Chapter Six

The elevator opened directly into the private dining floor of one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city—a place where you didn’t get a reservation, you were invited. The room was sleek, modern, and intimidating in its subtle opulence. Walls of black marble reflected the amber glow of pendant lights hanging from the ceiling like drops of molten gold. A single pianist played softly in the corner, the notes rich and low like a whisper.

Victoria stepped out of the elevator wearing something far more tailored than her usual daywear, but still comfortable enough to remind everyone she wasn’t there to impress—just to be heard. She passed through the polished corridor, nodded once at the discreet security stationed near the private booths, and found her brother seated in a curtained alcove near the window.

The booth was curved leather, matte black, with a floor-to-ceiling view of the skyline bathed in the last light of sunset. He sat with his back straight, one hand around a glass of whiskey, the other resting on the table like he owned the entire floor. Which, to some degree, he probably did.

“You’re early,” Victoria said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“You’re late,” he countered, raising an eyebrow. “And underdressed.”

She smirked. “Please. This place is lucky I even wore heels.”

A waiter in a perfectly pressed suit appeared silently to pour her a glass of wine she hadn’t ordered—clearly pre-arranged. She gave the man a nod of thanks, then turned back to her brother.

“You said pack business.”

He gave a short nod. “Some instability on the southern border. A rogue group moving erratically—nothing official yet, but our scouts think they’re starting to circle. Not enough discipline for an attack, but... they’re not drifting, either.”

She sipped her wine. “You think they’re hunting?”

“I think they’re looking for something. Or someone.”

Victoria didn’t flinch, but her gaze sharpened.

He continued, voice low. “I’ve already asked two neighboring packs to quietly reinforce their sentries. I’m not issuing a formal alert unless it escalates, but I want your unit on standby.”

“Understood,” she said smoothly. Then, after a beat, “This doesn’t feel like a standard border sweep, does it?”

“No.” His jaw tightened. “It feels personal. Intentional.”

A pause settled between them, filled only by the hum of polished conversation around the restaurant and the distant clink of crystal glasses.

Then, almost offhandedly, he said, “That girl. Celeste.”

Victoria’s fingers curled slightly around her glass.

“What about her?”

“I can’t shake the feeling I’ve seen her before. Not recently. A long time ago.”

Victoria’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You said that already.”

He looked out the window, voice quieter now. “I know. But it hasn’t left me. It’s not just that she looks familiar. It’s something deeper. Like... recognition I can’t explain.”

She hesitated. “Do you think she’s connected to the rogues?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But she’s running from something. And whatever it is, it’s not far behind.”

Victoria didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for the bread basket, tearing off a small piece as a distraction. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm—but careful.

“She’s not ready to talk. But I’ll keep watching.”

He gave a single, approving nod.

“Good.”

Their entrées arrived in perfect silence—perfectly plated, elegant, and rich without being overindulgent. They ate with quiet precision, both thoughtful, both lingering in a tension neither of them could quite name.

Just before dessert arrived, Victoria finally said, “If something happens, I need to know you’ll protect her.”

He looked at her then—truly looked. And in his eyes was something rarely seen: conflict.

“I’m not sure what role she plays within any of the current situations,” he said, “but I’ll keep in mind that you care for her.”

Victoria gave a slow nod. That was enough—for now.

The waiter appeared again, delivering espresso and a delicate slice of flourless chocolate cake between them. Neither of them reached for it right away.

Outside, the city lights shimmered like stars scattered across glass.

Inside, the air felt heavier than before—charged, uncertain, and quietly waiting.

**

Victoria's POV

I couldn’t sleep.

The city outside my windows buzzed with its usual midnight rhythm—distant horns, the hum of streetlights, the occasional bark of a dog echoing off alley walls. But inside my apartment, it was too quiet. And my thoughts were anything but.

I stood by the window, mug in hand, watching the night blur by. But all I could really focus on was her.

Celeste.

The way she smiled today, soft and fleeting. Like someone who forgot she was allowed to feel joy.

