Nevara
I stood just far enough back from the crowd to avoid their glances, but close enough to see the casket suspended above the earth. The sleek black wood looked cold in the October light—too polished, too final. Like even death had to be presentable for a former Beta.
My brother would’ve hated that.
He hated pretense. Hated when things were done just for show. I could almost hear his voice whispering in my ear, teasing me about my stiff posture and pressed dress. “Loosen up, Nev. You’re not auditioning for a mortician’s apprentice.”
My throat clenched.
I hadn’t cried. Not yet. Not once. Not when the pack elder called to say there had been an accident. Not when I had to help my mother pick out the casket. Not when I ironed my father’s shirt because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
And not now.
Because if I started, I wouldn’t stop. I'm the Beta's little sister. The Luna of the pack. No one here—not my husband, not my parents, not even Nickolai’s four-year-old son—could afford to watch me fall apart.
None of that mattered anymore.
The only person who ever truly saw me—who ever chose me—was now being lowered into the ground.
A hushed murmur rippled through the mourners. I glanced up.
Vanessa had arrived. My sister-in-law.
Late to her own husband’s funeral, I don’t think one could get any more disrespectful than that.
Wearing a black dress that fit her like a tailored glove, her honey-blonde hair swept into a low chignon, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. She looked every inch the grieving widow—but I knew better. I’d seen the way she smiled too quickly at pack events. How she always seemed to be waiting for someone to tell her she’d done a good job playing the part.
Noah trotted beside her, clinging to the hem of her dress. The poor kid looked lost. His tie was crooked. His shoes were untied. And not a single person stepped in to help.
I moved to go to him—instinctively—but stopped myself.
I was beat to the punch anyway.
My husband, Alpha Tobias, stepped out from the front row and bent down, tying Noah’s laces with quiet efficiency. He murmured something low, then stood and offered his arm to Vanessa.
She took it without hesitation.
I watched, unseen, as Tobias guided her to the front row. Right next to my parents. Right where my brother’s wife belonged. Only she’d never really been his wife, had she?
My mother stiffened the moment Vanessa sat down beside her. Her spine straightened, shoulders tight as a drawn bowstring. My father placed a warning hand on her knee, but I could see it building—boiling just beneath the surface.
The priest’s voice droned on. Words about honor and sacrifice. About Nickolai’s legacy. About the “tragic” nature of his passing.
Tragic, they said. Unexpected.
But I remembered the night Nickolai told me what he was doing.
“She wants to go skydiving,” he’d said, laughing like he didn’t believe it himself. “Vanessa saw some influencer do it and now it’s on her bucket list. She signed us both up.”
I had frowned. “You hate heights.”
“Yeah, but she’s excited about it. Says it’ll make us feel more alive.”
But Vanessa hadn’t jumped. She’d backed out at the last second, claiming she “wasn’t feeling well.” Nickolai had gone up anyway, wanting to prove something. Or maybe just not wanting to disappoint her.
Now he was in a box. And she was in the front row, dry-eyed, perfectly composed.
“I still can’t believe he went through with it,” my mother whispered, loud enough for everyone around her to hear. “He would’ve never done something so reckless before she came along.”
“Mama—” I warned gently.
“No, Nevara,” she snapped. “Tell me I’m wrong. He wasn’t like that. He didn’t do dangerous things. He didn’t chase adrenaline. She got inside his head. She made him believe he had something to prove.”
I glanced toward Vanessa. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look back.
“And then she bailed,” my mother continued, voice cracking. “She’s the one who wanted to jump. He went up there for her. And now he’s—he’s gone.”
My father squeezed her hand. “Sheryl. Enough.”
She swallowed hard and turned her face away. Her jaw trembled. I’d never seen her cry. Not even when my grandmother passed. But her hand clutched my father’s like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
The priest said something about letting Nickolai’s soul return to the moon. The pack murmured their part in unison.
I didn’t.
My soul wasn’t ready to let him go.
When the service ended, people began to disperse in quiet clumps. Some approached Vanessa with murmured condolences. Some awkwardly avoided her. My parents didn’t say a word to her. I wasn’t sure I would’ve either.
I lingered near the headstone, not ready to leave. A few steps away, Noah crouched beside the fresh mound of flowers, his tiny hands poking at the dirt. I watched him silently. Nickolai had tried so hard to be a good father. He used to carry Noah on his shoulders during pack runs, even though the elders scowled at him for it.
“Children were not to be on runs.” They would say.
“He loved that kid,” I whispered.
“He did.” The voice behind me sent a chill down my spine.
Tobias.
I turned slowly. He was close—too close—but that wasn’t new. He was always around when it suited him. Just never when I needed him.
