believed it.
Back then, my power had felt limitless.
I had outrun boys older than me. My senses had been sharper. My instincts were stronger. The elders whispered that I would surpass even my father one day.
And then—
It began to fade.
Slowly at first.
My reflexes dulled. My strength decreased. My wolf… retreated.
By sixteen, the whispers had changed.
By eighteen, they had turned into ridicule.
By twenty… There was nothing left.
No wolf.
No shift.
No howl beneath the moon.
Just silence where something sacred should have lived.
“You haven’t trained in weeks,” he said gently.
“There’s no point.”
“There’s always a point.”
I looked away.
“You don’t have to say it,” I murmured. “I know what they think.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
“I don’t care what they think,” he said instead.
“But it matters.”
“To them.”
“Yes.”
A quiet heaviness settled between us.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“You are still one of the strongest fighters I’ve ever trained.”
“That was before.”
“Strength isn’t only in the wolf.”
I met his eyes then.
For a second just a second I wanted to tell him everything.
About the certificate hidden in my sleeve earlier.
About the cliff.
About the Blood Moon.
About the fact that in one month, none of this would matter.
But the words stayed trapped in my throat.
If he knew… he would try to stop me.
And I couldn’t afford that.
“You used to clear your head by training,” he repeated quietly. “If you want… I could spar with you later. At the field.”
I hesitated.
Training now would only highlight what I’d lost. I tried faster. Moved slower. Without a wolf feeding my stamina, my body gave out too easily.
But maybe that was the point.
Maybe I needed to feel something other than this hollow ache.
“I miss sparring,” I admitted.
A flicker of relief crossed his features.
“Then meet me there at sunset.”
“You’re busy,” I said. “The council—”
“I can spare an hour.”
For me.
The words weren’t spoken, but they hung there anyway.
I nodded slowly. “Alright.”
He studied me once more, as if trying to memorize something.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” he said.
I smiled again—softer this time, almost genuine.
“I’m not.”
Another lie.
He didn’t push.
That was what made him different.
He inclined his head respectfully. “Sunset.”
Then he turned and walked toward the door.
Just before leaving, he paused.
“Seraphina.”
“Yes?”
“You haven’t changed as much as you think.”
The door closed behind him.
And the silence returned.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space he had occupied.
Then my shoulders sagged.
The smile slipped.
The mask cracked.
I walked slowly to my bed and sat down.
The mattress dipped beneath my weight.
The room felt too large. Too quiet.
“No wolf,” I whispered.
The words felt heavier out loud.
I pressed a hand to my chest, where the bond should have lived. Where a presence should have stirred. Where a second heartbeat should have answered mine.
Nothing.
“No mate.”
I felt a slight ache in my chest.
Cassian’s face flashed in my mind—his promises when we were younger, the way he used to tuck stray strands of hair behind my ear, the way he once swore no one would ever come between us.
I let out a bitter breath.
“No family.”
That one hurt the most.
I lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.
When had it shifted?
When had warmth turned into obligation?
When did love turn into disappointment?
Lyra had stepped into my place so seamlessly that it was almost impressive.
The perfect daughter, The strong wolf, The political asset.
The smiling, obedient future Luna.
And I had become… An embarrassment.
A reminder of failure, a stain they wished they could erase.
I let out a small, humorless laugh.
In one month, they wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.
In one month, I would solve all their problems.
The pack would be safe.
The dark energy at the cliff would be appeased.
Father’s leadership would remain unquestioned.
Lyra’s engagement would proceed without scandal.
Cassian would marry the Alpha’s daughter.
Everything would be perfect.
I closed my eyes, It shouldn’t hurt this much.
I had made my choice, I had accepted it.
So why did my chest still feel like it was caving in?
I curled slightly on my side, I used to think I was chosen.
Now I knew I was replaceable.
A knock didn’t come.
No one called my name.
No one checked if I had eaten.
The house carried on without me.
A faint breeze slipped through the open window, brushing against my skin.
A slow clap echoed through the room.
My entire body stiffened.
I pushed myself upright slowly.
She stood in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame.
Lyra.
Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her posture relaxed. Her eyes are bright with something sharp and poisonous.
She smiled.
Not sweetly.
Predatorily.
Her gaze swept over me taking in my posture, my swollen eyes, the vulnerability I hadn’t hidden quickly enough.
Her lips curved.
“Well…” she said softly.
Her eyes glittered with cruel amusement.
“Isn’t this tragic?”
- Writer
