Selene half-drags me through the crowd like I'm a sack of herbs with legs.
"Slow down," I wheeze.
"You almost collapsed," she snaps, not slowing. "You don't get to complain."
"I'm not complaining. I'm… dying politely."
"Ha. Sure."
The Circle is behind us now, but I still feel it—like heat trapped under skin. The bond hums, restless, angry. Every few steps it tugs, sharp and insistent, pulling my awareness toward the ridge where Kael disappeared.
Like a hook in my ribs.
The healer's hut sits just beyond the main longhouse, tucked under thick pine. Warm light leaks through the cracks in the wood. Normally it smells like crushed leaves and clean smoke.
Tonight it smells like panic.
Maera is already outside, arms crossed, expression tight. My mother looks calm when she's furious. It's one of her worst talents.
"She's here," Selene blurts. "She—she couldn't breathe."
Maera's gaze flicks over me. My pale face. My shaking hands. The blood on my lip where I bit it. Then her eyes narrow, fast as a blade.
"Inside," she says.
Selene helps me in, but Maera takes over with practiced efficiency. She sits me on the pallet near the hearth, hands already checking my pulse, pressing fingers to my wrist like she can squeeze answers out of my skin.
"Deep breath," she orders.
I try. The breath catches halfway, like there's a knot inside my chest.
Maera's jaw tightens. "Again."
I force air in. It burns.
Selene paces by the door, unable to stand still. "It was Kael. The bond—everyone saw it—and then he said it was nothing and—"
"Selene," Maera says without looking up.
Selene clamps her mouth shut, but her eyes are wild.
Maera leans closer, voice low. "Elara. Tell me what happened. Exact words."
I swallow. The taste of blood still lingers. "I felt… something. Like a snap." My throat tightens around the memory. "I looked at him. He looked at me. It hit." I press a hand to my sternum. "Right here. Like someone slammed a door inside me."
Maera's fingers pause on my pulse. "And he denied it."
"He said the Moon chose nothing."
My mother's eyes flash. "The Moon doesn't 'choose nothing.'"
I let out a rough laugh. "That's what I thought."
Maera stands, moving to her shelves. Bottles clink. Herbs crackle as she crushes something in a stone bowl. She works like her anger has hands. Fast. Controlled.
I watch her, trying to keep my breathing steady.
The bond tugs again.
Harder.
My vision blurs at the edges. A wave of nausea rolls through me.
I grip the edge of the pallet. "Maera."
She's beside me instantly. "Drink."
She shoves a bitter tea into my hands. It smells like yarrow and willow bark. I drink because she told me to and because I don't have the strength to argue. The warmth hits my stomach like a small anchor.
Selene blurts, "The elders were watching her. Like… like she was a problem to solve."
Maera's gaze snaps to Selene. "They should."
Selene's eyes widen. "You think it's real?"
Maera doesn't answer immediately. She watches me instead. Like she's listening to something in my bones.
Then she says, very quietly, "If the Alpha is lying, it's real. He wouldn't lie otherwise."
My skin goes cold. "So what now?"
Maera's mouth tightens. "Now we survive the politics."
"Great," I mutter. "I love politics. They're so… non-lethal."
Selene lets out a shaky laugh that dies too fast.
Outside, boots crunch on the frozen ground. Voices pass by the hut. Not close, but not far. I catch fragments through the walls.
"…saw her stumble…"
"…Alpha wouldn't—"
"…unthinkable…"
Whispers.
They spread like smoke. Quiet, everywhere.
The bond pulses with them. Like it's feeding on attention.
Maera moves to the window slit, peering out. "Stay here," she says.
"Is that an order?" I ask, trying to sound light.
Her eyes cut to mine. "It's a warning."
Before I can reply, the door swings open.
Not hard. Not dramatic. Just… firm. Like whoever enters expects the space to make room.
Elder Morvain steps inside, followed by Elder Sera—a woman with braided gray hair and eyes that miss nothing. Two guards linger outside, visible through the doorway, pretending they're not listening.
Morvain's gaze lands on me like a weight. "Elara Moonveil."
I sit up straighter. "Elder."
He looks at the cup in my hands, then at my mother. "She's unwell."
"She's recovering," Maera says. Flat.
Elder Sera's eyes track over my face, my posture, my breathing. "Her scent is… unstable."
My stomach twists. I can't help it. My scent is mine. Hearing someone dissect it like a broken tool makes my skin crawl.
Morvain steps closer. "You experienced a resonance during the Trial."
I meet his gaze. "I experienced something."
Sera tilts her head. "Describe it."
My fingers tighten around the cup. "Hot. Sharp. Like it latched onto my ribs." I keep my voice steady. "Like a bond."
Morvain's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "And the Alpha denied it."
"He did," I say.
Silence.
Then Morvain asks, "Did you provoke him?"
Selene makes a choking sound. "Provoke—?"
Maera's voice snaps like a whip. "Enough."
Sera lifts a hand, calm. "No accusations. We're assessing."
"Assessing what?" I ask. My voice comes out sharper than intended. "Whether I'm a threat because your Alpha's fate embarrassed him?"
Morvain's eyes harden. "Watch your tongue."
I lean forward, heat rising in my chest—bond heat, anger heat, all of it mixing into something dangerous. "Or what? You'll blame me for the Moon's choice?"
Sera's expression shifts, the faintest flicker of interest. "The Moon's choice does not embarrass an Alpha," she says softly. "It tests him."
Morvain doesn't like that. I can tell by the way his jaw clenches.
He turns toward the door as if summoned by the thought. "Alpha Ashborne will address this."
My pulse spikes. "Address it how?"
Morvain's gaze slides back to me, cold and satisfied. "Publicly."
The bond tugs again, tighter this time, like it's bracing for impact.
Sera takes a step closer, voice low so only I hear. "Do not leave the healer's hut tonight, Elara. The pack is… restless."
Then she straightens, all elder again. "We will speak again."
They leave as quickly as they came, boots crunching away into the cold.
Selene stares after them, face pale. "Publicly," she echoes. "That means… in front of everyone."
Maera sets her hands on my shoulders, firm. "Whatever happens next, you do not plead."
I swallow. My throat aches.
"I wasn't planning to," I whisper.
Outside, the wind rises. Torches hiss. The pack's voices swirl—whispers turning into a current.
And somewhere across the territory, I feel Kael.
A hard, contained storm.
The bond pulls toward him like it's trying to drag me out the door.
And I know—before anyone says it out loud—that the elders aren't going to let this fade.
They're going to force a decision.
And Kael… Kael is going to choose what hurts least for him.
Not what spares me.