The fire had burned low in the hearth when Riven finally spoke.
We were alone in the old library, the scent of parchment and pine clinging to the air between us. Outside, the pack slept—or pretended to. But here, in this quiet space where the world couldn't reach us, Riven let his armor crack.
"Her name was Lysara."
His voice was hollow, as if speaking the name drained the life from him. I didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe, as he traced the spine of an old book with trembling fingers.
"She wasn't just my mate. She was… light. Laughter. The only thing that ever made the cold inside me bearable." A bitter smile twisted his lips. "And I got her killed."
"It was winter," Riven murmured, his eyes fixed on the flames. "The Bloodmoon Pack was young then just Kael, Jax, and me. We were reckless. Arrogant. Thought we could take on the Shadow Clan alone."
His hands fisted. "We were wrong."
The story spilled from him like an open wound.
