A map of all the major pack territories.
And there were marks on it. Red X's.
Martha's voice trembled. "Over seven pack houses. Including this one."
The room went silent.
Cold. Heavy. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
"Targets," Kael said flatly. "They're planning coordinated attacks."
"That's what I thought." Martha swallowed hard. "But there was something else. The date written on the map—it's the same day as the Council Ring."
Understanding hit me like a punch to the gut.
"They're going to attack during the hearing. When all the Alphas are gathered in one place."
Marcus cursed under his breath. "One strike to take out the leadership of seven packs. That would throw the entire werewolf nation into chaos."
"And in that chaos," Kael said, "the Blood Moon Cult seizes control. It's smart. Evil, but smart."
"We have to warn the Council," Helena said, her voice rising.
"They won't believe us," Garrett replied. "Not without proof. All we have is Martha's word about a map."
"Then we'll get proof," I said. My voice came out sharper than I intended. "We go back to Silver Moon. Break into Leighton's study. Photograph the map."
Marcus shook his head. "That's suicide. Security's insane right now. Leighton's paranoid and violent."
"Then we plan it carefully," Kael said. "A small team. Quiet, fast, precise."
He started pacing, mind already running ahead.
We spread out paper and drew the Silver Moon pack house from memory.
Marcus filled in guard rotations, and Ka noted blind spots.
I added secret doors I remembered from childhood—places where the walls whispered if you pressed your ear to them.
The table became a war zone of sketches and red ink.
Every line was a heartbeat closer to danger.
Finally, Kael leaned back. "It'll take three people. Small enough to move unnoticed, big enough to fight if needed. I'll go."
"And me," I cut in. "It's my old home. I know every secret passage, every hidden door. You need me."
He didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Fine. Marcus makes three."
"When do we leave?" Marcus asked.
"Tomorrow night. One day to prep."
The meeting broke up. Everyone scattered to get ready—blades sharpened, gear packed, prayers whispered.
But before I could leave, Martha caught my arm.
"Sophia. A word?"
Her tone was gentle, but something in her eyes made my stomach twist. I followed her into the hallway, where candlelight flickered over the stone walls.
"There's something I didn't tell the others," she said quietly. "Something personal."
"What is it?"
"Your mother. Lyanna." Martha glanced around, as if afraid the shadows might be listening. "I knew her. Better than most people did."
My heart skipped. "You did?"
"She was my student—years ago, before she married your father. I taught her shamanic magic." Martha's eyes softened with memory. "She was gifted. But she was terrified."
"Terrified? Of what?"
"Of her bloodline." Martha's voice dropped lower, heavy with secrets. "Your mother was from the original Silvermane family—the pure line. That made her a target."
"I don't get it. Why would being pure-blooded make her a target?"
"Because the Blood Moon Cult either controls the pure lines… or destroys them." Martha's grip tightened on my hands. "Sophia, you are the last Silvermane heir."
The floor felt like it dropped out from under me. "You mean—"
"Yes. The Blood Moon Cult doesn't just want you dead because you're in their way. You threaten everything they stand for. Your existence proves their beliefs are a lie."
"That the pure bloodlines should rule," I intoned. "But if I'm proof that the pure ones would rather not rule—"
"Then their entire philosophy collapses." Martha nodded. "Your mother fought them for years. She died protecting that secret."
A chill spread through me. "How did she die? I was told it was illness."
Martha's face hardened. "Poison. Slow and cruel. By the time we realized it, it was too late."
"The cult killed her," I whispered.
"We couldn't prove it," Martha whispered. "But yes. I believe so."
Rage burned hot in my chest.
Leighton had poisoned me once.
Now I knew the cult had done the same to my mother.
Their hands had twisted my whole life.
"Why tell me now?" I asked.
"Because you need to understand what you're truly fighting." Martha pulled out a small leather journal. "Your mother left this for you. She made me promise to give it to you if the cult ever found you."
I took it with shaking hands, the cover cracked, the edges soft with age.
Her scent—wildflowers and smoke—seemed to cling to the leather.
"Read it," Martha said. "When you're ready. It holds everything she wanted you to know."
She squeezed my shoulder and walked away, leaving me alone in the hall with my mother's secrets in my hands.
That night after dinner, I went to the room I shared with Kael.
The hallways were quieter than usual. Even the air smelled tense, like a storm waiting to break.
Erica was at a sleepover Helena had arranged to distract the kids from the fear hanging over the pack.
It was just me and Kael.
He sat by the window, sharpening his blade, moonlight glinting off the steel.
I sat on the bed, holding the journal, heart pounding.
"What's that?" he asked.
"My mother's journal. Martha said, It explains everything."
