Mag-log inFIVE YEARS LATER The house was loud. Not the kind of loud that came with danger or panic, the kind that came with chaos, children, and one absolutely unhinged uncle. I leaned against the kitchen doorway, pinching the bridge of my nose as a high-pitched shriek echoed through the hall. "MILO! TELL THEM TO LEAVE MY WOLF PLUSHIE ALONE!" That was Rowan, my son. One half of the twins. Wild like fire, sharp like a whip, stubborn like... well, me. "No!" his sister Aria snapped back. "It's mine now! You said I could hold it!" "I SAID YOU COULD HOLD IT, NOT KIDNAP IT!" Before I could intervene, Nicole popped out from behind the couch holding a tray of cookies and wearing a ridiculous apron. "Children!" he announced dramatically. "You must learn the ways of negotiation. Aria, demand concessions. Rowan, threaten war. This is very simple." "Nicole," I groaned, "stop encouraging them." "Encouraging?" Nicole gasped, fake-offended. "I'm educating them. These are valuable life skills. One
The sky was gray. Not stormy, not weeping, just gray. Quiet. Still. Like even the heavens didn’t know how to mourn a girl who’d been both victim and villain in the same heartbeat. Tasha was buried beside our father. Not among the pack members, not in the honoured stone-ring… but here, on the outer ridge, where traitors were laid to rest. A lonely patch of earth with no carved memorials, no polished stones. Just soil. Just silence. I stood between the two graves — the father who abandoned us, and the sister who betrayed me — with a bouquet of white moon lilies clutched in my hands. “I hope the goddess forgives you,” I whispered, kneeling. “Both of you.” I placed the lilies on Tasha’s grave first. My fingers trembled as I brushed the freshly packed soil. “You deserved better than the demons in your head,” I murmured. “I hope they leave you alone now.” Then I placed a single flower on my father’s grave. “For what it’s worth… I forgive you too. Not because you deserve it, but bec
I sit on the edge of my bed, fingers knotted in the blanket, staring at the floor like it might open and swallow me whole. Morning light cuts across the room in pale, cold stripes. I don’t feel broken. I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel much of anything. Just hollow. A faint knock comes. I don’t answer. The door still opens. My mother steps inside, shoulders rigid, eyes red but strangely steady. Cassian stiffened beside me. He hadn’t left my side once. He’d held me close, whispering reassuring words. ‘Should I send her away?’ His voice drifted through the mind link. I shook my head softly. He nodded, kissed my forehead, and left us. ‘I’ll be downstairs.’ “Talia,” my mother says quietly, the moment the door shuts. I say nothing. She hesitates before sitting in the chair across from me. For a long moment, she just studies me, or maybe she studies the damage she helped create. I can’t tell. “I’m not here to lash out,” she finally says. “I’m not here to accuse you.” I keep
My scream wouldn’t stop. It tore out of me in a jagged, animal sound, my chest heaving as I clutched Tasha’s limp body against me. My tears blurred everything: trees, sky, her face. All I could hear was the echo of her last breath, the whisper of a girl I grew up with turning cold in my arms. What I felt wasn’t guilt, it wasn’t self-blame. It was something worse. A mourning so sharp it felt like it was peeling my ribs apart from the inside. A grief twisted with betrayal and the hollow ache of someone realising that the person they loved… had never loved them the same way. “T–Tasha…” I choked, my voice breaking on the name. “Why?” The word crumpled into the forest floor. Before I could breathe again, I heard a crack. A rush of steps, a heartbeat I would recognise anywhere. Cassian. He didn’t call my name. He couldn’t. The panic he felt through the bond was too much, it dragged him, pulled him, ripped him through the trees until he stumbled into the clearing and saw… Everythi
Tasha lunged. I ducked out of the way in time, barely escaping. Her movement was slow, hesitant. I breathed hard, staring at her in disbelief. She lunged again. This time there was no hesitation, no wavering grief, no flicker of humanity. Just cold intent. I dodged, barely, feeling the blade slice a burning line across my upper arm. My vision blurred with pain, but something inside me... shifted. A low hum pulsed beneath my skin, warm and electric, like the air before a storm. My wolf stirred sharply, not in fear... but in readiness. "Tasha," I panted, backing away, hands up. "You don't want to do this—" "Oh, but I do!" she snapped, voice warping into something sharp and cracking. "I've waited too long for this!" She swung again, aiming for my throat. This time, I didn't move out of fear. I moved because instinct took over. My hand shot up and caught her wrist mid-swing. Her eyes widened. The blade trembled between us. "What..." she whispered. "Since when are you this
Tasha didn’t stop chattering. She rambled about everything: Mum, her friends, the pack house, even the weather. Normally she was talkative, but this was different. This was frantic. I knew her well enough to recognise the signs. She was nervous. About something. Her eyes kept darting across the trees, her gaze flicking left to right too quickly, like she was tracking invisible threats. When I pointed it out, she claimed she was watching out for wild animals… but the slight skip in her heartbeat told me everything I needed to know. Something was off. Very off. I slowed to a stop, pretending to need a break. She nodded a little too fast, walking ahead to “scan the trail again.” Her shoulders were stiff, her posture coiled tight like a spring waiting to snap. “Speaking of friends… how’re you holding up with the Kira situation?” I asked, testing her. She shrugged, the movement too stiff, too controlled. “I’m fine. She got what she deserved. She killed pack members to cover her tracks







