“You’re still the Luna of Ashfen Pack,” my father answered. “You have duties.”
Duties?
A humorless chuckle escaped me. I couldn’t believe that’s what mattered to him—responsibilities—while I was drowning in grief.
He left without another word, closing the door behind him. And somehow, I found the will to move.
I dragged myself out of bed and dressed in black. Pulled my hair into a tight, neat bun. When I looked at my reflection, the lifeless woman staring back didn’t feel like me. Her eyes were empty. Shadows clung beneath them.
I used makeup to hide the damage—to bury the signs of mourning beneath layers of foundation and powder.
Ronan didn’t deserve to see my pain.
He arrived shortly after, pulling me into an embrace like it could erase the past. His arms were firm around me, his expression filled with hope. The same green eyes I once adored—green like the woods where we first met—searched mine.
But I felt... nothing.
I tried to smile.
I couldn’t.
All I wanted was to tear him apart. To drag him into the same agony I had been drowning in.
“Elior? Where is he?” Ronan asked.
Hearing my son’s name again—it was like a dagger to the chest. Images of the cave, the smell of blood, the frantic prayers—I saw it all again.
I laughed.
It was sharp. Empty. Laced with venom.
Ronan’s brows pulled together. “That’s not what I needed to hear, Luna.”
Luna.
As if that word still held weight.
“You’re searching for Elior?” I said quietly, every word soaked in acid.
He frowned. “Didn’t you hear me? What’s wrong with you?” He reached for my arm, but I stepped away.
His confusion was instant.
Then realization swept over him.
“You’re upset because I didn’t come,” he said gently. “Please—I can explain. I’m here now because—”
I cut him off. “Did you receive the letter?”
His forehead creased. “Letter?”
“Elior’s funeral,” I said coldly.
Silence fell between us.
The color drained from his face. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came.
You didn’t come.
I pushed the words past the lump in my throat. “You weren’t there when he needed you. You weren’t there when I was losing him. You weren’t even there when we laid him to rest.”
My voice trembled, but I wouldn’t fall apart—not in front of him. He didn’t get to see the wreckage.
He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly at a loss. His wolf stirred within him, sensing mine’s pain.
Because she was still mourning.
Still breaking.