The council hall was colder than usual.
Even with the enchanted hearths burning blue-white at the corners, a chill hung in the air like the echo of a storm not yet passed. Aria stood at the edge of the dais, cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders, her storm-gray eyes fixed ahead.
She knew he was coming.
Kael had sent word—formally this time—requesting a private audience before the next full moon. No mention of apologies, no mention of Evelyn. Just a time, a place, and the unspoken tension of all they hadn’t said.
She didn’t answer the letter.
But she showed up anyway.
Because if she didn’t end this now, he would keep bleeding into her life like a wound that refused to close.
The doors creaked open behind her.
She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.
His scent reached her before his voice did—cedar, smoke, and something faintly bitter.
“Aria,” Kael said softly, stepping inside. “You came.”
“I’m not here for closure,” she said without turning. “I’m here for clarity.”
He moved closer, boots echoing against the stone floor. “Then let me speak plainly.”
She turned slowly, finally facing him. The flicker of torchlight danced along his jawline, casting deep shadows under his eyes.
“I know I broke you,” Kael said. “I know I made the wrong choice. But if there’s even a shard of the bond left—”
“There isn’t,” Aria cut in. Her voice was cold, precise. “Whatever echo you feel is memory. Nothing more.”
Kael froze.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.
Aria watched him, expression unreadable. She’d prepared for this moment—not to hurt him, but to finally sever the rope he kept throwing her way like a lifeline she never asked for.
“You don’t mean that,” Kael said, his voice cracking. “The bond—”
“Died when you chose her,” she said. “And if some echo of it still lives, it’s not love. It’s scar tissue.”
Kael stepped forward, eyes searching hers. “But you still kept the necklace.”
“That wasn’t for you,” she said. “It was for me. A reminder of who I used to be—naïve, loyal, blind.”
He flinched.
Aria moved past him slowly, circling the dais. “You came here thinking I’d what? Say I missed you? That I’d fall back into the rhythm you broke?”
“I thought maybe—”
“You don’t get to think for me anymore.”
The words landed sharp.
Kael looked at her like he was seeing someone new. In truth, she was. The Aria that once wept in his shadow was gone, buried beneath each betrayal, each moment of isolation, each heartbeat that belonged to the child she now carried.
“I made mistakes,” he said quietly.
“No,” Aria replied. “You made a choice. Over and over. You chose Evelyn. You chose control. You chose to humiliate me in front of the council rather than face your fear.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, weaker now.
“For who?”
Kael said nothing.
Aria continued, her voice steady. “You left me bleeding in the ruins of what we built. And now that the ground is shaking beneath you, you come crawling back, hoping I’ll offer you shelter.”
“I came back because I still—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t get to use the word love. Not with me. Not anymore.”
Kael’s face hardened, and for a moment, the Alpha flickered behind the regret.
“Then tell me this,” he said. “Do you really feel nothing?”
Aria stepped closer until they were inches apart.
“I feel grateful,” she said softly. “Grateful that you left. Because it forced me to become more than just your mate. I became my own.”
The silence between them was thick, vibrating with unspoken history.
Then she turned.
“You said what you came to say,” she murmured. “Now leave.”
Kael didn’t move.
For a moment, Aria thought he might resist—might try to press the past into her hands again like it could ever hold the same shape.
But then he bowed his head.
Not as Alpha.
As a man who had lost.
Without another word, he walked to the door, his boots scuffing softly against the stone. Just before stepping into the night, he paused.
“You were always more than I deserved,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t chase.
She listened to the echo of the door closing behind him, and let it settle like a final punctuation mark on a sentence that had lingered far too long.
The cold remained, but it no longer bit into her.
It reminded her she was alive.
She placed a hand on her belly, and the child within her shifted again, calm and steady.
Zara entered a moment later, eyes sharp.
“He’s gone?”
Aria nodded.
“For good this time,” she said.
Zara walked to her side. “You okay?”
Aria didn’t answer immediately.
Then: “I’m free.”
