A shoulder to lean on.

Winter's POV:

Neither of us spoke for several minutes.

The fire had burned lower in the hearth, leaving the room bathed in soft amber and silver where the moonlight slipped through the curtains. Somewhere outside, rain tapped gently against the stone balcony, a rhythmic, soothing backdrop to the storm that had just settled between us.

Sabrina broke the silence first.

"...Can I see it?"

I looked up, momentarily taken aback by the request.

"The mark," she clarified, speaking carefully this time, as if handling something incredibly fragile. "The soulmate mark."

For a heartbeat, I simply stared at her. The secret had been hidden under layers of fabric and concealment charms for so long that revealing it felt like exposing a raw nerve. Then, without a word, I nodded.

I stood from the chair, suddenly very aware of my own body again. Derrick's oversized shirt hung loosely around my frame, the soft fabric brushing against my thighs as I turned around, turning my back to her.

"It isn't on my neck," I murmured, my voice small.

"I gathered," a tiny, dry smile touched Sabrina's mouth, visible as I glanced slightly over my shoulder. "You've spent the last hour with your hair up, and I haven't seen a single scratch on your collarbone."

Despite myself, I huffed out a breath that was half a laugh. "I suppose I have."

"It's on my back," I added.

"I figured that too," she replied softly.

This time, the faint smile came from me. Slowly, I gathered the thick mass of my hair over one shoulder, holding it tightly against my collarbone before pulling the wide neckline of the shirt down just enough to expose my left shoulder blade.

The cool night air kissed my bare skin, sending an immediate wave of goosebumps down my arms. Behind me, the mattress creaked softly as Sabrina shifted closer, leaning toward the edge of the bed to get a better look.

I felt—not her hands—but the sudden weight of her hesitation. There was an unspoken reverence in the way she moved, a stark contrast to her usual blunt, military demeanor.

When she finally spoke, her voice had changed completely. It lost all its sharp, analytical edge, dropping into a breathless whisper.

"...Gods."

It wasn't shocked. It wasn't horrified. It was just quietly, utterly amazed.

"I've never seen one before," she admitted, her eyes tracing the pattern.

I glanced over my shoulder, keeping my hair out of the way. "You haven't? I thought fated mates were a regular part of pack history."

She shook her head slowly, her gaze never leaving the crescent-shaped mark resting beneath my shoulder. "Well yes. But the existence of two solid mates leaving their mark on one body, on one soul? No. Most philosophers never thought of it as possible. Historians constantly argued over whether they're even real or something that just doesn't happen.

She gave a tiny, incredulous laugh, shaking her head. "And here you are. Walking around the palace, proving several centuries of stuck-up scholars completely wrong."

I smiled faintly, letting the collar slip a fraction lower. "I'm glad my disastrous life could contribute to werewolf academia."

That finally earned me a real, unforced laugh from her. "There she is."

"What?"

"The sarcastic witch I remember," Sabrina said, her expression softening. "I was beginning to worry."

"I've always been sarcastic," I countered gently.

"You've been depressed," she corrected, her tone turning quiet and serious. "There's a significant difference. You've been walking around like a ghost."

Something tight and painful inside my chest loosened at her words. I hadn't realized until this exact second how badly I'd needed someone to speak to me without an agenda. Not as an ancient relic to be protected, not as a political bargaining chip for a fragile alliance, and not as the future Luna of a pack that didn't know me. Just... Winter.

Sabrina leaned forward another inch, studying the mark with open, professional fascination. "It doesn't even resemble a normal claiming mark."

"It doesn't?" I asked, unable to see it clearly myself without a mirror.

She shook her head. "No. A wolf's regular claim is rougher, heavier. It leaves a distinct scar tissue where the teeth break the skin to leave a permanent scent marker." Her finger hovered several inches away from my skin, casting a small shadow against the silver moonlight. She didn't touch it yet, keeping her distance out of respect. "May I?"

I nodded slowly. "Go ahead."

Her fingertips brushed lightly against the edge of the crescent shape. The touch was feather-soft, completely professional, and almost clinical as she evaluated the texture.

"Hm," she hummed thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"It isn't scar tissue at all," she murmured, tracing the outer edge where the skin was smooth. "No."

"It feels..." She frowned, searching for the right word before continuing. "...alive. Like the magic is still actively humming beneath the surface."

A sudden, sharp shiver ran straight down my spine at her touch, the mark tingling in response to the recognition of another pack member's presence. "I know," I whispered.

She withdrew her hand immediately, sensing the reaction. "It responds to touch."

