The bond doesn't vanish the way the shamans claim it does.
They say rejection is clean. Final. A severing so complete that the Moon herself seals the wound and turns away. They say the ache fades within days, that the wolf heals faster than the heart, that only fools cling to what fate has deemed unfit.
They're liars.
I wake before dawn with a scream lodged in my throat and Jonah's name burning behind my teeth. My sheets are twisted around my legs, damp with sweat, my heart racing as though I've been running for miles.
For one terrible second, I expect to feel him.
The pull.
The warmth.
The quiet certainty of mine.
Instead, there's only emptiness—ragged and raw and echoing.
My wolf curls inward, wounded and silent. She doesn't snarl at me. She doesn't accuse.
She simply turns her face away.
That hurts more than any punishment my parents could ever devise.
I press a hand to my chest, breathing shallowly until the pain dulls from a sharp stab into something heavier. Something permanent.
Mercy, I remind myself.
I did it for mercy.
*
The packhouse carries on as though nothing has changed.
Servants move through the halls with their eyes lowered. Warriors laugh in the training yard. Elders convene behind closed doors, their voices murmuring about alliances and influence and futures that no longer belong to me.
I drift through it all, smiling when expected, nodding when addressed, answering questions automatically. My body performs its role even as my mind splinters.
I don't shift.
No one comments on it.
That, more than anything, tells me how carefully my life is being managed.
At meals, Mother watches me over the rim of her teacup, her gaze sharp despite the softness of her smile. She asks about my sleep, my appetite, my health. Never about my heart.
Father barely looks at me at all.
I know that look. The one he reserves for problems he intends to solve quietly.
Jonah is gone.
Not transferred. Not reassigned.
Gone.
I search for him everywhere without meaning to. The training grounds. The lower corridors. The maintenance wing near the east wall where Omegas are usually sent to work out of sight.
His scent is fading.
That realization steals my breath more effectively than any blow.
I corner one of the servants on the third day—a young she-wolf who used to bring towels to the training yard.
"Have you seen Jonah?" I ask, keeping my voice even.
Her eyes flicker. Fear. Confusion.
"I—I don't know who that is, Luna-in-waiting."
The title twists in my gut.
"An Omega," I press. "Dark hair. Works the grounds."
Her face drains of color. "I'm sorry. I really don't know."
She bows quickly and flees before I can stop her.
It's as if the pack has collectively decided he never existed.
And maybe, in a way, he doesn't anymore.
*
Neriah finds me in the library that evening.
She doesn't announce herself. She never does. Beta's daughter, groomed for observation and obedience, she moves like a shadow when she wants to.
"You're bleeding," she says.
I glance down. My nails have bitten into my palm hard enough to draw blood.
"I didn't notice."
"That's the problem," she replies quietly.
She sits across from me without asking, folding her hands neatly atop her knee. Neriah has always been composed, always watching. But tonight, there's something brittle beneath her calm.
"You should be careful," she says after a moment.
"About what?"
"About being seen as fragile."
I laugh softly. "Is that what they think?"
"They don't think," she says. "They assess."
I meet her gaze then, something sharp flaring in my chest. "Say what you came to say."
Her jaw tightens. "The Elders are restless. Your return was… anticipated. They expected progress."
"Progress toward what?" I ask, though I already know.
"Toward a union."
Of course.
I look away, my throat tight. "And what do you think?"
Neriah hesitates. That alone is answer enough.
"I think," she says carefully, "that whatever choice you made recently has complicated things."
The words land heavier than she intends.
"I did what I had to do."
Her eyes soften, just slightly. "I hope that's true."
She leaves me alone with that hope and the gnawing fear that it's nothing more than a lie I've rehearsed too well.
*
The summons comes the next morning.
Dawn has barely broken when a servant knocks at my door and informs me that my parents are waiting. The formality of it chills me more than any raised voice could.
Father's study smells like leather, ink, and old authority.
Mother sits to his right, serene as ever. Beta Neriah's father stands near the wall, hands clasped behind his back. No one offers me a seat.
This is not a discussion.
"Alpha Ronan Blackthorn will arrive tomorrow," Father says.
The name lands like thunder.
I've heard it my entire life. Every pack has. The youngest Alpha to ever unify three territories. Unmated. Unyielding. Untouchable.
"He is considering you as his Luna," Mother adds smoothly.
Considering.
As though I'm a position to be filled.
"A preliminary agreement has been reached," Father continues. "Your role is to be agreeable."
I swallow. "And if I'm not?"
His gaze hardens. "You will be."
Silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
I think of Jonah's eyes. Of the way hope had flared in them, bright and impossible, right before I crushed it.
I nod.
Because that's what I was raised to do.
*
That night, I stand at my window and stare out at the forest beyond the pack's borders.
The moon hangs low and full, bathing the world in silver.
"I'm sorry," I whisper again.
To Jonah.
To my wolf.
To the girl I might have been.
The moon offers no absolution.
Only witness.