The way she stared at that charm—eyes full of something more than memory. It was grief. A homesick kind of ache I didn’t need to ask about to recognize.

But then there was everything else.

The way she flinched when someone got too close. How she moved—silent, deliberate, like someone always calculating the nearest exit.

And her scent.

That should’ve been the biggest clue of all.

Because Celeste doesn’t smell like anything.

Not human. Not wolf.

Nothing.

Except her perfume—warm florals, subtle spice. It’s too perfect. Too consistent. Like it’s meant to cover something else.

Like it’s hiding something.

I leaned my head against the windowpane, the glass cool against my temple as the questions came in waves.

Could she be a wolf?

Everything in me said yes. Something about her presence pulled at my instincts. Not in the way most wolves do—nothing loud or obvious. But in a way that made my skin alert whenever she entered a room.

And then there was the timing.

Celeste appeared in the city just a few weeks before rogue activity began to surge. Small incidents at first—challenges on neutral ground, the occasional disruption at pack borders. Then it escalated. Scattered attacks. Packs going silent for days. Rogues moving in patterns that didn’t make sense—until it almost seemed coordinated.

Was she involved?

Or was she running from them?

I didn’t want to believe she was dangerous. Not after the way she cried. Not after the way she looked at that charm like it held everything she used to love.

But maybe that was the problem.

What did she leave behind?

What was she running from? Or... who?

Was Celeste connected to the rogues? Or were they hunting her?

And why did my brother—cold, calculated, impossibly guarded—look at her like she was a memory half-formed in the dark?

I didn’t know the answers.

But I was starting to think I wasn’t just watching over a broken girl who needed healing.

I was watching someone hiding something much bigger.

Someone who might be the reason the rogues were here at all.

**

Celeste’s POV

I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers curled around the velvet pouch I’d tucked away in my jacket earlier. For a long time, I just stared at it. I hadn’t opened it since I bought it. Part of me had been afraid to.

But now, in the hush of night, with no one watching and no mask to wear, I slowly pulled the string loose and let the charm fall into my palm.

The silver crescent moon glinted softly in the dim light, the tiny crystals beneath it catching the faintest flickers like falling snow. Cold, delicate, familiar.

My throat tightened.

WinterMoon.

The name struck something in me—like a melody I hadn’t heard in years, one that had lived in my bones long after the sound faded.

I could still see it if I closed my eyes.

The packhouse nestled in the woods, smoke curling from chimneys. The snowbanks piled high along the edge of the training field. My brothers, Rowan and Elias, chasing each other in shifted form while I cheered them on from the porch steps.

My mother’s laugh. Her hands always warm, even in the coldest winters. My father’s voice—stern but kind—echoing through the halls when he called us in before dusk.

I used to be Celeste Winters. Daughter of the Alpha. A name people whispered with hope or envy. A future promised, if not yet chosen.

Now… I was just Celeste.

The girl at the diner.

The girl who smiled for tips and laughed on cue and wore perfume strong enough to bury anything wild beneath her skin.

I wasn’t anyone’s daughter anymore.

Not anyone’s sister.

Not part of anything that felt like home.

The charm trembled in my hand as I closed my fingers around it. I hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears came anyway—quiet and uninvited, slipping down my cheeks in the kind of silence that only grief knew how to keep.

I missed them. Gods, I missed them.

Not just the place. The feeling of belonging. Of mattering. Of being loved in a way that wasn’t conditional on pretending to be okay.

I missed the woods. The bond of the pack. The laughter of my brothers during late-night runs. The way my mother brushed the snow from my hair after training. My father's voice when he called me his little wolf—even when I was grown.

Now, no one called me anything. No one knew where I came from. Who I was.

And maybe that had kept me safe.

But it also left me… empty.

I stared at the charm until my eyes blurred. Then I lay back on the bed, the charm still clutched in my hand, pressed close to my heart.

It was the only piece of home I’d let myself keep.

And tonight, it was the only thing keeping me from disappearing completely.