Ayra did not remember crossing the courtyard.
She did not remember passing the training grounds.
She only knew she could not breathe inside the pack walls.
The stone buildings felt too close. The whispers felt louder outside the hall. Every shadow looked like someone watching her humiliation replay in their mind.
She kept walking.
Then walking turned into running.
The gates were still open from the ceremony arrivals. Guards glanced at her but did not stop her. No one would dare question the former Luna candidate tonight. Not when the entire pack had just witnessed her rejection.
Former.
The word stabbed deeper than Vincent's voice had.
Her chest burned. The mate bond inside her pulsed painfully, confused and restless. It should not still be alive. If he had truly rejected her, it should have snapped.
But it had not.
That frightened her more than the rejection.
She crossed the last boundary stone and stepped into the forest.
The Nightfall forest was dense and old. The trees grew tall and twisted, their branches thick enough to block most of the moonlight. The air was cooler here. Damp earth. Pine. Moss.
Safe.
At least, it used to feel safe.
Ayra slowed only when the pack buildings disappeared behind layers of trees. Her breath came fast and uneven. Her legs trembled, but she kept moving deeper between the trunks until the silence swallowed the sounds of the distant pack.
Only then did she stop.
Her hands dropped to her sides.
Her shoulders shook.
She had held herself together for too long.
The tears came without warning.
Hot. Humiliating. Angry.
She pressed both palms against her eyes, trying to steady herself.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered to the empty forest.
The words felt small.
The memory replayed clearly.
I reject this bond.
His face.
Controlled.
Cold.
And yet,
Sorry.
He had whispered sorry.
That did not make sense.
If he had truly wanted freedom from her, why look like he was swallowing pain? Why apologize?
Her breathing slowed gradually.
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ayra lowered her hands.
A branch snapped behind her.
She froze.
The sound was soft. Not loud enough for an animal breaking through brush.
Too deliberate.
Her pulse spiked instantly.
She turned slowly.
"Hello?"
No answer.
The trees stood still.
The shadows stretched long and dark across the ground.
She told herself she was imagining it. Her nerves were raw. Of course every sound felt threatening.
Still,
She listened carefully.
The forest held its breath.
Then she heard it.
A second step.
Closer.
Not an animal.
Too measured.
Her throat tightened.
"Who's there?" she called again, stronger this time.
Nothing.
The moon shifted behind a passing cloud, dimming the light further.
Ayra took a careful step backward.
If it was a pack member, why hide?
If it was a rogue,
Her stomach twisted.
Rogues rarely came this close to pack territory. Nightfall's borders were heavily guarded. But tonight had been busy. Ceremonies. Guests. Distractions.
Another branch snapped.
To her right this time.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
They were circling.
Instinct told her to shift.
But panic tangled her thoughts. She had not trained properly in months. Preparations for becoming Luna had taken her away from combat drills. She was not useless, but she was not a warrior.
"I don't want trouble," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The words sounded thin in the thick darkness.
A shadow moved between the trees.
Fast.
Low.
Her body reacted before her mind did.
She turned and ran.
Branches scratched her arms as she pushed through brush. Roots threatened to catch her feet. Her dress tangled around her legs, slowing her down.
She cursed under her breath and grabbed the fabric, lifting it as she ran.
Behind her,
Footsteps.
Not crashing.
Not reckless.
Controlled.
Whoever followed her was not panicking.
They were hunting.
Fear turned cold in her veins.
She veered left toward a narrow deer path she remembered from childhood. If she reached the shallow stream ahead, she could throw off scent for at least a moment.
Her lungs burned.
The mate bond pulsed again in her chest.
Stronger this time.
As if reacting.
As if warning her.
Another footstep.
Closer.
Too close.
She risked a glance over her shoulder.
A dark figure moved between the trees.
Tall.
Broad.
Not limping. Not struggling.
Strong.
Her heart skipped violently.
Vincent?
No.
It could not be.
The silhouette was wrong. Slightly shorter. Movements sharper.
Not him.
She stumbled over a root and nearly fell.
Her ankle twisted painfully, but she forced herself upright and kept running.
The stream came into view ahead, silver under the moonlight.
Almost there.
She jumped down into the shallow water, ignoring the shock of cold as it soaked through her shoes. She splashed upstream several steps, then climbed out on the opposite bank.
Her breathing was ragged now.
She pressed herself behind a thick tree trunk and listened.
Silence.
Only the distant rush of water.
Had she lost them?
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Her ears strained for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
Minutes passed.
Too quiet.
Ayra slowly stepped out from behind the tree.
"Whoever you are," she called softly, "I don't know what you want."
Still nothing.
She swallowed.
Maybe she had imagined it.
Maybe grief had turned every shadow into danger.
She took one cautious step forward.
Then another.
A faint crunch sounded behind her.
Right behind her.
Her body locked.
Cold awareness slid down her spine.
She did not turn immediately.
Her breathing slowed unnaturally, as if her body understood sudden movement could trigger something worse.
There.
A presence.
Close enough that she could feel heat at her back.
Close enough that she could sense breath.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"Don't move," a low voice said behind her.
Male.
Unfamiliar.
Not Vincent.
Not Theo.
Not any voice she recognized.
Her stomach dropped.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
The answer came calm and steady.
"You."
A chill swept through her.
That was not random.
That was not coincidence.
"Why?" she asked.
A brief pause.
"As ordered."
Ordered.
The word echoed louder than any threat.
Someone sent him.
This was not a rogue.
This was deliberate.
Her mind raced.
Ordered by who?
The pack?
An enemy pack?
An elder?
Fear sharpened into something clearer.
This was not about humiliation.
This was about something else entirely.
She forced herself to stay still.
If she bolted now, he would catch her before she took three steps.
She could feel his strength in the air.
She needed distraction.
"You don't have to do this," she said carefully.
A small, humorless sound left him.
"It's already done."
Something shifted near her shoulder.
A faint metallic glint caught the moonlight.
A blade.
Her heart slammed so hard she felt dizzy.
She moved without thinking.
Spinning sharply to the side.
The blade sliced through air where her shoulder had been.
She gasped and stumbled backward.
He lunged forward fast.
Faster than she expected.
She barely dodged the second strike.
The hem of her dress tore as she twisted away.
She tried to shift,
Pain exploded at the back of her head.
He had anticipated it.
The world tilted violently.
She dropped to one knee.
Her vision blurred.
He grabbed her arm, yanking her upright with brutal strength.
"You shouldn't have come alone," he said calmly.
Rage flared through her fear.
"I didn't know I was being hunted," she snapped weakly.
He did not respond.
He pulled her closer.
The blade pressed against her side.
Cold metal against fabric.
Against skin.
The mate bond flared sharply inside her chest.
A sudden surge of heat.
Her eyes widened.
The forest felt charged.
Like something unseen was reacting.
The man stiffened slightly.
"What is—"
She did not hear the rest.
Because in that exact second—
From far behind them—
A deep, furious roar shattered the night.
Vincent.
The sound was unmistakable.
The attacker cursed under his breath.
His grip tightened painfully.
Ayra's heart leapt in wild confusion.
Why was Vincent here?
Did he follow her?
Did he know?
The roar came again.
Closer.
The ground seemed to tremble faintly.
The attacker dragged her backward, blade pressing harder now.
"If he reaches us," the man muttered, "this gets messy."
Ayra's pulse raced.
Hope and fear collided inside her.
Vincent was coming.
But would he reach her in time?
And why,
Why did it feel like tonight was not simply an attack?
Why did it feel like something had just begun?