Elara woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind—this one was heavy, watchful. The kind that waited for you to break first.
Her body ached as though she'd been shattered and poorly put back together. When she tried to sit up, chains rattled softly, etched with moon-runes that burned against her skin.
She swallowed a sob.
"So it's true," she whispered. "I really am a monster now."
"You are not."
The voice came from the shadows.
Elder Selune stepped into the light, her white robes whispering against the stone. Her eyes—milky and ancient—studied Elara with something dangerously close to reverence.
"Then why am I chained?" Elara asked.
"Because Silver Wolves do not belong to packs," Selune replied. "They belong to history."
She placed a bundle of weathered pages on the floor, sliding them through the warding circle.
"Read."
Elara hesitated, then reached for them. The parchment trembled in her hands.
The texts were old—older than the pack itself. Drawings of silver-furred wolves stood beside burned-out villages, slaughtered councils, broken Alpha lines.
Every story was the same.
A Silver Wolf awakened.
A bond formed.
A pack fell.
"They weren't evil," Elara whispered, voice breaking. "They loved."
Selune's mouth tightened. "Love is what doomed them."
Elara's fingers brushed a final line, written in darker ink.
A Silver Wolf mated to an Alpha heir will always end the world they touch.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Rowan.
She dropped the pages as the bond flared—sharp, panicked, wrong.
Somewhere nearby, Rowan Blackmoor screamed.
Lyra visited that night.
She knelt beside the chains, eyes glossy with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should have protected you."
Elara laughed weakly. "From the Moon?"
Lyra flinched.
"I've been thinking," Lyra said carefully. "About what the Elders won't say."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"Silver Wolves don't go mad on their own. They're driven there. Hunted. Cornered."
Elara met her gaze. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'll help you escape," Lyra said without hesitation. "I swear it."
She pressed her palm to Elara's, skin-to-skin.
"I don't care what the Moon wants."
The bond pulsed again—violent, urgent.
Elara gasped, doubling over as agony ripped through her ribs.
"Rowan," she breathed.
Lyra stood abruptly. "I'll go get help."
She ran.
She did not look back.
Far above, the Moon brightened.