Tides of change

Eastin POV

The morning came with a bite of cold that clung to everything — the kind of morning that carried weight in the air, heavy with things unsaid.

Eastin stood on the balcony outside his office, coffee cooling in his hands as he looked over the pack yard below. The sounds of training drifted up to him — metal striking, voices calling, the thud of boots against earth — but they did little to settle the unease winding through his chest.

Something had changed.

He’d felt it the night before, faint but certain — a pulse beneath the surface, a hum that had seemed to echo through the packlands themselves. And this morning, seeing Emry move through the yard below, that feeling solidified.

She was different.

Her presence drew the eye even when she said nothing. It wasn’t just confidence or leadership — it was energy. Like the air itself bent slightly toward her when she passed. Even her scent seemed sharper, more alive.

It should have reassured him, but instead it set his teeth on edge.

The door creaked behind him. “You’re up early again.”

He didn’t need to turn to recognize the voice. Lira.

Her tone was light, but fatigue lingered beneath it — the kind that came from long nights and quiet ghosts. She stepped out beside him, hair falling in a dark braid over her shoulder, her uniform neat but her sky-blue eyes shadowed with something that never fully left. Always the soldier, even when no one asked her to be.

He managed a faint smile. “I could say the same.”

Lira shrugged, joining him at the railing. “Old habits. The mornings are quieter. Easier to think.”

He hummed in agreement, though thinking was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

For a moment they stood in silence, watching the pack below. Emry was laughing at something one of the young trainees said, the sound bright and unfamiliar after months of tension.

Lira followed his gaze. “She looks lighter today.”

Eastin nodded, but worry tugged at the back of his mind. “Maybe too light. She’s been carrying that role harder than she lets on. I think something’s stirring in her — I just can’t tell if it’s the Goddess’s gift or something else.”

Lira was quiet for a long time before she spoke. “You think it’s starting early?”

“I don’t want to,” he admitted. “But Braxton feels it too. He’s restless, more than usual.”

Lira’s lips curved faintly. “You mean more brooding than usual?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh despite himself. “Something like that.”

The levity faded almost as quickly as it came. They both knew what rogue whispers had been circling the borders, how quiet the forests had become — too quiet.

Eastin’s gaze drifted to her profile. Her eyes were softer than he remembered, but the shadow in them hadn’t lifted. It never really did.

She caught his look. “What?”

He shook his head. “You seem… distant lately.”

Lira gave a small, humorless smile. “Grief doesn’t exactly keep a schedule, Alpha.”

Her tone was gentle, not bitter. Still, the words hit harder than he expected.

It had been almost a year since her mate — Kael — was killed in a rogue ambush along the northern ridge. The loss had hollowed her out for months. She’d come back to duty sooner than anyone thought she would, quiet but unbreakable.

She rarely spoke of him, but Eastin had seen the way she still touched her wedding mark sometimes — absentminded, reverent, like a memory she wasn’t ready to release.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just worry you don’t give yourself time.”

She looked at him then, something soft flickering in her expression. “And when do you give yourself time, Eastin?”

He tried to laugh it off, but the sound caught in his throat. Her words landed too close to home.

Lira sighed, eyes returning to the training yard. “He would’ve liked this morning,” she murmured. “Kael. He used to say the world always looked cleaner after a night of unrest. Like it gets a chance to start over.”

Her voice was steady, but Eastin felt the ache beneath it. He didn’t speak. He’d learned that sometimes silence was the only thing that didn’t make grief worse.

When she finally turned back to him, her smile was small but real. “Don’t look like that. I’m fine. I just…” She hesitated, then added, “Sometimes I still expect him to come through the trees.”

He nodded slowly. “I know that feeling.”

Their eyes met and held. For a heartbeat, the air between them shifted — something quiet, fragile, unspoken. His wolf stirred, not with command or dominance, but with recognition.

He looked away first. “Emry’s all I have left. If she’s in danger…”

“She’s strong,” Lira interrupted gently. “And she’s got both of us watching her back.”

Her hand brushed against his on the railing — brief, unintentional, but enough to send warmth creeping up his arm.

He didn’t move away.

She didn’t either.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer. “You’re not the only one who feels something’s coming.”

Eastin’s gaze flicked to her, but she was already looking back toward the yard.

He wondered, not for the first time, what the Moon Goddess was playing at — letting grief and affection weave together like this, cruel and kind all at once.

He cleared his throat, the moment slipping through his fingers like smoke. “Keep an eye on the western border today. I don’t like how still it’s been.”

Lira nodded, her professional mask sliding back into place. “Always do.”

She turned to leave, but paused in the doorway, glancing back at him. “You know,” she said softly, “Kael used to say the Goddess never leaves something broken without a plan to mend it. Maybe that applies to more than we think.”

Then she was gone, the door closing quietly behind her.

Eastin stood there for a long time after, his coffee gone cold, his thoughts scattered like ashes.

Down below, Emry laughed again — and though her joy should have brought him peace, it only deepened the ache in his chest.

Because deep down, he knew Lira was right.

The Moon Goddess was moving pieces none of them could yet see.

And when her hand finally revealed its purpose, it would change everything.