I did not look up. “Nothing for you. This meal is mine.”
Alden stared. “You only cooked for yourself? Did you not hear me? I told you to prepare food for Selene and us. Where is it?”
“I am not a pack servant,” I said simply, lifting another spoonful. “I never agreed.”
Silence followed. Then a sharp scoff.
“This is about Selene again, is it not?” Draven asked. “By the Moon Goddess, Luna Liora, when will you stop this?”
I said nothing.
“She is wounded,” Alden added. “She is in pain. Why must you always be so bitter? Do you expect us to abandon her just so you feel important?”
I continued eating.
Spoon after spoon, the silence thickened.
“You are selfish,” Draven growled. “Everything is always about you. Do you believe the pack owes you something just because you were here first?”
I stared at my bowl. My hands shook slightly, not from fear, only exhaustion.
“She did not choose to be hurt,” Alden continued. “You have been cold since she returned. She is trying and you sulk like a jealous pup. Admit it.”
Jealous.
That word again.
The word they always used to silence me.
I slowly set my spoon down.
“I am not jealous,” I whispered. “I am simply… finished.”
They did not respond. Perhaps they heard me. Perhaps they did not care.
Suddenly, Draven slammed his palm against the table. The bowl rattled. I flinched.
“You know what?” he snarled. “You are nothing compared to her.”
Without warning, he grabbed my bowl and hurled it against the stone wall.
The clay shattered. Warm broth splashed down the surface like blood.
I stared at the mess.
Alden did nothing.
Neither of them stopped it.
“Useless,” Draven muttered, shaking his head. “You are completely useless.”
The words hung heavy in the air, sinking deep.
They left the hearth room again, their footsteps fading down the stone passageway.
I remained standing, staring at the broken bowl, at the food wasted, at the mess they did not bother to clean.
And strangely, I did not cry.
Not this time. Not anymore.
Because I had already passed that point.
By dawn, most of my travel packs were prepared. Leather bags stood against the stone wall beside my bed, tied and marked with runes. Garments, parchments and crystal records I had not yet burned. I folded the final tunics with slow care, not from affection, but because there was a strange calm in working quietly.
They all believed I was only packing for the Moonbond Ceremony.