The walk to Floraison de Minuit felt longer than any path Lysandra had ever taken.
The sun hung low—
bleeding orange across Luneville's rooftops.
Shadows stretched like long fingers on the stone streets.
Every window they passed reflected the same thing:
A girl who had left as a secret
and returned as something the town did not understand.
Evander stayed close on her right—
silent, watchful, every muscle taut with the desire to shield her from the world.
His thumb brushed her knuckles again and again,
as if rewriting a promise into her skin:
I'm here.
I'm not leaving.
You're safe.
The Shadow Heir remained at her left—
cold aura wrapped around him like armor.
He didn't move too close.
Didn't make a sound.
But his presence cut through the air sharper than any blade.
He wasn't protecting her.
He was controlling his realm's instincts.
The town smelled his aura
and trembled without knowing why.
Lysandra felt pulled between the two—
warmth on her right,
shadow on her left—
and her wolf walked the line between them,
struggling to keep its claws tucked in.
By the time they reached the shop's cobblestone corner,
Lysandra's heartbeat felt like a thunderstorm under her ribs.
She stopped.
Evander slowed instantly.
"Lys…?"
Her gaze lifted to her shop sign.
Floraison de Minuit
The letters curled in silver across a dark wooden board,
paint peeling at the edges,
moonflowers etched like the night they always bloomed.
Her shop was the only place in Luneville that looked awake even before sunset—
glowing faintly from the inside with enchanted warmth.
It felt like home.
It felt like who she was
before she learned who she really was.
Lysandra inhaled.
"I don't know if I can walk in," she whispered.
Evander frowned.
"Why?"
The words spilled from her quietly.
"Because the person who walked into that shop every night…
was innocent."
Evander's gaze softened painfully.
"She just didn't know her truth yet."
The Heir stepped closer, voice low.
"Innocence isn't the same as weakness, little moon."
Her breath shivered.
Her wolf pressed against her ribs—
as if wanting to curl inside the shop,
inside a world that made sense.
Evander reached for the door handle.
"Let's go inside."
But Lysandra grabbed his wrist.
"No— wait."
Both bonds flared sharply.
Evander turned to her.
The Heir watched her intensely.
Lysandra swallowed hard.
"If I step inside,
the world won't go back to what it was."
Silence bloomed around them
like a flower opening in slow motion.
Evander whispered:
"It already changed."
The Heir added:
"And you changed with it."
Lysandra closed her eyes.
Her wolf lifted its head—
We go.
We face our world.
We do not hide.
She opened her eyes.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Let's go in."
Evander pushed the door open.
And Floraison de Minuit breathed her name.
Inside the Shop
The faint silver glow lit up every corner.
The moonblossoms rustled as though in greeting.
The night-borne petals shimmered as her aura brushed them.
A soft warmth brushed her skin—
the shop recognizing its mistress.
Lysandra felt something break open in her chest.
Home.
But not the same home as before.
Evander walked in behind her—
immediately relaxing, shoulders loosening.
The scent of night flowers soothed him too.
The Heir stepped in last—
and the shadows inside the shop reacted.
They recoiled.
Weakening.
Shrinking.
Lysandra's eyes widened.
"What… was that?"
The Heir blinked once.
"Your shop rejects darkness," he said quietly.
"Moonlight reigns here.
My realm isn't welcome."
Her heart twisted.
"Shadow— I didn't—"
"I know," he murmured.
He stepped back, keeping to the dimmer corner,
letting the moonflowers have their space.
Evander crouched beside a pot of glowing blossoms, touching a petal.
"Lys… the flowers react to you more than usual."
She stepped beside him.
The moonblossom petals stretched toward her hands like living things.
Soft.
Luminous.
Alive.
Her wolf hummed.
They sense the change.
They sense our power.
Lysandra whispered:
"They're… stronger."
"Because you are," the Heir said from the corner.
Evander frowned slightly.
"Is that… good or bad?"
The Heir smiled faintly.
"Yes."
Lysandra rolled her eyes.
Her heartbeat steadied—
the shop calming her.
Evander watched her with quiet awe.
"You look… like yourself again."
