The study was supposed to be quiet.
Kael sat at the edge of the massive oak desk, elbows braced on his knees, hands stained faintly with ink and memory. Outside the frost-laced window, the first signs of snowfall ghosted down like ash. It should’ve calmed him—he used to love winter.
Now it only reminded him of Aria’s silence.
She’d always hated the cold. Her fingers would sneak under his cloak during patrols, greedy for warmth, and she’d scowl at him when he teased her for it. That memory used to make him smile. Now it hollowed him out.
He hadn’t seen her since the severing.
Not since the bond was broken before the council’s altar. Not since he stood silent while she bled magic from her chest and refused to cry.
Not since he chose Evelyn.
A letter lay unopened on the desk.
He recognized the parchment — SilverCrest’s seal, broken cleanly. It had arrived through a neutral runner, addressed only to “StoneRidge Alpha.” But he knew the handwriting instantly.
Sharp. Confident. Her.
He hadn’t opened it.
Because he didn’t deserve to.
Instead, he opened the drawer beneath it. Inside, nestled among dust and dried petals from a long-dead Luna bloom, was the letter he had written her.
The one he never sent.
He had written it the night before the severing.
When he still believed that love might outweigh duty. That the council might listen. That choosing Aria wouldn’t brand him unfit to lead.
Aria,
If this reaches you, it means I failed. That I let them carve our bond like we were nothing but symbols on paper. I wish I had been stronger. I wish you didn’t have to carry the weight I was too afraid to lift.
He read the words aloud now, voice raw.
The silence answered back like a verdict.
He remembered her eyes in those final moments—storm-gray and burning, holding onto dignity even as the severing rune flared between them. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t begged.
She had only looked at him.
And he’d looked away.
Kael crushed the letter in his fist, breathing hard. His wolf stirred beneath his skin, pacing restlessly. It had grown more volatile lately. Dreams haunted him — of Aria standing beneath a red moon, of a baby crying somewhere he couldn’t reach. And always, always that scent.
Not her scent from before. This one was softer. Newer. But it carried her magic, her strength.
And something else.
Someone else.
He rose, pacing the room like a caged animal. Every part of him resisted the truth he’d buried for weeks:
Aria was still tethered to him.
Not through the bond — that had been severed.
But through blood.
Through a child.
He didn’t need confirmation. Not anymore. His instincts had sharpened into certainty.
She was pregnant.
And it was his.
A sudden flash of memory hit him — Aria’s fingers pressed to her belly one quiet morning, a subtle smile on her lips as she said, “Do you think the Moon would ever trust us with something more?”
He had laughed then. Brushed it off.
Now the echo of that moment shredded him.
He wasn’t angry at her for leaving. He was angry at himself for making her have to.
He turned back to the desk and lit the single candle beside the unopened letter.
The flame danced, casting his shadow in stark relief.
Then, slowly, he reached for the envelope she had sent.
Hands trembling.
He peeled it open.
Inside was a single sheet.
No apology. No explanation.
Just five words:
She kicked for the first time.
The words struck harder than any blade.
Kael’s knees gave out, and he dropped into the chair behind him, the parchment fluttering between his fingers.
She kicked.
Not “I’m pregnant.”
Not “She’s yours.”
Just that.
A moment. A heartbeat. A miracle.
Shared not as an invitation, but as a declaration.
She didn’t need him.
Not for protection. Not for approval. Not even for recognition.
She was telling him, not asking.
And it wrecked him.
Because once, that would’ve been his joy too — to feel the stir of life beneath her hand. To press his ear to her belly and listen for the future. To build a world around their child together.
Now, that future lived far away. Hidden. Guarded.
Because he’d made it unsafe to be near him.
He set the letter down and stared at the flame. It flickered gently, then surged higher, as if sensing the shift inside him.
He didn’t know what to do.
But for the first time, he knew what he had to become.
Not just an Alpha.
Not just a man clinging to regret.
But someone worthy of being her father’s name.
He stood slowly, the flame still dancing in his periphery.
Then he whispered:
“Wait for me, little one. I’ll come.”
