Lyra noticed the change before anyone said a word.
Kael no longer walked beside her.
Not closely. Not instinctively. Not the way he had before—shoulder angled toward her, presence a quiet wall at her back. Now there was space. Intentional. Measured.
It hurt more than she expected.
At first, she told herself she was imagining it. That Alphas were busy. That leaders carried burdens she couldn't see. But days passed, and the distance remained. Kael spoke to her politely. Briefly. Always with others nearby.
Never alone.
Never close.
She sat on the low stone wall near the training grounds, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve, watching him spar with his Beta. His movements were controlled, powerful—every strike precise. The pack watched with admiration.
Lyra watched with confusion.
He didn't look at her once.
"Don't stare too hard," a voice murmured beside her.
Lyra startled, turning to find Mira, one of the older she-wolves, lowering herself onto the wall. Mira's gaze was knowing, not unkind.
"I wasn't staring," Lyra said quickly.
Mira smiled. "Of course not."
Silence settled between them, filled by the sound of grunts and shifting feet on dirt.
"Alphas pull away when they're trying not to claim something," Mira said casually.
Lyra's breath caught. "Claim… what?"
Mira glanced at her, surprised. "You, little moon."
Lyra's cheeks warmed instantly. "He wouldn't. I mean—he can't. He said—"
"I know what he said," Mira replied gently. "And I know what his wolf is screaming."
Lyra hugged her arms tighter. "Then why does it feel like I've done something wrong?"
Mira's expression softened. "Because you're innocent enough to think distance always means rejection."
Lyra swallowed. That word again. Innocent. Everyone said it like it explained everything she didn't understand.
That night, sleep refused to come.
The room Kael had given her was warm and safe, but her chest felt restless, tight with unasked questions. She slipped from her bed and padded quietly down the corridor, following a pull she didn't know how to name.
Moonlight spilled into the open balcony at the end of the hall.
Kael stood there alone.
He didn't turn when she stepped closer, but his shoulders stiffened. He knew she was there.
"You shouldn't be awake," he said.
Neither should you, she almost replied. Instead, she asked, "Why won't you look at me anymore?"
That made him turn.
His eyes—silver and dark with restraint—met hers, and something sharp flickered there before he masked it.
"Because if I do," he said slowly, "I won't step back."
Lyra took a step forward anyway. "I didn't ask you to."
"You didn't have to," he replied. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I'm not a child," she said, voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "I just want to understand."
Kael laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it. "That's exactly the problem."
He moved then—not toward her, but away, placing the balcony railing between them like a line drawn in stone.
"Lyra," he said softly, "my wolf doesn't see your age or your scars or how gently you look at the world. It sees a mate. A Luna. Something to protect, to claim, to bind."
Her heart raced. "Is that… bad?"
"It would be," he said, meeting her gaze again, "if I let instinct lead instead of choice."
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning in her chest for days. "Do you want to step back?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
"No," Kael admitted. "I don't."
Hope flared too fast, too bright.
"Then why—"
"Because wanting isn't the same as doing what's right," he cut in gently. "You deserve time. Safety. The chance to grow into whatever you're meant to be without a bond defining you before you understand it."
Lyra's eyes stung. "And what if I want to choose it?"
His jaw tightened. "Then I'd fail you."
She didn't understand how stepping away could feel like care—but she saw it in his eyes. The effort it took. The restraint carved into every breath.
Kael straightened. "Go back to bed."
She didn't move.
"Lyra."
"Just answer one thing," she whispered. "If you keep stepping back… will you ever come back?"
For a moment, the Alpha was gone.
Only the man remained.
"Yes," he said, voice low and certain. "When you're ready. When you're no longer asking because you don't want to lose me—but because you understand what it means to stand beside me."
Lyra nodded slowly.
As she turned away, her heart ached—but beneath it was something new.
Not rejection.
Not fear.
Patience.
And somewhere deep inside her, something ancient stirred… waiting for the day he would no longer step back—but forward.