The pack felt different the next morning.
Not louder. Not angrier.
Sharper.
Lyra sensed it the moment she stepped into the hall—like walking into cold water. Conversations stopped. Heads dipped too quickly. Respect without warmth.
She clutched the edge of the table where breakfast had been laid out, unsure whether to sit or leave.
"Sit."
Kael's voice cut cleanly through the tension.
He was already there, standing instead of taking his seat. Alpha posture. Command threaded through a single word.
Lyra obeyed instantly, cheeks flushing as she slid into the chair beside him. The space between them was careful—close enough to acknowledge, distant enough to restrain.
The pack noticed everything.
Kael remained standing. "She stays," he said calmly. "There will be no speculation spoken in my territory."
An elder wolf frowned. "With respect, Alpha, silence doesn't settle uncertainty."
Kael's gaze swept the room. "Then hear this clearly. Lyra is under my protection. Any harm—verbal or otherwise—will be answered as a challenge to me."
A ripple moved through the hall.
Lyra's breath caught. She hadn't asked for this. Hadn't known she needed it.
After the gathering dispersed, she lingered, fingers twisting together. Kael turned to her, expression unreadable.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly.
"I did," he replied. "Because staying has a cost—and you shouldn't be the only one paying it."
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been circling her thoughts since the night by the willow. "What am I supposed to learn?"
Kael studied her for a long moment. "Control. History. And yourself."
"And if I fail?"
"You won't," he said firmly. "But if you do, you won't do it alone."
Later, Mira guided Lyra to a quiet room tucked beneath the eastern tower—an old space, lined with carved stone and symbols softened by age.
"This was once used by healers," Mira explained. "Before the packs feared what they didn't understand."
Lyra traced a symbol on the wall. It hummed faintly under her touch. "I don't want to be feared."
"Power doesn't choose how it's received," Mira said gently. "Only how it's used."
That night, Lyra stood at her window, watching the moon climb. The pull in her chest returned—stronger now, steadier. She didn't fight it.
She breathed.
The light came again, subtle and warm, threading through her veins without spilling over. For the first time, it listened when she asked it to stop.
Below, Kael looked up.
He felt it—felt her—and for the first time since she arrived, he didn't just fear what she was becoming.
He believed in it.
And that belief, he knew, might cost him everything.