"It always has," I admitted, pulling the shirt back up over my shoulder as I turned around to face her again. "Whenever he's near, or whenever I think about it too much, it burns. Not painfully, but... it notices."

Sabrina leaned back against her pillows again, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "I hate that."

I blinked, completely caught off guard by her bluntness. "You hate... destiny?"

"I hate anything that completely ignores several thousand years of established political order," she stated with a straight face.

A genuine laugh escaped me, bright and sudden. "You'd actually sit there and argue with the Moon Goddess herself, wouldn't you?"

"I absolutely would," she lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with a spark of defiance. "Respectfully, of course."

"Respectfully?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"'Your divinity,'" Sabrina said, mimicking a perfectly formal, diplomatic court voice, "'with the greatest respect imaginable, this specific pairing creates approximately seventeen separate constitutional problems for the Council. Could we perhaps renegotiate?'"

A surprised snort escaped me, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. "I don't think that's how prayers or divine interventions work, Sabrina."

"It should be," she grumbled, though a wide grin broke through her serious expression. "It would make my job a lot easier."

We both laughed, and this time, the sound came easily, filling the small bedroom with a warmth that completely cut through the damp, rainy air outside. When the laughter slowly faded, leaving only the quiet crackle of the dying fire, Sabrina's expression softened into something deeply earnest.

"I meant what I said earlier, Winter," she said, her voice steady.

I looked at her, waiting.

"You aren't cruel. You didn't ask for any of this, and you aren't malicious for feeling the way you do."

The words settled somewhere deep inside me, acting like a balm on a wound I hadn't realized was festering. "I don't know if I believe that yet," I whispered, looking down at my shoes.

"You will," she promised confidently. She reached over the edge of the blanket and gently tugged the slightly displaced collar of my shirt back into perfect alignment. "There. No more accidentally starting another scandalous palace rumor by walking down the hall half-dressed."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "I think that ship has already sailed, given the state of things."

"It certainly has," she agreed with a smirk.

"You always know exactly what to say to make things feel less catastrophic," I murmured, leaning against the bedpost.

"Oh, absolutely not," she scoffed, waving her uninjured hand dismissively. "I've been completely improvising this entire conversation from the moment you walked in."

"You?"

"Yes, me," she gestured dramatically toward her wrapped shoulder. "I was supposed to be quietly recovering from a silver-laced wound in absolute peace. Instead, I've somehow become an unpaid relationship counselor to the future rulers of two separate kingdoms."

"I'm sorry," I said, instantly feeling a pang of guilt.

"Oh, don't apologize," a wide, mischievous grin spread across her face, her eyes dancing with amusement. "This is infinitely more interesting than staring at the ceiling all night."

"Sabrina," I warned, though I couldn't stop the smile from returning.

"I'm joking," she chuckled. "...Mostly."

I shook my head, letting out a soft sigh. "You are completely unbelievable."

"I've heard that before," she smiled. Then, her tone dropped into something much more quiet, much more real. "I'm glad you came tonight, Winter."

I looked at her for a long, heavy moment, taking in the steady assurance in her eyes before answering. "So am I."

The words felt strangely final as they left my lips. It wasn't because our conversation had magically solved the political crisis, or because a flawless solution had suddenly appeared. It hadn't. Nothing about tomorrow had actually changed. Keon was still my fated soulmate, bound to me by the laws of nature. Derrick was still my intended husband, bound to me by the laws of diplomacy. Two powerful kingdoms still stood precariously on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a single misstep.

But as I looked at my friend, I realized the crushing weight wasn't resting solely on my shoulders anymore. Someone else knew. Someone else understood the impossible choice I was facing. Someone that actually mattered to me. That alone made all the difference in the world.

I leaned down and picked up the now-empty wooden food tray from the bedside table before turning and walking toward the door. My hand settled around the cool brass handle, the metal smooth against my palm.

Behind me, Sabrina called out softly, "Winter."

I paused and turned back to look at her one last time. She smiled at me—not as the formidable Gamma of the Stonefield Pack, not as a calculated political advisor, but simply as my friend.

"We'll figure something out," she said.

For the first time in what felt like forever, looking at her steady expression... I actually believed her.

I opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit stone corridor, feeling noticeably lighter than when I had entered hours ago. The whispers hadn't completely disappeared from the palace; two elite beta guards stood stationed at the far end of the hallway. Both of them immediately turned their heads, staring at me with the characteristic glossy, unfocused eyes that meant they were actively mindlinking the rest of the security detail.

Or about me.

But as I walked past them, holding the tray tightly against my chest, my heart didn't seem nearly as heavy anymore.