GREYSON PACK HOUSE
Khaelis' POV
Theron came back late last night, not late in the way council matters stretched into the dark, but late in the way distance did, the kind that entered a room before the body followed. I woke when the door opened, my senses sharpening out of habit, and felt the mattress dip beside me. His scent reached me seconds later, unfamiliar and sharp, layered with something cold and restrained. He did not touch me, did not murmur my name or brush his fingers against my arm the way he usually did when he thought I was asleep. By the time I turned toward him to ask if everything was alright, his breathing had evened out, too quick, too practiced. Either sleep claimed him immediately, or he wanted me to believe it had.
Morning arrived without him.
His side of the bed was cold, the sheets untouched since he left it, and I lay there longer than I should have, staring at the ceiling while the Alpha house woke around me. Servants moved quietly through the corridors, doors opening and closing with soft efficiency, life resuming as though nothing had shifted. Whatever had begun to crack the night before was apparently not important enough to stop the pack from breathing.
I rose eventually, dressed, and helped Andrea prepare for the day. She was unusually lively, chattering about the lessons at the training grove, about balance drills and control exercises, about how one of the instructors said she was progressing quickly. I listened, smiled when she smiled, and tucked her hair behind her ears before kissing her forehead. I held on to those ordinary moments with a desperation I did not want to examine too closely.
After leaving her at the learning grounds, I did not return to the Alpha house.
Instead, I walked.
The town sat just beyond the inner gates, built in slow, careful rings around the pack's heart. Stone paths wound between low wooden stalls, and the air smelled of baked roots, animal hide, and damp earth. This was where the pack spoke freely, where truths slipped out between casual conversations and half-lowered voices. I let myself blend in, listening as I moved.
At first, the chatter was harmless. People spoke of the Sentinel's arrival, of how she walked with the confidence of someone who belonged, of how even seasoned guards straightened when she passed.
"She was always meant for greatness," an old woman murmured near the fabric stalls, her hands busy with dyed cloth.
"Lucas's first mate," another replied, lowering her voice even though no one was close enough to overhear. "Before the title. Before he became Alpha."
My steps slowed.
"She left," someone else added. "Ambition will do that to a person. Wanted more than a pack. More than being Luna."
"The Moon Goddess allowed it," a man said with absolute certainty. "There was prophecy involved. They said she would return changed."
Return.
The word lodged itself deep in my chest.
I began to ask questions then, carefully, lightly, as though curiosity were my only motive. When did she leave? Years ago. When did she return? The answers wavered, seasons counted differently depending on who spoke. That was when unease settled fully into my bones, heavy and unyielding.
Andrea had been born after the Sentinel left.
And yet the woman knew my daughter's habits. Her fears. The way she preferred her hair braided and the lullaby Theron only sang behind closed doors. Things no outsider should have known.
By the time I returned to the Alpha house, my arms were heavy with folded cloth and unanswered questions.
Lunch passed with me alone at the long table, my appetite gone. I had barely touched my food when Isabella swept past, distracted and tight-lipped.
"Where are you rushing to?" I asked.
She paused just long enough to look guilty. "Council matter," she replied quickly. "Theron asked for advice."
Before I could respond, she was already gone.
Dinner came too soon.
Everyone was present. Theron sat at the head of the table, composed but distant. Isabella and her husband spoke in low tones. Andrea laughed easily beside the Sentinel, leaning into her words with effortless trust. I tried to join the conversation more than once, but my voice seemed to dissolve beneath theirs, swallowed whole.
Then the Sentinel turned to me, her smile polite and sharp all at once.
"I heard you've been asking about me," she said calmly. "You should have come to me instead of wandering the town."
The table went still.
"Do you know how foolish that looks?" she continued, her gaze unwavering. "A Luna who does not understand her own household."
My jaw tightened. "Household?" I asked quietly. "You are a guest here."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Theron before returning to me. "Not for long."
The silence shattered when Theron slammed his palm against the table.
"Enough," he said sharply. "Luna, not another word."
Not her.. Me.
I did not speak again.
That night, I waited.
Sleep came eventually, heavy and restless, and dragged me under without offering peace. I woke just after one, the familiar weight beside me still absent. The bed was empty, and something stirred within me then, not fear or anger, but instinct, sharp and insistent.
I rose, wrapped myself in a robe, and stepped into the corridor.
The Alpha house was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt deliberate rather than natural. A faint glow leaked from beneath a door down the hall, one that was not mine.
I stopped to listen, my pulse quickening.
Then I reached for the handle and opened it.
What I saw inside would change everything I thought I knew about my place in this pack.
And about why the Sentinel had really come back.