“He talked about him all the time,” I said quietly, eyes still on Noah.
Tobias nodded once. “That’s why I’m moving them into the pack house.”
My head snapped toward him. “What?”
“It’s what Nickolai would’ve wanted,” he said. “Noah’s just a child. He shouldn’t have to feel displaced. And Vanessa… she’s grieving. She needs support.”
I stared at him, stunned. “She has support. She has her own house.”
“She doesn’t want to stay there. Too many memories.”
“Of the husband she manipulated into jumping out of a plane?”
His expression darkened. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said flatly. “It’s not.”
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Look, this isn’t a debate. I’ve already made the decision. It’s temporary.”
“Of course,” I said, my voice hollow.
He hesitated. “You’ve barely said a word since the accident.”
And you barely noticed, I thought. But I didn’t say it.
I simply turned back toward the grave, blinking hard. “What’s there to say?”
Behind me, he said nothing. Just lingered for a moment longer, then walked away.
I waited until I was sure he was gone before I knelt at the base of the headstone. My hand brushed over the etching.
Nickolai Laurent. Loyal Brother. Brave Beta. Taken Too Soon.
“Do you see what they’re doing, Nico?” I whispered. “He’s already replacing you. Your wife. Your home. Your place in this pack. You deserved better than this.”
A breeze stirred the flowers.
“I miss you,” I said, the words catching on the edge of my throat. “I miss your bad jokes and your terrible cooking. I miss how you always knew when something was wrong before I even said a word.”
I pressed my palm flat against the stone. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
A pause.
Then—just for a second—I thought I heard his voice in my head.
You do. You always have. You’re stronger than you think, Nev.
I closed my eyes, let the wind press against my face, and allowed myself a single tear. Just one. Then I stood, squared my shoulders, and walked away.
Nevara
It’s only been two days since Nickolai’s funeral, and already Vanessa walks around like it’s been years. She’s no grieving widow—that’s for sure.
She swans through the pack house like she owns it, draped in silk robes and perfume too strong for the halls, flipping her hair and flashing her teeth at anyone with a Y chromosome and a decent jawline. Not just my husband—though she’s boldest with him.
I’ve seen the way she sidles up to Tobias in the kitchen, brushing his arm with her fingers under the pretense of gratitude. The way she lowers her voice when she thanks him for taking her in. The way she tilts her head and bites her bottom lip when she talks to him like we’re not both standing right there.
She doesn’t stop at him, either. Last night I walked into the courtyard and caught her running her hand up the bicep of one of our warriors—purring over how strong he must be, asking what he benches, like she’s never seen a man with muscles.
We’re wolves. Everyone has muscles.
What she doesn’t have is shame.
And she lets her child run amuck through the house like it’s a playground. Toys scattered across the floor. Sticky fingers on the walls. Screaming through the halls at all hours. And Tobias, of course, says nothing—because he’s just a kid.
Which is exactly what I reminded myself this morning when I heard the crash.
It came from the family room. I froze for a second, already knowing.
By the time I stepped inside, Noah was crouched in the middle of the rug surrounded by glass and broken wood. The frame that held my last photo of my entire family lay shattered. My mother’s face was half-obscured by a jagged shard. Nickolai’s image had a diagonal crease across his smile. The glass had sliced the corner of the picture clean off.
My hands went cold.
“Noah,” I said, keeping my voice level. “What happened?”
He looked up, blinking wide eyes that were too big for his face. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Were you playing?”
He nodded, holding up a stuffed dinosaur. “He jumped too high.”
The photo. The frame. The memory. Gone—because of a dinosaur.
I inhaled through my nose and walked carefully across the glass. I didn’t yell. I didn’t curse. I didn’t even raise my voice. But anger throbbed under my skin like heat behind a bruise.
He’s four. He’s Nickolai’s son. He didn’t mean it.
But that photo was all I had left of before. Before Nickolai met Vanessa. Before the weird distance started creeping into his voice.
Before everything got complicated.
“You’re not supposed to play in here,” I said softly, kneeling to pick up the broken frame.
He backed away like I’d hit him.
“I’m not mad,” I added, even though I kind of was. “I just wish you’d been more careful.”
He looked at the glass, then at me. “Is it your favorite?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It was.”
Noah blinked fast. “Are you gonna tell my mommy?”
I stood and brushed my hands off. I wanted to say, No, but I should. I wanted to say, If she actually watched you, this wouldn’t have happened.
Instead, I said, “No.”
Because I wouldn’t give Vanessa the satisfaction. But I also couldn’t leave it alone.
“Do you want to hear a story?” I asked after a moment.
He tilted his head. “Now?”
