There was a council runner at the Crescent Moon barracks. Not a warrior—an apprentice, not even twenty winters old, hands shaking as she brought forward the scroll and gave it to Selene in the mess hall's center.
The room became silent.
Even those wolves who'd teased her before. Even the ones who'd muttered curses under their breaths behind her back. They all just stood there and watched as Selene broke the seal and read the words hastily written in black, precise ink.
"By order of the High Council of the Northern Packs, Selene Nightshade is ordered to stand before the Northern Packs' Supreme Court to answer for charges of magical unorthodoxy, resurrection without divine sanction, and political upheaval."
An official trial.
In three days.
Held before the entire Council Circle, spectators allowed.
A public display.
A trap dressed in tradition.
Selene let the scroll fall onto the table, her fingers tight despite the beginning of her racing heartbeat.
Rowan moved forward, his words a gentle warning. "They want you exposed. Cornered. Either you lash out—and confirm their accusations—or you keep silent, and they silence you."
Selene looked at him. Then past him. Past the hall. Past the pack.
"They think it is a test," she whispered.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it?"
"No," she replied. "It is a show."
And if they wanted one?
She would give it to them.
Selene's apartment was lit by one oil lamp alone when Elara showed up.
She walked in uninvited, closing the door behind her, heartbeat racing furiously in her chest like a drum. "I heard."
Selene did not swivel from behind the desk. "Of course you did. The summons was meant to reverberate."
Elara stood nearer, eyes falling onto the parchment spread out on the desk: council ledgers, genealogy charts, lines of lawyer's jargon she did not understand. At the center of it all lay the sealed death warrant.
The original.
Unclean with council wax.
Dated in Morwen's hand.
Subscribed by Adrienne.
Elara swallowed hard. "You're going to show them this, aren't you?"
Selene didn't answer at first. She trailed her fingers along the rim of the seal, her eyes veiled with thought.
"If I bring this out at the hearing," she said finally, "it could destroy them. In public. But it could destroy me as well."
Elara frowned. "How?
"They'll say I faked it. That I'm insane. That the resurrection and the death unsettled me so much that I shouldn't be able to walk free. If they can't silence the truth, they'll disbelieve the one who speaks it."
"Then why not incinerate it?" Elara breathed.
Selene's eyes lifted her stare glacial glass.
"Because truth matters. Even if it kills me again and again."
Elara took a step closer. "Then let me help."
Selene looked at her for a long time. "I might need a witness. Someone who found this. Someone who kept it."
Elara paled. "They'll catch up to me."
"They already have," Selene said. "This time, we do not run."
She folded the parchment with care, placed it in a strengthened leather satchel, and stored it in the chest next to her bed. Secured it with a rune.
She told it softly the second time, her voice barely above a whisper. "They want to put me on trial for the offense of not having died the first time."
Elara nodded. "Then make them wish they hadn't."
The knocking at her door came around dark.
Not rushed. Not hesitant. Three slow, deliberate raps.
Selene opened it, expecting Rowan—or maybe Elara again. Instead, she found Lucian Thorne, draped in dark leather and moonlight, his cloak damp with forest mist. His presence always felt too still, too precise—like a sword waiting to be unsheathed.
"You have nerve," she said, stepping aside anyway.
He walked in like he owned the space. "I was hoping for a warmer welcome. Considering what I've come to offer."
She closed the door after him. "Let me guess. A rescue?"
"Something better," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Control."
Selene crossed her arms. "I'm not browsing to be controlled."
"Good. Because I don't wish to control you, Selene. I want to align with you."
He moved, slow, non-threatening-but intense in a way only hunters could be. "You're hunted by a dying faction. The Council wants to make you an example. I'm giving you an exit option… and a platform."
She quirked an eyebrow. "What kind of platform?
"I know about the sealed order," he stated, voice low. "Morwen covered his tracks. But not well enough. I have copies. Records. Whispers from wolves loyal to no pack."
Selene stiffened.
Lucian smiled faintly. "Relax. I'm not using them against you. I want to help you use them—on your terms. Not in their rigged little circle."
"Why?" she asked, voice low. "What's in it for you?"
"I believe the old ways are dying. The Crescent Moon Pack is fractured, and the decay of the Council reaches farther than even you understand. You. You could be the flame that completes them."
He moved forward, his voice low. "You could be something so much greater than a fallen Luna. You could be queen."
Selene didn't say anything.
Didn't even flinch.
But her heart pounded.
Lucian's offer was tempting. Far too tempting. And that made it dangerous.
Because he wasn't Kael—driven by emotions, shackled by guilt.
Lucian was cold. Steely. Analytical.
He wouldn't break her heart. He may never even touch it.
But he would use it.
And yet…
Standing by his side, bringing the Council to its knees and rebelling against them herself—it stoked something within her blood.
Power.
Potential.
"Keep your copies," Selene said finally. "If I need your help, I will ask."
Lucian's eyes sparkled. "Then I'll be listening."
He left as calmly as he entered.
And Selene stood in the middle of her room, her fingers clenched around nothing, her heart beating too loud in her chest.
Because war was coming.
And now, she had a choice of weapons.
Kael stood in the courtyard near the sentry post, arms folded, jaw tight.
He hadn't meant to linger.
He reminded himself he was just checking patrol paths. That the air was clearing his head. That the creaking of pine branches in the breeze had nothing to do with the way Selene's name was constantly echoing in his mind.
Then Rowan spotted him.
"She had a caller," Rowan said, bluntly.
Kael turned. "Who?"
"Lucian Thorne."
The name tasted bitter on Kael's lips. "How long?"
"An hour. Maybe less. No one was allowed inside while he was there."
Kael didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Rowan's expression hardened. "They didn't fight. No yelling. No threats. Just quiet conversation."
"Did she accept anything?" Kael asked.
"No idea," Rowan said. "But she didn't throw him out."
Kael stared up at the moon, his thoughts knotted and dark. "He's circling her."
"Then you'd better decide what you're doing," Rowan said. "Because he already has."
Kael didn't answer.
What could he say?
He had cursed Selene once.
And now, when she was reborn—stronger, sharper, unreachable—she wasn't stretching out to him.
She was walking unencumbered.
And Lucian was waiting there already