The scent of warm tea and worn linen filled the small kitchen, a quiet contrast to the harshness of the compound outside. The steam rose gently from a chipped clay cup, the same one Elara had used since she was twelve. Mava pressed it into her hands with a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Her touch, like always, was light — reverent, as if she feared Elara might one day disappear like mist.
"You're quiet this morning," Mava said, smoothing down the fray at Elara's sleeve.
Elara gave a soft shrug, wrapping her fingers around the cup. "Just… tired."
Ronen, seated at the small table with his scarred knuckles wrapped around a jar of salve, gave a low grunt. "Senior year. You should be excited."
Elara managed a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I am. It's just…"
"Prom?" Mava offered gently, knowing her too well.
"Yeah. That... and the ceremony," she said, barely above a whisper.
Mava and Ronen exchanged a glance. They didn't have to say anything — Elara knew what they were thinking. She hadn't heard from her wolf in two years. No dreams. No tugs. Nothing. And today marked the official start of the mating countdown, a tradition at Aetherbourne that usually sparked a frenzy of excitement among seniors.
Elara? She felt like someone standing outside a ballroom, unsure if her name was even on the guest list.
Ronen stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. His palm was calloused, but warm. "Wolf or no wolf, you're more than enough. You've always been."
Mava kissed the top of Elara's head. "Don't let Vanya get in your head today. Focus on the parts of the day that make you happy."
"I'll try," Elara murmured, and took one last sip of her tea.
—
Her room was small, tucked into the upper loft of the servants' quarters, but it was hers. String lights shaped like stars hung above her bed, and the few books she owned were stacked by the window where the light hit just right in the afternoons.
She slipped out of her cleaning clothes and changed into her usual academy outfit — a fitted black hoodie over a grey cropped tee, baggy cargo pants with stitched runes barely visible on the seams, and her beat-up gold-accented sneakers. Her curls were pulled into a half-up knot, and she layered on her usual jewellery — rings, cuffs, and of course, her mother's lunar pendant.
She paused, hand over the crescent moon charm.
Please... she whispered in her thoughts, not sure who she was begging. Let something happen this year. Anything.
Then she grabbed her bag and ran.