The message arrived at dawn.
A small silver falcon landed on the windowsill of Aria’s quarters, its eyes glowing with faint blue light. A magic-bonded courier—StoneRidge protocol, and unmistakably official.
Aria didn’t move at first. She just stared at it through the frosted glass, heart steady but wary.
Zara noticed from across the room. “You expecting a message?”
“No,” Aria said flatly. “But I know who would dare send one.”
She opened the window. The falcon extended its leg, and Aria unfastened the scroll. The creature vanished the moment the message left its talon—gone in a burst of chilled air and shimmering feathers.
She unrolled the parchment.
Elegant handwriting. Thin strokes. Precise.
Aria—
I request a private audience. No guards. No politics. Just you and me. There are things I need to say—things I should’ve said before the severing. Please meet me by the east cliff at twilight. Alone.
—Evelyn
Zara stepped closer. “Is she serious?”
“She’s desperate,” Aria said, folding the message.
“She’s also dangerous.”
“I know.” Aria’s voice was quiet but resolute. “That’s why I’ll go.”
Zara opened her mouth to protest, but Aria held up a hand.
“I need to see what she wants. If it’s a trap, I’ll smell it coming.”
Zara frowned. “And if it’s not?”
“Then maybe,” Aria said, “I’ll get to look her in the eye… and see the crack in her armor.”
The east cliff was wind-lashed and barren.
It jutted out from the SilverCrest highlands like a blade, offering a full view of the valley and the frozen river that curled through the forest far below. The sun was just beginning to set—casting everything in gold and bruised purple.
Aria stood at the edge, cloak whipping behind her.
She could feel Evelyn before she saw her. That familiar pulse of magic—cool, metallic, tinged with something bitter.
Evelyn emerged from the shadows of the pine grove.
She wore council robes. Black with silver trim. No weapons. No guards. Just her.
They stood facing each other, wind screaming between them.
“You came,” Evelyn said.
“I wanted to see the face of someone who can sleep after ripping a bond in front of an entire council.”
Evelyn flinched, just slightly. “I never meant for it to go that far.”
Aria gave a dry laugh. “You mean you never meant to be caught in the aftermath.”
“I meant what I said in my message. I… regret how things unfolded.”
Aria’s jaw clenched. “You don’t get to rewrite history.”
Evelyn took a step closer. “Then let me speak plainly. The council is fracturing. StoneRidge has pulled half their funding. Greenwood is testing borders. And Kael—” she hesitated. “Kael is not the Alpha he used to be.”
“That’s not my problem,” Aria said.
“It could be,” Evelyn countered. “You still have influence. A following. Your name means something.”
“To who?” Aria snapped. “To the same people who stood silent while you severed my soul?”
“I made a mistake,” Evelyn said quietly. “I thought I was protecting the pack. Preserving tradition.”
“No,” Aria said, stepping forward. “You were protecting your own power. And you thought I was disposable.”
Their gazes locked—Aria’s storm-gray against Evelyn’s pale green. The wind howled around them.
Evelyn’s voice softened. “You’re stronger now. I see it. I even admire it.”
Aria tilted her head. “Is that your version of an apology?”
“It’s an opening,” Evelyn said. “You don’t have to forgive me. But we could still work together. There are forces coming that neither of us can face alone.”
Aria was quiet for a long moment.
Then she leaned in, just enough to let her voice cut through the space between them like a blade.
“I would rather face those forces blind and bleeding than ever trust you again.”
She turned and walked away, cloak snapping behind her.
Evelyn didn’t follow.
Back in her quarters, Aria sat by the fire, hands cradling her tea as the flames danced.
She replayed the conversation in her mind—Evelyn’s controlled tone, the veiled desperation, the attempt to cloak politics in apology.
“She’s cracking,” Aria murmured.
Zara looked up from the map she was sketching at the other end of the room. “What gave it away? The offer of unity or the twitch in her eye when you said no?”
Aria smirked. “Both.”
The baby shifted within her, calm but present.
Aria placed a hand over her stomach. “We’re not safe yet. But we’re not pawns anymore, either.”
Zara rolled up the map and walked over. “What now?”
“We prepare,” Aria said. “For whatever Evelyn’s trying to shield us from—or unleash.”
Zara hesitated. “Do you think she meant any of it? The regret?”
“I think she regrets losing control,” Aria said. “Not what she did.”
She stood and crossed the room, pulling down a scroll from the shelf—a list of Luna candidates from neighboring packs. Names of women who’d been silenced, dismissed, or forced into hiding.
“We’re going to give them something to believe in,” Aria said.
Zara nodded. “And Evelyn?”
Aria looked into the fire, eyes glinting with resolve.
“She wanted an alliance.”
She smiled.
“She just gave me a reason to build an army.”