“It’s a Halloween story,” I said, sitting on the couch. “You like spooky stuff, don’t you?”
He hesitated, then padded over slowly, dragging his stuffed fox by the leg.
I didn’t reach for a book.
“You ever hear about the Bone Keeper?” I asked, voice low.
Noah’s eyes widened. “Is he a bad guy?”
“He’s not bad,” I said. “He just… keeps count.”
“Of what?”
“Broken things. Things people don’t care for. Like heirlooms. Photographs. Things that meant something once, but someone was too careless to protect them.”
Noah’s fingers clutched the dinosaur tighter.
“They say the Bone Keeper walks on tiptoe so you can’t hear him coming. He only visits children who break things that don’t belong to them—especially things with memories inside.”
Noah shifted on the couch.
“He doesn’t take big bones. Just the little ones. A toe here. A knuckle there. Just enough to make you feel hollow. But he doesn’t hurt you, no. You don’t even know he’s been—until you try to run and realize you can’t keep up anymore.”
Noah’s eyes were huge now.
“And the worst part?” I leaned in close. “He doesn’t take from the naughty ones first. He takes from the ones who lie about it after.”
That’s when Vanessa’s voice rang out from the hall.
“Noah?” she called sweetly. “What are you doing, honey?”
He bolted upright and ran out of the room like the Bone Keeper himself was on his heels.
I smiled. Just a little. But of course, it didn’t last.
Vanessa burst in moments later, her heels tapping against the hardwood like a warning shot. “What did you say to him?”
“He broke something,” I said calmly. “And I told him a story.”
“You scared him.”
“I didn’t touch him.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
She stared at me like I was confused. “He’s four, Nevara. You told a four-year-old a horror story because he made a mistake?”
“I couldn’t discipline him. You would’ve made it a scene.”
“I would’ve protected my son, yes.”
“From consequences?”
“From you.”
And there it was. I opened my mouth to speak, but a voice cut in behind us.
“What’s going on?”
Tobias.
Of course.
I didn’t even bother turning around. “Ask your guest.”
“She’s not a guest,” he said, stepping in. “She’s family.”
I flinched before I could help it. Vanessa saw. She smiled.
“He told me a story about a bone monster,” Noah said from behind her leg. “He takes your bones if you break things.”
Tobias finally looked at me. “Seriously?”
“He broke the photo,” I said flatly. “The last photo I had of my whole family.”
He blinked. “The one on the shelf?”
I nodded.
He didn’t say he was sorry. Didn’t ask if I was okay. He just turned to Vanessa, touching her elbow lightly. “Let’s get him upstairs.”
She nodded, casting one final glare over her shoulder. “Come on, baby. Let’s get away from the scary witch.”
I didn’t rise to it.
I just stood in the silence of the room after they left, looking down at the shards of glass still scattered across the rug.
And for about the hundredth time in days, I wanted to scream.
Nevara
Three years.
Three years of being his wife.
Three years of sleeping alone.
It’s been quite a few weeks. Between losing my brother—arguably my favorite person in the world—and dealing with Vanessa and Noah moving into the pack house, my head’s barely stopped spinning. Every time I turn a corner, I bump into a ghost or a reminder. Sometimes both.
And now? It’s our anniversary. Three years to the day since Nickolai convinced Tobias to marry me. Three years since I wore that ice blue dress and tried not to look like a child bride.
He didn’t marry me out of love. Or even desire.
He married me so he wouldn’t have to marry Veronica Ainsley—the stuck-up she-wolf from Ironfang Pack with the perfect pedigree and the personality of a wet sock. Her father wanted to merge the territories through bloodlines, and Tobias was the ideal candidate.
Only Nickolai—always my champion—intervened. And Tobias, to his credit, chose me.
But that was all it was. A choice. A strategy.
He’s never so much as touched me. Not a brush of lips. Not a lingering hand. Nothing more intimate than a sideways glance across the dinner table.
Still… I’ve adored him since I was a teenager. That never changed.
Even after my fated mate rejected me when I turned eighteen and my whole world tilted sideways, Tobias was kind. Gentle, even. He didn’t pity me. He offered me shelter—first emotional, then literal.
And I said yes.
Maybe he was pretending. Maybe he still is. But after everything—after three years, after funerals and houseguests and nights alone—I thought maybe… just maybe… this anniversary could be different.
I smoothed down the front of my dress and took a deep breath outside his office door.
No candles. No perfume. Nothing over the top. Just me—hoping.
I didn’t knock.
Big mistake.
The door creaked as it opened, just wide enough for me to step inside and say his name.
But the sound that greeted me wasn’t his voice.
It was a low, guttural moan.
My stomach turned.
