The air tastes like cold iron.
I pull my cloak tighter and step out of the healer's hut. The night hits my face, sharp and clean, carrying woodsmoke and pine and something else—something old. Moonlight spills across the packed earth like poured milk, turning every stone pale.
Everyone's moving toward the Circle.
No one's looking at me.
Which is normal. Mostly.
But tonight the not-looking feels… deliberate. Like hands pulling back from a burn.
A group of young hunters passes, boots crunching. They're laughing too loud, as if sound can scare away nerves. One of them bumps my shoulder. Hard.
"Watch it," I say.
He glances at me, eyes sliding away like I'm not worth the trouble. "Didn't see you."
I snort. "Sure."
He keeps walking. The laughter behind him thins out. Dies.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my satchel. Habit. I always carry it—herbs, bandages, dried yarrow—because someone always bleeds during the Moon Trial. Not on purpose. Not always. But wolves get stupid when the moon is watching.
I head down the path toward the sacred clearing, following the stream of bodies. Cloaks. Bare arms. Wolf pelts on shoulders. Teeth necklaces clinking. The pack looks like a tide rolling in, dark and sure.
I feel like a pebble in it.
"Ela!"
Selene Vale darts out from behind a pair of warriors and grabs my wrist. She's smaller than me, all quick elbows and bright eyes. Her hair's pulled into a messy braid that keeps slipping free. Her cheeks are pink from cold or nerves or both.
"You're here," she says like she half-expected me to vanish.
"Where else would I go?" I ask.
She lowers her voice. "People are acting weird."
"People act weird when they're sober and cold," I say.
She makes a face. "Not like this. Like… like they're waiting for a storm."
I look past her, toward the Circle. Torches burn along the perimeter, flames snapping in the wind. Elders stand near the stone altar, shadows long behind them. The drummers are already there, their hands hovering above stretched hide, not playing yet.
Waiting.
My stomach tightens. "Maybe they are."
Selene's grip loosens, then returns, like she doesn't know what to do with her hands.
"Maera sent you?"
"She told me to stay near the edge. Help if someone faints." I tilt my head. "Or shifts."
Selene huffs. "It's always something."
"Tonight, it might be everything," I mutter without meaning to.
Her eyes sharpen. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I shrug. "Nothing. Just—" I cut myself off as a ripple moves through the crowd.
Not sound. Not exactly. More like instinct. A collective tightening. Heads turn toward the far side of the clearing, where the Alpha's path comes in from the ridge.
Kael Ashborne appears like he's been carved out of the dark.
Tall. Broad. Cloak thrown back like he doesn't feel cold. His hair is black with a faint ash-gray streak at the temple, and the torchlight makes his eyes look almost metallic. Gold, but deeper. Sharper. Like a blade catching fire.
The warriors straighten. The murmurs dip. Even the wind seems to pause to watch him pass.
My pulse trips over itself.
Not because I want it to. Not because I'm dreaming some foolish thing. It's just… him. The Alpha. The center of gravity in a room full of wolves.
Selene leans in. "He looks like he wants to bite someone."
"He always looks like that," I whisper back.
But it's not the same tonight.
Kael's jaw is set so hard it could crack stone. He doesn't scan the crowd the way he usually does. Doesn't take inventory. Doesn't acknowledge the elders' nods with that clipped, efficient dip of his head.
He walks like the ground owes him answers.
Then—like a knife turning—his gaze flicks across the edge of the Circle.
Across me.
I'm ready for it. I tell myself I am. I've been invisible my whole life; one glance from the Alpha shouldn't matter.
His eyes hit mine and something inside my ribs stutters.
Just a second. Just one.
His expression doesn't change.
But his steps falter.
Not much. A fraction. The kind of hesitation most people would miss.
I don't.
Selene squeezes my wrist again. "Did he just—"
"Don't," I say, too quickly.
She blinks. "Don't what?"
"Don't start." My voice comes out sharp, and I hate that I made it her problem. I soften it. "He's… the Alpha. He looks at everyone."
Selene's mouth twists like she doesn't believe me. "He didn't look at everyone. He looked like he saw—"
"Selene," I warn.
She raises her hands, surrendering. "Fine. Fine. I'm quiet."
Kael turns away.
And for some reason, my skin feels colder where his eyes were.
The elders begin chanting. Low. Old words that scrape the air. The drums answer, slow at first—boom… boom… boom—like a heartbeat waking up.
The Circle tightens as pack members step closer. Wolves shift in their skins. I can smell adrenaline, musk, the metallic tang of anticipation.
Mate bonds awaken during the Moon Trial. Everyone knows that. It's why so many wear their best clothes and pretend they're calm. It's why mothers watch their sons like hawks and fathers stare at their daughters like they're measuring futures.
It's why I'm here with a healer's satchel instead of hope.
I edge closer to the outer stones, where Maera told me to stand. The altar in the center is slick with sacred oil, reflecting moonlight. Above us, the moon is full and bright and too close, as if it has leaned down to listen.
A gust of wind cuts through the clearing, snuffing two torches. Shadows jump. Someone swears.
Kael stands near the elders, but not with them. A half-step away. Separate. Like he's daring the world to challenge him. His hands are clasped behind his back. Controlled. Still.
Too still.
Selene sidles closer. "You're shaking."
"I'm not," I lie.
She peers at my hands. "Your fingers are white."
I flex them, forcing blood back. "It's cold."
"It's not that cold," she says, then glances toward Kael again. Her voice drops.
"Elara… do you think the Moon will choose tonight?"
I swallow. "The Moon always chooses."
The drums quicken. The chanting rises. The elders lift their hands to the sky, and the Circle feels like it inhales as one.
Kael's gaze stays fixed on the altar.
Not the pack.
Not the sky.
Like he's waiting for something to happen to him.
To us.
My heart thumps once. Hard.
Then again.
And somewhere deep in my chest, in a place that has always been quiet, something stirs—sharp, hungry, awake—like it has been waiting for this night longer than I have.
The elders' voices split the air.
"Step forward."
The Moon Trial begins.
And I don't know why, but I can't stop watching Kael's hands.
They're steady.
But his knuckles are white.