He set the knife down carefully. "Do you want privacy?"
I shook my head. "No. Stay. Please."
He moved beside me, his presence warm and grounding. "Then I'm here."
I opened the first page. The handwriting was graceful but rushed.
My name is Lyanna Silvermane. I'm writing this because I fear I won't live long enough to tell my daughter the truth.
My voice shook as I read. Kael listened quietly, one hand resting gently on my knee.
The story unfolded like a wound reopening.
Each word pulled up ghosts I didn't know I had.
My mother had been born into the Silvermane family—one of the oldest, strongest bloodlines.
Two hundred fifty years ago, the family split. One branch wanted peace. The other wanted power.
The second joined the Blood Moon Cult.
A civil war followed. Brutal. Endless.
The peaceful side was almost wiped out. My mother was one of the last survivors. She changed her name, married my father, and tried to start over.
They found me. They always find us.
The poison is already in my system. The healers can't cure it. It was made to kill Silvermane blood.
If you're reading this, Sophia, they've found you too.
Tears blurred my vision. I stopped reading.
Kael pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me. "It's okay. Let it out."
I cried for her—for the fear she'd lived with, the lies she'd told to protect me, and the loneliness she must've felt every day.
And somewhere in that grief, a memory surfaced: her hands weaving wildflowers into my hair, humming an old lullaby. I hadn't thought of it for years.
When I could breathe again, I read the rest.
It was part history, part warning.
She wrote about Silvermane powers—our resistance to control, our ability to sense truth, and our connection to the moon's cycles.
She wrote about the Blood Moon Cult's obsession with a relic—the Moon's Tear—a crystal said to command any wolf.
The Cult seeks the Moon's Tear. If they find it, all is lost.
But our bloodline is immune to its power. That's why they want us dead.
I looked up. "Kael, have you heard of this?"
He nodded slowly. "Only as legend. Most think it's a myth."
"My mother didn't."
"Then we believe her," he said, eyes locked on mine.
The last page was a letter.
"My dearest Sophia,
If you're reading this, I'm gone.
But you are stronger than you know.
Don't let them make you afraid. Don't let them make you hide.
Stand tall. Fight back.
The Moon Goddess chose you for something greater.
Stop the cult. Whatever it costs.
I love you. Always.
Mom."
I closed the journal, fingers trembling. Tears slid down silently, each one hot and heavy.
"She knew," I whispered. "She knew this fight would come to me."
Kael lifted my chin, his gaze steady. "And she knew you could handle it. You've already survived more than most Alphas.
The forest was dark, yet alive. Leaves rustled under our paws, and the wind carried whispers of danger. I could feel Kael close to me—his presence a steady pulse against my skin, grounding me in the storm of fear and adrenaline.
"All black. Faces streaked with ash. Shadows among shadows," Kael whispered, checking our positions.
I nodded, tightening the straps on my pack. "We're ready."
Marcus padded silently beside us. His amber eyes reflected the moonlight, sharp as a blade. We had memorized every guard rotation, every trap. Every heartbeat could mean life or death.
Kael turned to me, his gaze steady. "Remember, Sophia—no heroics, no mistakes. Your life, your daughter's life, depends on this."
I swallowed. "Got it. Quiet in, quiet out."
Three hours later, the Silver Moon Pack's territory loomed before us. Torches flickered in the courtyard. Guards patrolled in methodical patterns.
"Too easy," I muttered.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Exactly. That's why it's a trap."
We crouched behind the stone wall, surveying the house. I traced the familiar lines—the hidden doors, the narrow corridors, the attic windows I'd once climbed as a child. Memories of laughter, of home… and of betrayal, surged through me.
Kael's voice cut through my thoughts. "Are you sure about this, Sophia?"
I met his eyes. "I'm sure. Let's finish what my mother started."
We moved like shadows, slipping past the outer guards. Marcus took the lead, agile and silent, while Kael and I followed, hearts beating in unison.
Inside the house, the air was thick with Leighton's lingering arrogance. Portraits of our ancestors glared down, silent witnesses to our intrusion.
"Stay close," Kael whispered. His hand brushed mine. The contact sent a spark of warmth through me, and I had to fight the urge to cling to him. Not now. Not until we completed the mission.
We reached the study. The door was locked, but I already knew the trick. A slight twist of the hidden latch behind the painting, and the room was ours. The map lay sprawled across the desk, covered in Leighton's precise handwriting and those dreaded red X's.
Kael leaned over, scanning. "We need photos. Fast."
I pulled out the enchanted crystal lens Mara had given me. It would capture the map without leaving a trace. My hands shook as I focused. Every detail—the locations, the dates—etched into the magical memory.
Suddenly, a creak from the hallway froze us both.