He was behind his desk, chair tilted back, eyes half-closed, one hand gripping the armrest. My heart leapt straight into my throat.
I froze, unsure if I should back out or speak. Before I could decide, his phone—propped awkwardly against a stack of books—slipped, the screen flipping toward me as it clattered to the desk.
And I saw her. Vanessa. Reclined on a lounge chair in a thin sheer robe, legs crossed, lips parted in a soft pout.
He groaned again—until he noticed me.
“Nevara—!” His voice cracked. He fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it again as he scrambled to cover himself. “What are you doing?”
“I—I was just—” My voice failed. “I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t knock!” he snapped, yanking his chair forward and slamming his phone face-down on the desk.
“I didn’t think I needed to,” I whispered.
“It’s my office.”
“It’s our anniversary.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that presses into your ears and makes your pulse sound like war drums.
His jaw ticked. He didn’t look at me. Just kept adjusting his belt, as if that might undo what I saw.
“I thought maybe we could talk,” I said, softer now. “Spend time together. It’s been a rough few weeks and—”
“This is not the time, Nevara.”
“Then when is?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Because it’s been three years. Three years of me waiting for you to see me. And now I walk in and find you—”
“Don’t.”
I blinked. “Don’t what? Say it? You were touching yourself to a picture of—”
“That’s none of your business.”
I took a step back like he’d slapped me. My throat tightened, but I refused to let it show. “I’m your wife.”
“And I told you—knock before entering my office.”
The cold finality in his tone said everything he didn’t. This wasn’t about privacy. Or boundaries. This was about the fact that I would never be her.
He would never want me the way he wanted her.
“Fine,” I said, voice like frost. “I’ll remember next time.”
I turned before he could say another word. Before I had to hear another excuse or lie or half-hearted explanation.
My hand found the doorknob, but I paused—just long enough to add, “Happy anniversary, Tobias.”
I walked out, closed the door quietly behind me, and swallowed the scream building in my chest. Then I kept walking. Past the stairs, past the guest wing, past the hall where Nickolai used to thump his shoulder against mine just to make me smile. I kept walking until I reached the back porch and stepped into the cold October air barefoot, like I could freeze the heat clawing through my lungs.
I leaned on the railing and stared out at the woods, lit silver by the moon.
Three years of pretending. Of waiting. Of hoping. For what? He’s never wanted me.
He was kind when I was broken. That’s all. I was a safe out. A convenient solution. A warm body with the right last name to keep the council off his back and Veronica Ainsley out of his bed.
But the truth is clear now. He’s always wanted her.
And now that Nickolai is gone? It’s only a matter of time before he’s with her in his bed—the bed that should have been mine for the past three years.The bed I used to walk past every night with a flicker of hope that maybe this time, the door would open for me.
It never did. I won’t wait for it to open anymore. I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend one more day shackled to a man who would rather touch himself to a picture of someone else than touch his own wife. A man who won’t even look me in the eye unless it’s to scold me for existing. No more.
I need a plan. And that plan starts with a divorce.
Of course, Tobias’s egotistical ego will never go for it. Not willingly. Not when our marriage keeps him in good standing with the elders. If we end it, he’ll be forced to fall back on Veronica—the only other option with the right political leverage. And the elders would never allow him to marry Vanessa. Not after she was Nickolai’s, his beta’s, wife. Even they have some modicum of decency left.
Fine by me.
Let him stew in the bed he never let me share.
I’ll call Rosa.
She was the lawyer I met five years ago—right after everything happened with my mate. Strong, smart, sharp as a blade. She told me back then, “If you ever need anything, I’ll be there.”
We’ve kept in touch all this time. I never thought I’d need her.
I do now.
Nevara
The divorce papers were ready.
Sitting in my inbox like a quietly ticking bomb.
I stared at the subject line—Petition for Dissolution of Bond – Nevara Laurent & Tobias Voss—and felt both sick and free.
It had only taken Rosa two days to draft everything. Fast, precise, confidential. There were no assets to divide. No children. Just a name and a contract that never meant what I wanted it to mean.
I clicked download. Watched the little progress wheel spin. My hand hovered over the mouse as the printer began to hum.
I didn’t shake. I didn’t cry.
I just waited.
When the pages were finished, I gathered them slowly, feeling the weight of the paper like it meant something more than ink and signature lines. This was my exit. My rebellion. My last-ditch effort to reclaim my dignity before Tobias could tear it away piece by piece with moans and stolen glances meant for someone else.
The only problem? He’d never sign them willingly.
He wasn’t in love with me. But the marriage suited him. It kept the elders quiet, kept Veronica at bay, kept Vanessa conveniently out of reach of scandal. A tidy little arrangement wrapped in the illusion of nobility.
