Night fell fast.
Kael stood alone at the edge of the ridge where the forest met the cliffs. The moon rose high—full, bright, cruel. His power hummed beneath his skin, caged and restless.
He howled.
The sound cracked across the mountains, echoing through every valley. It was not a cry for war or blood. It was a lament—a song for the dying moon, for the brother he'd lost, for the pack he'd failed.
When the echo faded, she was there.
Lyra stepped from the shadows, her black cloak fluttering in the wind. "That song could wake the dead," she said softly.
"Maybe that's what I want."
Her eyes glimmered. "Then what would you do when they answer?"
Kael turned toward her. "Kill them again."
Lyra's lips curved faintly. "You carry too much rage for one heart."
"I was born with it."
"No," she said. "It was given to you."
Their eyes met. For a moment, the wind stilled.
Lyra stepped closer. "I can show you how to let it go."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Why would you help me?"
She smiled—a sad, knowing thing. "Because the moon never forgets her children."
And before he could answer, she was gone.