The irony of it all doesn’t escape ine.
I sit at the edge of the conference talile, the official announcement of the third competition round still echoing in my mind
A pack unity challenge requiring Alpha and Luna to work together, leveraging their unique strengths.
Unity. Cooperation. Partnership.
1 want to laugh. Or scream. Maybe both.
The room buzzes around me with subdued chatter, the other packs already beginning to strategize.
I can feel their eyes on me, their whispered speculations brushing against my ears like tiny, stinging needles.
How will Windhowl manage this round with a rejected Luna? Can they even pretend to be united?
I keep my face neutral, my back straight, and my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Years of practice have taught me how to endure these moments, how to let their judgment roll off my skin even when it cuts deep.
But this time, it’s harder.
Because this time, it’s not just a competition. It’s a performance.
A public spectacle where Raiden and I will be forced to play the roles of a cohesive Alpha and Luna–roles we abandoned long ago.
That familiar presence, an almost electric awareness that refuses to fade despite the broken bond between us. I glance up as he approaches, his expression unreadable, his shoulders squared with the confidence of an Alpha who never doubts his authority.
“Siena,” he says, his voice low but steady. “Can we talk? Privately.”
I hesitate, studying his face for any hint of his intentions. His tone is calm, almost careful, but I know better than to trust that Raiden doesn’t do careful–not with me
Still, I nod “Fine.
His office feels like stepping into a graveyard of memories.
The scent of pine and midnight lingers in the air, so achingly familiar it makes my chest tighten. I haven’t been in this room in years–not since he stopped inviting me, stopped including me in anything that mattered.
I trail my fingers along the edge of the desk as I walk in, the smooth wood cool beneath my touch. Everything is exactly as 1 remember it, yet it feels foreign, like I’m intruding on someone else’s space.
Raiden clears his throat, drawing my attention. He’s standing by the window, his hands shoved into his pockets, his posture rigid. He looks uncomfortable, almost out of place in his own office.
“We should discuss strategy,” he begins, his voice unusually hesitant.
I cross my arms, leaning against the desk. “Strategy?” I repeat, arching an eyebrow. “Or damage control!”
He flinches, just barely, but it’s enough for me to notice.
1/4
Chapter 53
“I wasn’t aware of your father’s passing, he says abruptly. His words are quiet lae deldwrate, each syllable landing like x
The apology catches nie off guard. For a moment, I just stare at him, are how to respond. Raiden dormit jedogize
bin, maare
The formal condolence feels alien coming from him, especially alter weeks of cold shoulders and colder words.