But he didn’t love me.
And I was done pretending that I was okay with that.
The question now was: how do you trick a wolf into signing away the thing that protects him?
That question led me down a dark hallway of possibilities I wasn’t quite ready to face. But my resolve held.
I set the papers aside and sank into the armchair by the window, letting the autumn wind brush against my skin.
And for the first time in weeks, I let myself remember how this all began.
⸻
It was spring when it happened. The trees were still budding, and the ground was soft with the kind of thaw that made your boots stick.
Tobias had been out in the far east woods, running training drills with a few of the younger warriors. They were supposed to stay in formation, cover more ground, practice silent tracking.
But Tobias had always run faster than the rest of them.
He’d pulled ahead—shifted into wolf form and left the others behind. His coat was nearly black in the shade of the trees, a blur of muscle and power. I know because I’d seen him run that way before. Confident. Reckless. Unmatched.
The far eastern woods were mostly avoided for a reason. They were thick, wild, and unmarked. No one ever went that deep unless they had a purpose.
I did.
The herbs I needed for my tea—scarlet sage, moonmint—only grew beneath a cluster of ancient ash trees hidden in that region. I was alone, wearing a pale green dress and a satchel slung over my shoulder.
I’d just finished clipping a cluster of mint when I heard it.
A howl.
Short, sharp, and agonized.
It wasn’t a call for attention. It was a scream.
I froze, heart pounding, straining to hear. Another whimper. Then silence.
I followed it.
When I found him, Tobias was still in wolf form—unconscious, one leg caught in a rusted metal bear trap. The teeth had clamped down just above the joint, bone likely cracked, blood soaking the dirt beneath him. His head was resting at an odd angle beside a flat rock streaked with red.
The trap had snapped and thrown him, hard.
My breath caught. I didn’t think—didn’t hesitate.
I dropped to my knees beside him and forced my fingers into the springs. The trap was old, but strong. It took everything I had to pry it open, and even then, I cried out from the pain in my arms.
When it finally released, Tobias groaned faintly. He didn’t shift. Couldn’t. He was too far gone.
I tore at the hem of my dress until I had long strips of fabric and wrapped them tightly around his leg to slow the bleeding. My hands were shaking. My knuckles bloodstained.
“I’m going to get help,” I whispered, brushing the fur behind his ear. “Hold on.”
I ran.
I didn’t think about the herbs I’d dropped or the blood on my arms. I didn’t even think to shift—I just ran, legs pumping, heart pounding.
But by the time the warriors made it back to the site…
Vanessa was already there.
Kneeling beside him. Stroking his hair. Whispering soft, frantic words.
And I’ll never forget the way the warriors looked at her—as if she were the moon itself come to earth.
No one ever asked how she got there.
No one questioned why she, of all people, had wandered into the eastern woods alone.
She never corrected them.
When they carried Tobias back, it was Vanessa who stayed by his side. Vanessa who was praised. Vanessa who was credited with saving his life.
I stood to the side, dress torn, hands shaking, tea herbs long forgotten.
Nickolai found me later that night.
“I know it was you,” he said. “I saw your dress...”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t have it in me.
“You should tell him so he knows,” he added gently. “The elders are demanding an heir and a marriage, I told him to marry you.”
He looked me straight in the eyes.
“You’d treat him right. If he has to marry, it should be someone who sees him. Really sees him.”
And so, a few weeks later, I did what I thought was right.
I said yes.
⸻
Now, years later, I stared down at the papers in my lap.
I saved his life. I gave him peace. I gave him a way out of Veronica, out of politics, out of pressure.
And still—it was never enough.
He still wanted her.
And she never stopped taking what wasn’t hers.
Not this time.
This time, I was going to take myself back.
That night, I set the trap.
I went to the office—our shared office, technically—and pulled out the paperwork I knew he’d be expecting. End-of-month reports. Resource allocations. Some estate logistics for the Harvest Moon event. Things I’d managed for years. Things he never questioned.
He was used to this dance. I organized the details, printed the summaries, added sticky tabs in bright neon colors at each line that required his signature.
He never read them. Not really.
He’d glance at the top page, ask a single question if anything jumped out, then sign wherever I marked. Hand them back. Trust me to take care of the rest.
And I always did.
Which is why tonight, I added one more page.
Tucked between the inventory summary and the landscaping vendor approvals, I slid in the signature page of the divorce petition.
Not the full document—just the last page, where the lines waited for names and dates. Where the quiet unraveling of a marriage began not with a fight, but with a pen.
I aligned the pages, smoothed the edges, and pressed a yellow arrow tab on the divorce page like all the others. The same exact kind I’d used for years.
