Lyra learned the pack's questions were never asked directly.
They came in fragments—half-finished sentences that died when she entered a room, looks exchanged too quickly, voices lowered just enough to pretend courtesy. She tried not to listen.
She failed.
"She eats at the Alpha's table."
"She sleeps under his roof."
"No mark. No announcement."
"Then what is she doing here?"
Lyra stood just outside the storehouse, a folded blanket in her arms. The voices inside froze when the door creaked. She didn't look up—she never did—just murmured a soft apology and turned away, cheeks warm, heart tight.
By the time she reached the courtyard, the weight of it pressed down hard enough that she had to stop. She set the blanket on a bench and breathed. It's not anger, she told herself. It's confusion.
Still, confusion could cut.
Across the grounds, the Elders gathered.
Kael felt it before he heard it—the tension, the shift. The Council chamber doors closed behind him with a final thud. Silver hair, lined faces, eyes sharp with memory and law.
"You're losing the pack," one Elder said without preamble.
Kael didn't sit. "I'm steadying it."
"By keeping an unclaimed female in your house?" another snapped. "By allowing rumors to fester?"
"She's not a rumor," Kael replied evenly. "She's a person under my protection."
"Protection becomes favoritism when it blurs the law," the first Elder said. "If she is your mate, claim her. If she is not, send her away."
A low growl rippled through Kael's chest. He forced it down. "She is nineteen."
The chamber stilled.
"Too young," an Elder murmured.
"Too dangerous," another added. "Especially if what we suspect is true."
Kael's eyes hardened. "You will not speak of her blood without proof."
"Proof will come," the Elder said calmly. "It always does."
Outside, Lyra wandered farther than she meant to, following a pull that felt like moonlight tugging at her ribs. She ended up near the old willow at the edge of the stream—quiet, forgotten, safe.
She knelt, fingers trailing through the water. "I don't want to cause trouble," she whispered. "I just want to belong."
The air warmed.
The stream shimmered, light gathering where her fingertips touched. It wasn't bright—more like dawn trapped beneath the surface. The willow's leaves stirred though there was no wind. Lyra gasped, pulling back—
—and the glow followed.
Soft lines of light traced her palms, curling like living threads. The ache in her chest eased, replaced by a gentle certainty. Not power to dominate. Power to mend. To hold.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
Lyra spun around. Kael stood frozen, eyes wide, breath caught.
The light faded at once, sinking back into her skin as if it had never been.
"I—I didn't mean to," she stammered. "It just—happened."
Kael crossed the distance in two strides, stopping himself an arm's length away. "Did it hurt?"
She shook her head. "It felt… kind."
His jaw tightened. Kind was not how the Elders would name it.
Before he could speak, voices carried from the path—two wolves passing by.
"…heard the Council's meeting ended early."
"…about the girl?"
"About what she is."
Lyra's eyes widened. "They know?"
"Not yet," Kael said softly. "But they're close."
The wolves' footsteps faded. Silence rushed back in, heavy with consequence.
Lyra looked up at him, fear and trust warring in her gaze. "If I leave," she said quickly, "will it stop?"
Kael's heart lurched. "No."
"Then what do I do?"
He answered without hesitation. "You stay. And you learn. And I make sure no one touches you."
Her voice trembled. "Even if the pack doesn't want me?"
"Especially then."
They stood beneath the willow, secrets pressing in from all sides—whispers in the pack, warnings from the Elders, and a power in Lyra that had begun to wake.
This time, Kael did not step back.
He stayed.