The sun barely kissed the horizon when Claire stirred from her restless sleep. Her dreams had been plagued by the echoes of battle cries and Varrick's final breath. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucian's blood-soaked hands and the haunted look in his eyes. Sleep had become a stranger since the battle ended, and peace—real peace—felt like a far-off fantasy.
She sat up, brushing back strands of hair matted to her forehead. The tent they'd set up at the edge of the forest clearing was temporary, just enough to shield them from the night's chill. Around her, the camp stirred to life. The surviving members of the pack moved slowly, their injuries evident, their spirits heavy.
It wasn't over. Just like Lucian had warned.
Claire rose to her feet and stepped outside. The scent of blood still lingered in the morning air. Scars in the land—shredded trees, torn soil, and broken bodies—were a grim reminder of what they had survived.
She found Lucian standing alone by a fallen tree, staring off into the forest with a quiet intensity that made her chest tighten. He hadn't spoken much since the battle. He had barely eaten. Barely rested. Something in him had shifted, and she felt it like a ripple in the bond they shared.
"Lucian?" Her voice was soft, uncertain.
He turned slowly, his dark eyes clouded with exhaustion and something else—something distant. "You should be resting," he said, his voice gravelly.
"I could say the same for you." She walked up beside him, arms wrapped around herself as the morning chill kissed her skin. "You haven't slept."
"I can't," he said simply, his gaze returning to the trees. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Varrick. The things he said. The things he did."
Claire placed a hand on his arm. "You did what you had to do."
Lucian didn't respond at first. Then, quietly, he said, "He was once like a brother to me. Before all of this. Before he let power corrupt him."
Claire had heard pieces of that story—how Lucian and Varrick had once trained under the same Alpha, how they'd fought together, protected the pack together. But ambition had driven a wedge between them, and where Lucian chose loyalty, Varrick chose dominance.
"He chose his path," Claire said gently. "And you chose yours."
Lucian nodded, though the pain didn't ease from his features. "I just wonder how long before someone else rises to take his place. How many more times we'll have to fight just to survive."
Before Claire could answer, a commotion erupted near the center of camp. Raised voices, sharp and accusatory, pierced the quiet morning.
Lucian's head snapped up, his Alpha senses instantly alert. He strode toward the sound, Claire close behind.
They found two pack members—Ronan and Jace—standing chest to chest, snarling. Ronan's shoulder was bandaged, blood seeping through the cloth, while Jace's face bore fresh claw marks.
"You're a coward, Jace!" Ronan shouted, his voice raw with fury. "You left your position during the fight. You almost got Calla killed!"
Jace growled. "Don't you dare accuse me! I followed Lucian's orders. I did what I had to do!"
"That's a lie, and you know it!"
Lucian stepped between them, his presence alone enough to quiet the argument.
"Enough," he said firmly, his voice low but commanding. "We've lost too much already. We won't start turning on each other now."
"But he—" Ronan started.
Lucian raised a hand. "We'll settle this later. When everyone has calmed down. Go."
Both men hesitated, their bodies still tense, but they obeyed. Claire watched them stalk off in opposite directions, and for the first time, she saw just how fragile things were becoming.
Lucian turned to her. "It's starting," he murmured. "The fractures."
She didn't have to ask what he meant. Varrick's death might have ended one war, but the scars it left behind were already festering. The pack was hurting. And hurting people lashed out.
Later that afternoon, Claire found herself walking through the forest alone, seeking some kind of clarity. Her thoughts were as tangled as the roots beneath her feet. She couldn't stop thinking about Lucian—how tired he looked, how burdened. She couldn't stop thinking about the pack. The way trust had started to erode.
She found Calla by the stream, her leg in a splint, washing blood from a strip of cloth. The younger woman looked up as Claire approached.
"Hey," Claire said softly.
Calla offered a tired smile. "Hey. You checking to see if I'm still alive?"
"Something like that."
They sat in silence for a moment, the water bubbling quietly between them.
"He saved me, you know," Calla said after a while. "Lucian. Pulled me out when I was surrounded. I thought I was done for."
Claire nodded. "He'd do that for anyone in the pack."
Calla looked at her, her gaze serious. "That's what makes him a good Alpha. But I don't think everyone sees that right now. People are scared, Claire. They're wondering what's next. If another threat will rise. If Lucian can keep them safe."
Claire felt a chill creep up her spine. "He can. He will. But he needs us too. He needs the pack to hold together."
Calla gave a half-nod. "Then maybe we need to remind them who we are. And what we're fighting for."
Claire returned to camp with a new determination. The pack needed healing, yes—but more than that, they needed purpose. They needed something to believe in again. And Lucian needed to know he wasn't alone in carrying the weight.
That evening, as the camp gathered for a quiet meal, Claire stood by the fire and cleared her throat.
"Can I say something?"
Dozens of eyes turned toward her. Some curious. Some wary.
Claire took a breath. "I wasn't born into this pack. I didn't grow up in this world. I came into it afraid and unsure. But I chose to stay. I chose to fight with all of you. Because I believe in Lucian. I believe in this pack. And I believe we're stronger when we stand together, not when we tear each other apart."
There was a long silence. Then Calla stepped forward and nodded. "She's right."
One by one, others followed. Nods. Quiet murmurs of agreement. Something in the air shifted—like a wound beginning to close.
Lucian stood at the edge of the crowd, listening, his eyes glistening. When Claire's gaze met his, he gave her the smallest of smiles. A thank you.
That night, as the fire burned low and the camp settled into sleep, Lucian found Claire standing by the edge of the clearing.
"You did good," he said quietly.
She smiled. "So did you."
He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers. "This isn't over. But maybe… maybe we have a chance to rebuild. Together."
Claire leaned into him, their foreheads touching. "One step at a time."
And in that quiet, fragile moment, surrounded by the remnants of war and the first signs of healing, they found hope.
Together.