Routine. Familiar. Invisible.
When I was done, I stared at the stack in my hands.
He’d sign them.
He always did.
And this time, it wouldn’t just be another approval form or budget draft.
It would be my freedom.
Nevara
I stared at the email with a numb kind of satisfaction.
“Received and filed. Official countdown begins. —Rosa.”
It was done.
Tobias had signed the signature page—just like I knew he would. No hesitation. No questions. Just a flick of his pen and a muttered, “Leave these in the tray when you’re done.”
He hadn’t even glanced at what he was signing. Years of habit had trained him to trust me. And for once, I’d used that trust for something that served me.
The divorce was officially in motion.
The papers had been filed.
My name—my freedom—was inching closer with every passing hour.
And yet… I didn’t feel lighter.
Not yet.
Not with her still here. Still lurking in the hallways in silk robes and soft perfume, still sipping coffee in my kitchen like she hadn’t shattered my life piece by piece. She walked these halls like a queen, even though she’d arrived as a guest. A widow. A parasite.
But this morning, something was different.
She knocked.
That alone nearly gave me a stroke.
I opened the door to my suite and found her standing there, wrapped in a flowy gray cardigan that looked borrowed from Nickolai’s closet, holding a tray with two steaming mugs.
“Peace offering,” she said sweetly, lifting the tray. “Chamomile. I made it the way you like.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She gave a soft laugh. “Do I need a reason? We live under the same roof now. And… I know it’s been tense between us. I was hoping we could start fresh.”
I said nothing.
“I know I’m not your favorite person,” she went on, “but I miss having someone to talk to. And I think… maybe you do too.”
The cynical part of me screamed don’t trust it.
But another part—the tired part—just wanted one morning where I wasn’t fighting with her or anyone else.
I took the mug.
“Let’s sit outside,” she said, gesturing toward the garden path. “The sun’s nice this morning.”
We walked in silence. The air was crisp, the sky a pale, clear blue. The garden was empty except for a few birds scratching through the beds. She led us to the stone bench near the low rock border, just outside the patch of fading mums.
She sipped her tea and sighed like we were two old friends.
“It’s been hard,” she said. “For both of us.”
“Don’t pretend we’re the same.”
She looked down at her cup. “You’re right. We’re not.”
For a minute, I thought that was it. But then she turned, reached out, and gently touched my arm.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said softly. “For letting me and Noah stay here. I know it’s complicated, but… this has helped me more than you know.”
It almost sounded genuine.
Almost.
And just when I started to let my guard drop—
She gasped, stumbled back, and fell.
Straight into the rocky border behind the bench.
“Vanessa—!” I dropped my cup and reached toward her on instinct.
But she cried out sharply, clutching her hand.
Blood streaked her palm—thin, red lines slicing across the skin like she’d dragged it across the jagged stone.
She looked up at me, wide-eyed. Hurt. Betrayed.
“You pushed me,” she breathed.
My stomach dropped. “What?! No, I didn’t—I didn’t touch you!”
“You shoved me!” she shouted louder this time, her voice trembling. “I was trying to be nice and you—!”
Footsteps pounded behind me. Heavy. Fast.
Tobias.
Of course.
He rounded the garden path and stopped cold at the sight: Vanessa on the ground, bleeding, clutching her wrist—me standing over her, stunned and speechless.
“What happened?” he barked.
“She pushed me,” Vanessa sobbed. “I was just trying to talk to her—she got angry and shoved me.”
“I didn’t touch her!” I said immediately. “She faked it—she threw herself back, Tobias. I swear—”
He held up a hand. “Stop.”
“But—”
“Just. Stop.”
His voice was cold. Controlled. The voice of a man trying not to explode.
“She’s bleeding,” he said flatly. “And you’re standing over her.”
“Because I was trying to help her! She slipped—on purpose—”
“Go inside, Nevara.”
“Tobias—”
“Now.”
The finality in his voice landed like a slap.
Vanessa whimpered softly, and he turned his attention to her, kneeling beside her to inspect the cut. She leaned into his touch like a wounded lamb.
I backed away slowly, heart pounding. My tea forgotten, the sun suddenly too hot against my skin.
I turned and walked back toward the house, her words echoing in my ears.
You pushed me.
You pushed me.
This was a whole new low, even for her.
I didn’t see Tobias again for the rest of the morning.
But I saw her.
Vanessa limped around the pack house like she’d shattered every bone in her body instead of earning a superficial scratch. She wore a bandage on her palm and kept her wrist in a makeshift sling—even though no one had said anything about a sprain.
It was all for show.
And he ate it up.