Her cheeks warmed.
The Heir's voice cut through gently.
"And yet not the same."
She looked between them.
Evander's warmth.
Shadow's pull.
Between them—
her.
Lysandra touched her chest.
"What happens next?" she whispered.
"The first trial continues," Evander said softly, standing.
"You have to live normally. Here.
Where people see you.
Where your wolf stays calm."
The Heir added:
"And if your wolf lashes out at anyone…
the mortal bond fractures."
Lysandra shivered.
Evander walked closer.
"We won't let that happen."
She looked up at him.
"We?"
He smiled.
"You and me."
A shadow flickered behind her.
"And me," the Heir murmured.
Lysandra inhaled shakily.
"I don't know how to balance this."
Evander reached out—
and before he could touch her cheek,
she felt a sharp pulse in the air.
The Heir's aura snapped tight,
like a shadow-being baring fangs.
Evander lowered his hand slowly.
"Seriously?" he muttered.
The Heir shrugged.
"She's overstimulated.
The more you touch her, the more her wolf wakes."
"That's not your decision," Evander bit back.
"I'm not protecting my comfort, mortal," the Heir said calmly.
"I'm protecting her control."
Lysandra groaned.
"Stop calling him mortal."
Evander smirked.
"Yeah, I'm not just mortal anymore, apparently."
The Heir scowled subtly.
"Congratulations on being slightly less fragile."
Lysandra threw a moonblossom at both of them.
The flower landed on Evander's shoulder and glowed,
then turned to shadow smoke near the Heir.
She muttered,
"…unbelievable."
Her wolf actually snorted.
Both men fell quiet.
Then Evander spoke gently:
"Do you want me to stay?"
Her heart clenched.
She did.
Desperately.
But the Heir spoke before she could answer.
"She needs space to breathe.
And control."
Evander frowned.
"I'm not leaving her."
Lysandra touched his arm.
"Just for tonight," she whispered.
"I need to understand my wolf.
My power.
This place."
Evander hesitated—
something wounded flickering through his eyes.
But he nodded slowly.
"Okay."
He squeezed her hand.
"I'll be right outside.
You call, I come running."
Her chest warmed.
He stepped toward the door—
when the Heir spoke low and sharp:
"I stay."
Evander spun.
"Why does he stay?"
The Heir met Lysandra's eyes.
"Because she needs someone with the strength to pull her back if she loses control in the night.
And that is not you."
Evander's jaw clenched.
Lysandra stepped between them.
"Stop.
Both of you."
Her wolf agreed—
but also didn't object to Shadow staying.
Evander inhaled.
"Lysandra… do you want him here?"
She looked away.
Her wolf answered quietly:
Yes.
His presence keeps our power steady.
But her voice said softly,
"For tonight… yes."
Evander's heart cracked a little at the edges.
She saw it.
But he still kissed her forehead gently.
"Okay," he whispered.
"I trust you."
He stepped outside,
closing the door softly behind him.
Leaving Lysandra alone with the Shadow Heir.
The Night Begins
Lysandra exhaled shakily.
The Heir leaned against the counter—
no blades drawn,
no taunts ready on his tongue.
Just watching her.
His voice was quiet.
"Your wolf listens to me."
She swallowed.
"It also listens to Evander."
The Heir smirked slightly.
"No.
Your heart listens to him."
He stepped closer—slow, deliberate.
"Your wolf listens to me."
Her breath caught.
"Why?" she whispered.
He stopped right in front of her.
Close.
Too close.
Not touching.
But his aura wrapped around her like night wind.
"Because it knows what you are," he murmured.
"And what you were born for."
Lysandra's wolf leaned forward—
dangerously curious.
Her voice wavered.
"And what is that?"
His eyes glowed faint violet.
"To stand between realms," he whispered.
"To hold two worlds in your hands.
To carry two hearts in your own."
Her breath trembled.
"And you?" she whispered.
"Where do you stand in that?"
His voice dropped to the softest, most dangerous truth:
"Wherever you need me to."
Her wolf purred.
Her heart stuttered.
And Lysandra realized—
the night was just beginning.
And so was her trial.