The air was thick with smoke, the scent of burning wood and blood mixing into something nauseating. Screams echoed through the night. The packhouse, the heart of Shadowfang, was crumbling. Fire licked up its wooden beams, embers raining down like dying stars. Shadows moved in the chaos, figures clashing, growls and snarls tearing through the air. Ronan could only watch.
He stood frozen, chest heaving, his hands trembling at his sides. He tried to shift, tried to call on his wolf, but the emptiness inside him was deafening. There was nothing. No response. He was powerless.
A body crashed near his feet a warrior he recognized. Dead. His stomach churned, his breath coming in short gasps. Around him, Shadowfang warriors were falling. The enemy was stronger, faster. This wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter.
"Ronan!" Someone grabbed his arm. Mira. Her dark eyes wide, her face streaked with soot. "We have to go!"
Go? Where? His home was being destroyed. His people were dying. He was supposed to be out there, fighting alongside them. But he couldn't shift. Couldn't do anything.
A deafening crash split the air as part of the packhouse collapsed, sending splinters and flame into the night. Ronan flinched, instinctively shielding his face. The packhouse where he had grown up, where his father ruled, where he and Rook had spent countless nights planning for their future was falling. Burning.
And he was useless.
Mira tugged at him, her grip firm despite her shaking fingers. "We need to leave!"
But he barely heard her. His gaze was locked on a familiar figure standing near the blaze, untouched by the chaos around her. Celeste.
She stood still, poised, almost elegant in the destruction. Her eyes caught his through the firelight, and she smiled. A slow, knowing curve of her lips. As if she had been waiting for this.
A cold wave of realization hit him. She knew. She had always known this was coming.
His pulse pounded in his ears, his body snapping back to life with a jolt. He took a step forward, intending to confront her, demand answers but another blast of fire and debris forced him back. Mira yanked him toward the treeline, half-dragging him as he stumbled.
And then
he saw him.
Rook.
Standing just beyond the battlefield, just far enough that the bloodshed hadn't touched him. His face was unreadable. He wasn't fighting. He wasn't running. He was just... there. Watching.
Ronan's breath caught in his throat.
Rook had always been by his side. Always. Through training, through fights, through late-night conversations about the future. He was the one person Ronan could always rely on.
So why wasn't he doing anything?
Ronan wanted to call out to him, but his voice wouldn't come. He wanted to run toward him, demand an answer, but his feet wouldn't move.
Because deep down, in the pit of his stomach, something ugly and cold coiled up inside him.
Something close to fear.
Not from the fire. Not from the enemy.
But from the terrifying realization that maybe just maybe Rook wasn't on his side anymore.
Ronan took a step forward, but before he could move closer, another explosion sent debris flying. Mira pulled him back, dragging him toward the trees. And then
She stopped.
Her gaze locked onto something in the distance. Without hesitation, she changed course, half-carrying Ronan toward the figure standing just beyond the battlefield.
Rook.
He was still. His face unreadable. The fires cast long shadows over him, making him seem almost distant from everything happening around them.
Mira shoved Ronan toward him. "Take him," she ordered, breathless. "Protect him. I need to find the others."
Rook's expression didn't change. He tilted his head slightly, studying Ronan. Then, he gave a slow, almost amused exhale. "When have I ever not protected him?"
Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down Mira's spine. But she had no time to argue. She turned and ran back into the burning wreckage.
Ronan stood there, swaying, still too dazed to react. The firelight flickered in his vision, turning everything into a blur. His mind was barely catching up to what had just happened.
His chest tightened. The fear that had been creeping up his spine finally reached his throat. His lips parted, and with effort, he managed to whisper a single word.
"Why?"
Rook exhaled softly, almost like he was in pain. Then, he stepped closer, pressing a hand against the back of Ronan's head, fingers threading through his hair.
"I'm sorry, Princess."
Pain exploded at the base of his skull, and the world went black.