By lunch, Tobias was doting on her like she’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer. He poured her tea. Pulled out her chair. Sat beside her on the couch and listened with quiet focus as she “bravely” described the pain of being pushed down by someone she was “trying so hard to get along with.”
She caught my eyes once from across the room and gave me the smallest, most smug little smile.
I left before I did something silly.
But it didn’t stop there.
Noah came tearing through the hallway that afternoon, shrieking with laughter as Tobias chased him. They were dressed in makeshift pirate hats, brandishing wooden spoons as swords. When Tobias caught him, he lifted him high into the air, then cradled him close, letting the boy’s laughter echo down the corridor.
And in that moment, they didn’t look like borrowed family.
They looked like his.
Like father and son.
And I? I was just the ghost in the house. The fading outline of a woman who’d been erased without ceremony or grief.
Later, I passed by the kitchen and heard Vanessa and Tobias talking in soft voices over mugs of cider.
“You really think he’ll keep the hat on?” Vanessa asked with a smile.
“He loves it. He won’t take it off. He’s obsessed.”
“I just want our costumes to match.”
“They will. I’ve got mine picked out too.”
I stood there, just out of view, listening to them giggle like giddy parents planning their child’s first big Halloween. The first one when a kid is old enough to enjoy it.
No question of what I’d be wearing. No thought of including me at all.
That’s when it clicked.
I was done.
I wouldn’t wait for the finalization. I wouldn’t wait for permission or confrontation or some dramatic explosion where I got to scream all the words I’d bottled up for three years.
I didn’t need to burn the house down.
I just needed to leave it.
Quietly. Cleanly. For good.
And Halloween night was the perfect distraction.
The whole pack would be buzzing. Kids would be trick-or-treating. Warriors would be on patrol to keep everyone safe. Vanessa and Tobias would be preoccupied dressing up as some picture-perfect little family with their pirate prince and their matching smiles.
They wouldn’t notice I was gone until they looked up and realized the air was lighter. The tension missing.
And by then?
I’d be halfway to nowhere.
I slipped away from the kitchen, back to my room. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the closet I hadn’t touched in days. I didn’t need much. Just enough to get started. A couple of dresses. Some cash. My ID. A spare phone I kept hidden in the lining of my jewelry box.
I’d been halfway gone for weeks anyway.
Now I just had to finish the job.
Nevara
Halloween dawned crisp and gold, the kind of morning that made you feel like the world had forgotten its sins for a moment. The air outside was sharp with the scent of burning leaves and spiced cider, autumn clinging to everything like smoke.
The pack house buzzed the moment the sun rose—warriors strung orange lights between the trees, children darted through the yard with painted faces, and there she was. Vanessa. Right in the center of it all, draping caramel apples on a tray like she was the one who’d orchestrated the entire event.
Knowing her, she probably had.
I moved through the halls like I belonged to them. I smiled when someone passed, answered when spoken to, nodded when necessary. But beneath all of it, everything inside me felt tight and brittle, like I’d been stretched too far and would shatter if someone touched me the wrong way.
By noon, the courtyard was filled with noise and color. Tobias stood near the front steps, helping Noah wriggle into a miniature pirate coat. His expression was unreadable as usual—calm, composed, detached. Noah’s feathered hat sat crooked on his curls, one side drooping low.
Vanessa, of course, stepped forward to fix it. “There. My brave little captain,” she cooed, brushing his cheek.
The three of them stood there—Tobias, Vanessa, and Noah—looking like the glossy image on a festival flier. Smiling. Centered. Picture-perfect.
And me? I was invisible and thankful for it too. They didn’t notice when I stepped back. When I turned away. When I disappeared.
Good. That was the moment I’d been waiting for.
My bag was already packed. Clothes. ID. The backup phone. A few keepsakes that actually mattered. I’d even tucked the torn photo of Nickolai into the side pocket, carefully folded, the crease taped. I couldn’t leave him behind. Not again.
I didn’t look back as I crossed the lawn. My boots left soft impressions in the grass as I made my way toward the tree line, where a narrow road twisted past the service gate.
My parents’ old car sat there, engine already humming.
When I opened the back door and slid inside, my mother turned to look at me. Her expression was soft. But there was tension in her jaw.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked quietly. “Once we leave the borders, there’s no turning back.”
“That’s the point,” I murmured.
She didn’t try to stop me. She didn’t lecture or warn. She simply reached back, her hand finding mine. A firm squeeze. A quiet acceptance.
The car rolled forward and the gates creaked open. The last of the Halloween banners fluttered above them—orange and black, cheerful and hollow. I watched them vanish in the rearview mirror until they were nothing but a smear of color.
Gone. And in their place… my freedom.
