POV: Lyra
Lyra smiled as Kyran walked away.
Not the smile she reserved for pack elders or warriors who bowed too slowly. Not even the one she used on Kyran when pretending to care. This one was hers alone, sharp, pleased, and private. He hadn't looked back. Not once. And she could feel it the shift in his wolf. Once eager. Now... silent.
She took the less traveled corridor that curved beneath the laundry chambers, heels clipping softly against stone. The corridor was half-dark, stale with the scent of steam and soaproot.
He was already waiting.
Her omega. Her first mate. Rejected in words but not in truth.
He stood straight, as if the rejection hadn't frayed his soul. But his scent betrayed him. Still loyal. Still hers. Once, Lyra thought she could've tolerated him. His worship. His simplicity but that was before Kyran. Before the Luna's seat became possible.
Before Everly became a threat.
"You're late," she said, voice clipped.
"I came as soon as…"
"I didn't ask for excuses." She stepped close, close enough to smell the nervous sweat beneath his collar. "I rejected you," she whispered. "You will keep that truth."
He nodded too quickly.
"Do you understand what's at stake if Kyran or anyone else finds out?"
His eyes flicked downward.
"To them, you no longer exist," she said. "And if you do… you never touched me." The lie had grown stronger with each retelling.
Lyra had even let whispers of pregnancy spread, not confirmed, of course. Just subtle things. Soft gasps in the corridor. A single hand resting against her belly when Kyran happened to be nearby. The Luna had noticed and so had the Alpha.
They wanted legacy. Lyra would give it to them. Or the illusion of it. She didn't need Kyran's wolf to love her. But it had once tolerated her. Now, she wasn't so sure it would even let her near.
As she turned to leave, the omega caught her sleeve.
His fingers trembled. "You said… you wouldn't forget me."
Her voice chilled. "Then I lied."
She returned to the upper courtyard where pack guards exchanged whispered reports.
"More rogue markings," one muttered to another, pointing at a curling map etched in ash and bloodroot. "Same sigil again. Moon and vine."
Lyra's gaze twitched toward the parchment but she kept walking. "Rogues," she scoffed to herself. "Mongrels playing house in the woods."
But something about the markings that symbol itched behind her eyes.
What she didn't know, what no one had told her, was that the Alpha King wasn't aligned with the pack council on the matter. He'd sent scouts. Quietly. Independently.
Not to destroy the rogue camp, but to study it.
To find something.
Someone.
And Spirit... Spirit moved freely through every border and beyond because the rogue camp wasn't just a camp.
It was hers.
Lyra didn't see Spirit now. Not clearly, but she felt her. A shift in the air. The prickle of skin between shoulder blades. Lyra turned toward the garden path, overgrown now, twisting and silvered with dew.
Nothing.
Only stillness.
Only silence.
But she hated that girl…Spirit, or whatever her real name was.
Too calm. Too knowing.
She wasn't ranked, yet no one ever corrected her. She walked through Ironfang like she didn't fear anything, not even the Alpha.
Even the guards parted for her.
Everly liked her. That was enough reason to hate her.
Kyran was still tangled. He wouldn't say Everly's name. Wouldn't acknowledge the mate bond. But his wolf hadn't accepted Lyra. She'd never known his name. He'd never told her and that, more than anything, was starting to feel like a warning.
And with every breath Everly took, every time she stood instead of crumbling, Lyra felt the edge slip further from her grasp.
She paused outside Kyran's door, placed a hand on the frame, and smiled to herself again.
She would win.
She always did.
No matter how many lies it took.
Behind her, unseen, Spirit stood at the mouth of the misted garden.
The air thickened where she passed, curling around her cloak like memory.
She watched where Lyra had walked.
Watched where the boy had stood.
Watched the places where truth had been torn, then stitched again with silk and blood.
She said nothing.
Not yet but her eyes flicked toward the distant trees, toward the mountains beyond Ironfang's reach.
Where the rogue camp glowed in moonlight, quiet and whole.
Where stories were being rewritten.
Where the Alpha King watched, not with rage, but with interest.
Not for war.
But for her.
"Let her lie," Spirit whispered to the leaves. "Fire burns cleanest when it's fed by its own deceit."
And she vanished into the mist before the wind could carry her name.