The morning broke cold, the kind that bit through even the thickest fur. Elara stood by the stream, hands submerged in the freezing water as she scrubbed the stains from the healer's bandages. Her fingers were numb, but the pain grounded her — a reminder that she could still feel something beyond the ache in her chest.
Behind her, the packhouse hummed with life. Voices carried through the open courtyard — laughter, low conversation, the sound of boots crunching frost. But beneath it all, she could hear the other layer, the one they thought she couldn't. The whispers.
"Poor thing, still hanging around like nothing happened."
"Kieran had no choice. The Moon doesn't make mistakes."
"She's lucky the Alpha didn't exile her. Rejected wolves bring bad luck."
Each word was a blade wrapped in sympathy. Elara pretended she couldn't hear, but her wolf bristled beneath her skin.
They don't understand, her wolf murmured, voice low and steady. We didn't break. We were freed.
Elara swallowed hard, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Then why does it feel like I lost everything?"
There was no answer, just the soft rush of water and the distant call of crows.
When she returned to the infirmary, Mira glanced up from her herbs. "You're early."
Elara forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Couldn't sleep."
Mira studied her for a long moment — too long — before nodding. "The Alpha called for a meeting. Everyone's expected in the hall by midday."
A flicker of unease stirred in her gut. "What kind of meeting?"
"Something about boundary disputes. The neighboring packs have been restless." Mira's tone darkened. "But I'd wager it's more than that."
Elara said nothing. Her mind drifted to the way the Alpha's eyes had lingered on her during the last assembly — assessing, as if weighing her presence. Since the rejection, his patience with her had thinned to a fragile thread. A single mistake, and he might cut it.
By the time the sun reached its highest point, the pack had gathered in the hall. The air was thick with tension — the kind that hummed just before a storm. Elara stood near the back, eyes lowered, trying to blend into the walls.
Alpha Roran's voice carried easily through the room. "Reports say the Shadowfen pack has crossed the river again. They claim we've taken what's theirs."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Shadowfen wolves were known for their ferocity — untamed, unyielding, and ruled by an Alpha who bowed to no one.
"They're testing us," one of the guards said. "We should strike before they get too bold."
Elara's wolf stirred restlessly. The name Shadowfen carried a strange pull, a vibration that thrummed in her bones. It was as though some invisible thread was tugging at her, faint but insistent.
Roran's gaze swept over the pack — and landed on her. "Elara."
The room fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned her way. Her breath caught.
"Yes, Alpha?"
"You've always been close to the river paths," he said. "Tomorrow, you'll accompany the scouts. I want you to check the old crossing and report back."
The air grew heavier. She could feel the unease rolling off the others. Assigning her — a rejected, unmarked wolf — to a patrol near enemy borders was unheard of.
She bowed her head. "Yes, Alpha."
When the meeting dismissed, Kieran caught her by the door. His expression was unreadable, guilt buried beneath the stoic mask he always wore. "You don't have to go," he murmured. "You can ask someone to trade shifts."
Elara met his eyes — for the first time since that night. "You made your choice, Kieran. I'll make mine."
And she walked past him, leaving the scent of frost and lavender in her wake.
That night, as the moon rose high and pale, Elara stood on her balcony, the cold wind lifting her hair. The forest stretched before her, dark and endless, whispering secrets she wasn't meant to hear.
Somewhere beyond those trees, the Shadowfen wolves stirred.
And among them — a presence felt her pain and turned toward it.
The pull grew stronger.