It hit me in pieces. The farther we drove, the lighter I felt. Trimmed lawns gave way to wild underbrush. Stone paths became gravel, then packed dirt. Trees crowded the road like sentries, ancient and watching.
We drove for hours and finally by the time the sun began to dip, the cabin came into view.
It sat crooked in a narrow clearing. The roof sloped under the weight of ivy and old leaves, the chimney leaning slightly to one side. The porch looked like it might splinter if the wind blew too hard.
But to me—it looked perfect.
My mother smiled faintly. “Your father and I used to stay here when we were your age. Before we joined the pack. Before things got… complicated.”
I stepped out of the car. The ground felt different under my boots. The air too. Colder. Wilder. Like something untamed lived in the soil.
“Rogue territory,” my father said, popping the trunk. “Mask your scent when you go out. Most of them won’t care that you’re here, but best not to take chances.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “I’m not planning to cause trouble. I just need time to think.”
He studied me for a moment. Then nodded. “You always were stubborn.”
My mother hugged me tight. “Call us. Or at least text. Just let us know you’re okay.”
I promised I would and they left shortly after that. They needed to get back before it was realized they were gone. They didn’t want to have to face questioning upon returning to pack lands.
Their taillights disappeared down the road, swallowed by trees. The sound of the engine faded, until there was only the wind. Only the creak of the cabin behind me.
Only silence. I turned slowly, taking it in. The chipped paint. The porch covered in leaves. The smell of cedar and age that poured from the doorway like memory.
It wasn’t much. But it was mine.
Inside, I lit a fire with kindling left beside the hearth and unpacked my bag one item at a time. Every motion deliberate. Grounding. I made а cup of instant coffee and settled on the small couch with the fire crackling at my feet.
For the first time in years, no one was watching.
No Vanessa humming in the next room.
No Tobias pacing the halls like he owned them all.
No duties. No roles. No mask.
Just me. Just the wind outside the cabin and the soft groan of the walls settling around me.
But after a while, something started to shift. Not loud. Not obvious. Just… a feeling.
A prickle at the base of my neck. The itch of being seen. Not Tobias. Not Vanessa. Something older. Something deeper.
I told myself it was just the woods. The trees shifting. The roof creaking in the cold. But instinct didn’t lie.
Still, I whispered to the fire, “Not tonight. Whoever you are, just leave me be.”
Tomorrow, I’d worry. Tonight, I needed to breathe.
The fire burned low by the time dawn began to touch the edge of the curtains. Pale light filtered in, catching on floating dust like gold-threaded ghosts.
For a long moment, I just lay there and watched them drift.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No expectations.
Just stillness.
When I finally stood, my joints cracked from sleeping on the couch. I stretched, walked barefoot to the kitchen, and turned the faucet.
The pipes groaned—but then water rushed out. Cold and clean.
“Well water,” I murmured. I drank from the glass. It tasted like rock and rain.
I spent rest of the next morning making the cabin mine.
I set to cleaning. Dust coated every surface. I pulled old sheets from the furniture, shaking them out over the porch rail. A couch. A table. A rocking chair near the window. Wood beneath the dust. Quiet warmth beneath the years.
The bedroom held only a bed and a dresser. I stripped the linens, found them intact. Stale, but washable. I opened the curtains and sunlight spilled across the quilt like honey.
The bathroom was small—a chipped sink, a cloudy mirror, a narrow shower. I flipped on the faucet and smiled when the water flowed strong.
My father had checked it before they brought me here. Of course he had.
The kitchen held mismatched dishes and a dented kettle. I filled it and set it to boil. My mother had left a small solar outlet and an old radio. I plugged it in and static gave way to a low country hum.
Outside, I noticed the solar panels glinting on the roof. Quietly, efficiently, they powered the space without needing permission from anyone.
It felt right.
By midday, the place looked… lived in. Not perfect. But mine.
I stepped out onto the porch, mug in hand, and stared out at the woods.
The trees here were different. Taller. Thicker. Their roots crawled over the earth like veins.
It should’ve felt peaceful. And it did. Mostly. But the prickle returned. That weight between my shoulder blades.
Movement at the edge of the trees. Not a deer. Not wind. And then as quickly as it came, it was gone.
I stepped inside slowly, locking the door out of habit—not because it would stop whatever was out there, but because it made me feel like I still had control.
The kettle whistled. I poured another cup, sat by the window, and pressed my fingertips against the cold glass.
The forest waited. Silent. Watching.
And I whispered, just once,
“I don’t want trouble. I just want peace.”
The trees didn’t answer.
But the wind shifted.
And somewhere far off—soft and low—a single howl rolled through the hills.
So quiet, I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.
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