Chapter Twenty-Four

Celeste sat along the edge of the training yard fence, her legs dangling off the wooden beam, boots tapping the post in a slow, distracted rhythm. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting a golden haze over the field and soaking the world in warm, fading light. The sparring matches had ended for the day, leaving behind scuffed dirt, muffled echoes of shouted commands, and a few discarded water flasks that rolled lazily in the breeze. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, but the ache in her chest hadn’t lessened.

"You look like someone ran over your favorite book," a voice called out behind her, dry with amusement but softened by concern.

Celeste didn’t need to turn around. Only one voice in Redstone could tease like that and still make her feel seen.

"Hi, Lilly," she murmured, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The warrior dropped onto the fence beside her with a familiar huff, her shoulder brushing lightly against Celeste’s. She smelled of cedar, sweat, and clean air, like someone who spent more time outside than inside, someone who always met the world head-on. Dust clung to her boots, and her braid had unraveled at the edges, a loose strand catching the wind and whipping across her cheek.

Lilly tilted her head, following Celeste’s distant gaze toward the Alpha’s house.

"Let me guess," she said after a beat, tone knowing. "Grayson again?"

Celeste didn’t respond immediately. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She just stared ahead, her shoulders rigid beneath the knit of her sweater.

"Did he say something cruel? Or worse... did he forget something important again?"

Celeste sighed, slow and weary. "I asked him to dance. He said he’d find me later. He never did."

Lilly let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "And I’m assuming Blair wasn’t far behind, was she?"

Celeste gave the barest of nods.

"Of course not," Lilly muttered. "That girl sticks to him like honey on bread. Doesn’t she get tired of performing all the time?"

Celeste blinked down at her hands. “She doesn’t have to perform. Not with him.”

Lilly frowned. “You really believe that?”

Celeste shrugged, her voice soft. "Maybe he wants someone who makes him laugh. Someone light. Someone easy."

"Easy?" Lilly repeated, turning sharply toward her. "Celeste, you are thoughtful. Deep. Loyal beyond reason. That isn’t hard—it’s rare. Don’t you dare diminish yourself just because Blair’s louder."

Celeste looked down at her lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is," Lilly said. "At least, simpler than what you’re putting yourself through."

Celeste hesitated, then added quietly, “He used to look at me like I was his world. Like I was his reason. Now I barely see him.”

"And that’s not on you," Lilly said firmly. "That’s on him. On her. On the both of them making you feel invisible."

Celeste's voice wavered. “What if I was never enough? What if the bond wasn’t enough?”

Lilly’s expression softened, and she placed a hand over Celeste’s. "The bond was always enough. You were always enough. He’s the one who changed the rules. He’s the one who stopped showing up. That’s not your fault."

Celeste blinked fast, trying to keep the sting from reaching her eyes.

"Sometimes," she whispered, "I think I stayed because I believed if I just loved him harder, longer, more patiently... he’d come back."

Lilly squeezed her hand. "That’s not love. That’s sacrifice. And it’s not meant to be one-sided."

Celeste looked away, toward the trees just beyond the field where the sky had started melting into dusk.

"I miss the version of him that used to find me in a crowd. The one who couldn’t wait to tell me everything. Now I feel like... like I’m holding a candle that’s already gone out, but I’m too afraid to set it down."

Lilly's voice was gentle. “You don’t owe your heart to someone who doesn’t notice when it’s breaking.”

They sat in silence for a long time, broken only by the hush of wind stirring the grass and the soft clatter of a fallen sparring staff in the distance.

"Do you remember," Lilly said after a while, her voice lower now, thoughtful, "when we used to sneak out after dinner and run the ridge trail until we couldn’t breathe? You told me it made you feel like you were flying."

A faint laugh escaped Celeste. "I used to close my eyes and imagine I had wings. That I could lift off if I just ran fast enough."

"You looked like a blur," Lilly said. "Hair everywhere. Feet barely touching the ground. I couldn’t keep up half the time."

Celeste smiled, a real one this time.

"Then come out with me tonight," Lilly offered. "Just us. One last run before the snow makes everything quiet. No Grayson. No Blair. No expectations. Just you and the wind."

Celeste hesitated, her thumb brushing the back of Lilly’s hand absently.

"I don’t know if I can pretend I’m okay. Even just for a run."

"You don’t have to pretend anything," Lilly said firmly. "Just breathe. Let the wind carry some of it for you. We’ll run until your lungs burn, and you can scream into the sky if you want. No one will hear. No one but me."

The thought settled in Celeste’s chest like a small spark in the dark.

"Okay," she said softly. "Let’s run."

Lilly leaned back on her hands, legs kicking slightly like a child on a swing.

"You don’t have to stay here forever, you know," she said after a moment. "There’s more to the world than this place. Than him."

Celeste looked out over the training field again, her heart both heavy and oddly lightened.

"I know," she said. "But I’m not ready to leave. Not yet."

"Then I’ll stay right here," Lilly said. "However long it takes."

And for the first time in days, Celeste felt the weight on her chest lift, just a little. Not enough to forget, but enough to breathe.

**

The calm didn’t last.

Two days later, the world shifted.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when word spread like wildfire through the Redstone compound—an announcement to be made at midday. No one said what, exactly, but the tension was unmistakable. The courtyard buzzed with quiet speculation. Warriors moved with strange purpose, but their eyes kept drifting toward the central hall.

Celeste stood by the stables, brushing a mare’s flank in slow, distracted strokes. Her hands were steady, but her thoughts were anything but.

She already knew.

It was the silence between Grayson and herself lately. The sudden hush that fell over a room when she entered. The way Blair had stopped pretending.

And still, some foolish part of her had hoped.

She heard the footsteps before she saw them.

Lilly appeared, armored and grim, a pack strapped to her back and a dagger at her hip. The sight alone made Celeste’s stomach twist.

“They’re sending me to the eastern ridge,” Lilly said, voice tight. “Rogue activity spiked near the river pass. They want a team stationed before nightfall.”

Celeste blinked. “Now? You just got back.”

Lilly nodded. “I know. I pushed back. Told them I’d barely had time to rest, but…” Her gaze dropped. “Grayson made the call himself.”

A numb chill sank into Celeste’s bones. “Of course he did.”

“I think… I think he’s clearing the board,” Lilly said softly. “Making sure anyone who might question him is out of the way before...”

Before the announcement.

Before the ceremony.

Before Blair becomes Luna.

Celeste swallowed hard. “So he’s finally doing it. Fulfilling the chosen bond.”

Lilly didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Cheers rang out from the central hall moments later, loud and jubilant. A warrior shouted something about blessings from the council. Another voice boomed that Blair would be Luna by the week’s end.

Celeste didn’t move.

“They’re not wasting time,” Lilly murmured.

“No,” Celeste whispered. “They never were.”

Lilly stepped closer, grabbing Celeste’s hands in hers. “I didn’t want to leave you. You know that, right? I would’ve stayed... Goddess, I tried.”

“I know,” Celeste said. Her throat ached. “But trying doesn’t change what’s happening.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Lilly promised. “Don’t shut down. Don’t let this make you forget who you are.”

Celeste gave a small, brittle laugh. “Who am I without him?”

“You were someone before him,” Lilly said fiercely. “And you’ll be someone after. Stronger.”

Celeste didn’t nod. Didn’t cry.

She simply watched as her only friend, her last anchor, walked away with the other warriors.

The compound erupted with celebration behind her.

And in that moment, with her hands still stinging from Lilly’s grip, Celeste realized something brutal:

They weren’t just choosing Blair.

They were erasing her.