Updated Dec 21, 2025 • ~6 min read
The mirror showed two identical faces, but Lira had learned long ago to see the differences.
Same warm brown skin—deep mahogany that caught the lamplight. Same gray eyes that everyone said were unusual for wolves. Same tightly coiled hair, hers in twists that fell to her shoulders. But where Lyla’s reflection held sharp confidence, Lira’s showed only careful hope. The kind that had been disappointed too many times to shine bright.
“Stop fidgeting,” Lyla said, her fingers working through Lira’s hair with practiced efficiency. “You’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The marking ceremony. The day every unmated wolf in the Ashwood Pack waited for—when the moon would reveal bonds, when mates would find each other, when futures would solidify into something real.
Lira’s stomach twisted. “What if I don’t feel anything?”
Lyla’s hands paused for just a heartbeat before continuing to braid. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m serious.” Lira met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “What if I’m not—what if no one—”
“Lira.” Lyla’s voice carried that edge of impatience she always got when Lira doubted herself. Which was often. “We’re identical. If one of us has a mate, both do. That’s how twin bonds work.”
It should have been reassuring. It wasn’t.
“You’ll be chosen,” Lyla continued, her fingers gentler now as she wove the final section of braid. “We both will. And then everything will finally make sense.”
Lira wanted to believe her. She’d spent twenty-three years believing Lyla about everything—that Lyla was the stronger twin, the one who’d lead, the one who mattered more. Lira had accepted it the way she accepted gravity. Some truths just were.
“Do you remember what Mom said?” Lira asked quietly.
Lyla’s hands stilled completely this time. When she spoke, her voice had gone flat. “Mom said a lot of things.”
“On her deathbed.” Lira pressed, because this mattered, because the memory had been circling her mind all day. “She made us promise.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The cabin was too quiet around them—the space they’d shared since their mother died thirteen years ago, when they were only ten. Too young to lose a parent. Too young to understand why she’d gotten sick so fast, why the healers couldn’t save her, why she’d looked at them with such desperate fear in those final moments.
“Protect each other,” Lyla finally said. “No matter what. The world will try to tear you apart. Don’t let it.”
“Don’t let it,” Lira echoed. She reached up and squeezed her sister’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “We won’t. Right?”
Lyla squeezed back. “Right.”
But something in her sister’s reflection made Lira’s chest tighten—something in the set of her mouth, the shadows under her eyes. Lyla looked tired. More than tired. She looked haunted.
“Are you okay?” Lira asked.
“Fine.” Lyla released her hand and stepped back, surveying her work. “Perfect. You look beautiful.”
Lira didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and tomorrow she’d either grow wings or fall.
Lyla moved to the small stove and picked up the kettle. “I made tea. The calming blend Edith taught us. You need to sleep tonight, not lie awake spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re always spiraling.” But Lyla said it fondly, like it was an endearing flaw instead of a fundamental weakness. She poured two cups and handed one to Lira. The steam smelled like chamomile and something earthier—valerian, maybe. “Drink. Trust me.”
Lira took the cup and sipped. It was bitter-sweet, warm sliding down her throat, settling the nervous flutter in her stomach. “Thank you.”
“That’s what sisters do.” Lyla settled onto her own bed, watching Lira over the rim of her cup. “We take care of each other.”
The tea was already making Lira drowsy, her limbs heavy, her thoughts slow. She set the empty cup aside and lay back, staring up at the ceiling beams. “Lyla?”
“Mm?”
“Do you ever feel it?” The question came out half-formed, fuzzy around the edges. “That pull. Like something’s calling you from far away.”
Silence. Then: “No. What pull?”
“I don’t know. I’ve felt it my whole life. Like there’s a thread tied around my chest, and someone’s tugging on the other end. It’s always pointing away from here. Toward the forest. Toward—” She yawned, exhaustion crashing over her in a wave. “Toward something.”
“Just nerves,” Lyla said, but her voice sounded strange. Tight. “Close your eyes, Lira. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Lira tried to answer, but sleep was already pulling her under, heavy and irresistible. The last thing she saw was her sister’s face across the dim cabin—sharp and beautiful and full of something that might have been regret.
And the last thing she heard, before dreams took her completely, was Lyla’s whisper:
“I’m sorry, Lira. But I deserve this more. The prophecy says only one of us survives. I’m making sure it’s me.”
But maybe that was part of the dream. It had to be. Because her sister would never say something like that.
Would she?
The dream came in fragments.
A man with a face she couldn’t quite see, reaching for her across impossible distance. Red eyes that burned like dying stars. A voice that made her wolf rise to the surface, desperate and yearning: “Wait for me. I’m coming.”
She tried to reach back, but something held her in place—invisible chains wrapped around her chest, her throat, her wrists. The harder she strained, the tighter they became, until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t—
“Lira!”
She woke gasping, tangled in her sheets, morning light streaming through the window. Lyla was already gone, her bed neatly made, her ceremonial dress missing from its hook.
The ceremony.
Lira’s heart lurched into her throat. She scrambled up, panic flooding her system until she saw the note on the table:
Went early to help with setup. Your dress is ready. Meet at the ceremonial grounds by sunset. Today changes everything. —L
Today changes everything.
Lira pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her pulse race beneath her palm. That strange pull she’d mentioned last night was still there—stronger now, almost painful in its intensity. It pointed away from the pack, away from everything she’d ever known, toward something she couldn’t name.
But that didn’t matter. Because today she’d find her mate, her place, her purpose. Today she’d finally be chosen.
She just had to make it through the next few hours.
Lira reached for her dress—soft gray fabric that seemed too pale next to Lyla’s brilliant white—and tried to ignore the way her hands trembled.
Tried to ignore the bitter aftertaste still clinging to her tongue from last night’s tea.
Tried to ignore the part of her that whispered:
Something’s wrong. Something’s coming. And you’re not ready.
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