Mira's POV
Mira didn't sleep.
She sat on her bed in the dark basement and stared at the mark on her wrist until morning. The crescent moon glowed faintly in the darkness. Silver. Burning. Alive.
It pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
She was still staring at it when the note appeared.
Not slid under the door. Not dropped or delivered. It just — appeared. One second the floor was empty. The next, a folded piece of paper sat there, sharp and white against the grey stone.
Mira picked it up. Unfolded it.
Come to my office. Tell no one. — E
She knew who E was.
She'd been waiting for this.
Professor Elara's office was on the third floor of the west tower. Mira climbed the stairs alone, the note burning in her pocket.
The door was open when she arrived.
She stepped inside. The door swung shut behind her without anyone touching it.
And the walls lit up.
Not with light. With symbols. Glowing lines etched into the stone, burning soft and silver, wrapping around the room. The air felt heavier. Sealed.
Elara stood behind her desk, hands flat on the surface, eyes locked on Mira.
"Your wrist," she said. No greeting. No warmth. Just the command. "Show me."
Mira held out her arm.
The crescent moon mark glowed brighter than it had in the basement, pulsing faster, like it recognized something in the room.
Or someone.
Elara's face didn't change. But something behind her eyes went dark.
"That's a mate mark," she said.
The words landed like stones.
Mira stared at her. "A what?"
"A fated mate bond. The rarest bond a wolf can have." Elara's voice was flat. Clinical. The voice of someone delivering bad news she'd been expecting for a long time. "Kieran Bloodmoon is your mate. The bond chose you. It's permanent. And it's already begun."
"That's not possible," Mira said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "I'm human."
Elara looked at her for a long moment. Then she turned, pulled a book from the shelf behind her — old, leather-bound, heavy enough that it hit the desk with a thud — and opened it to a page near the back.
"Come here."
Mira stepped forward. Looked down.
The page was a family tree. Names written in dark ink, branching out like roots, generation after generation.
And at the bottom —
Alpha Marcus Ashford.
A single line connected him to one more name. The last name on the page. The only one written in fresh ink.
Mira Ashford.
Mira's breath caught.
"You're not human," Elara said. Quiet. Final. "You're cursed."
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the wards on the walls.
"Cursed," Mira repeated.
"Blood magic." Elara turned the page, showing diagrams — symbols, circles, words in a language Mira didn't know. "Cast during the massacre twenty years ago. It suppresses your wolf. Hides your scent. Makes you invisible to other wolves." She looked up, met Mira's eyes. "Your father's enemies wanted the Ashford line erased. The curse was meant to make sure no heir could ever awaken."
Mira's hands curled into fists. "Then why can some people still sense me? The Headmaster. Kieran. You."
"Because the curse is failing." Elara's voice was grim. "You're too strong. The Ashford bloodline is too old, too powerful. The magic can't hold you forever." She tapped the mate mark on Mira's wrist. "And this just made it worse. The bond is pulling at the curse. Cracking it. Soon, everyone will know what you are."
Mira swallowed. "How do I break it?"
Elara looked at her — really looked, the way a teacher looks at a student who just asked the right question for the wrong reason. Then she nodded, like she'd made a decision.
"Three things," she said. "First: accept your true name. Not the human name your mother gave you to hide. Your wolf name. Your Pack name." She held up a second finger. "Second: bond with your pack spirit. The wolf inside you that the curse has been smothering. You'll have to find it. Call it. Claim it." A third finger. "Third: survive a blood trial. Prove you're worthy of the Ashford line."
Mira's pulse was loud in her ears. "If I do all that — if I break the curse — what happens?"
Elara's expression didn't change. But her voice dropped, quiet and deadly serious.
"The Five Great Packs will try to kill you."
The words sat between them like a blade.
"They murdered your father," Elara continued, "to erase the Ashford name. To take your lands, your power, your place in the wolf world. If you awaken — if you reclaim what's yours — they'll come for you. All of them." She paused. "Including the Bloodmoons."
Mira's wrist burned. The mate mark pulsed once, hard, like it had heard the name and responded.
Kieran's family.
The same family that killed her father.
Elara turned back to her desk. Unlocked a drawer. Pulled something out and set it on the surface between them.
A dagger.
Silver blade. Sharp and clean, the edge gleaming even in the dim light. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth from use, and carved into the pommel was a symbol Mira had seen before — in her mother's journal, on the gate at Silvercrest, in her dreams.
A wolf and a crescent moon, intertwined.
The Ashford crest.
"Your father's blade," Elara said. "I've kept it safe for twenty years. Waiting."
Mira reached out. Her fingers closed around the hilt.
The blade hummed.
Not loud. Not obvious. Just — a faint vibration, warm and alive, like the metal recognized her blood and was welcoming her home.
Elara leaned forward, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.
"When you're ready to reclaim your heritage," she said, "cut your palm and speak your true name. The blood will break the first layer of the curse. Your wolf will wake."
Mira stared at the blade. The sharp edge. The crest. The weight of twenty years and a dead father and a murdered pack all resting in her hand.
"But Mira." Elara's voice was hard now. Urgent. "Once you start, there's no going back. The moment you speak that name, every wolf with power will feel it. The Five Packs will know. And they will come for you."
Mira looked up. Met Elara's eyes.
"What's my true name?"
Elara smiled. Sad. Proud.
"You'll know it when the time comes. Your wolf will tell you."
Mira walked back to the basement alone, the dagger hidden beneath her shirt, pressed cold against her ribs.
The mark on her wrist burned.
The blade hummed.
Soon.