Rhea

My blood ran cold.

No.

No fucking way.

The look Ethan gave her before he left—the one I convinced myself was harmless—hit me again, crystal-clear and merciless. Soft. Reverent. Protective. The kind of look you give someone you’re tethered to.

It wasn’t mine.

It never had been.

It was hers.

Nora’s.

The truth landed like a blade under my ribs and twisted hard. My pulse stuttered, my breath tripped over itself, and every thought I tried to form broke apart before it reached the surface.

Moon Goddess, please. Not like this. Not her.

The air tightened. The wards laced through the walls of our suite—old Valorian lacework stitched into stone when the Accord first sealed Silver Ridge—pressed in, curious and hungry. Usually they hummed soft, silvery, barely noticeable unless you were paying attention.

Tonight, they pulsed. Heavy. Tasting my pain like blood in the water.

My sanctuary felt like a cage.

Lavender from the hearth and woodsmoke from the sconces—scents that normally soothed me—turned suffocating. The floating flames guttered, shadows splintering jagged across silver curtains. Moonlight fractured off marble floors as the embedded sigils flared in time with my racing heartbeat. Even the gardens beyond the balcony windows—the ones I normally loved—blurred under the pressure in my chest.

Then Nora moved.

Silk whispered over stone. Her face—wide open, wrecked, drenched in guilt—hit harder than claws. Before I could flinch, her arms wrapped around me, clinging like she could hold me together by sheer force.

Too late.

I was already breaking.

“Rhea… please,” she breathed, voice cracked open. Her tears soaked my shoulder, hot and shaking. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I haven’t seen him all summer—if I suspected even a little—”

Her words hit my ears, but none of them stuck. They disintegrated against the ringing in my skull.

Because this was happening.

Because some part of me—some traitorous instinct—had already known.

The way Ethan’s eyes had drifted. The sudden distance. The shift I refused to name.

Ethan wasn’t my mate. He never was.

Years of imagining a future around him. Of building something soft around a maybe the Goddess never promised me. Every plan, every hope snapped now, dropping into an empty pit where nothing made sense anymore.

And it had to be Nora.

Not just a friend. My friend. One of the only people who saw past the cracks I hid. The one I always trusted.

My wolf stirred under my skin. She was restless—pacing, unsettled—but not angry at Nora. Wolves know. The bond isn’t a choice. It’s bone-deep, written before birth.

Gravity doesn’t ask permission.

And even as I shattered, I wasn’t going to be the villain in someone else’s fate.

I forced my hands to steady. Framed Nora’s face. Her lashes were clumped, her cheeks streaked, her breathing uneven. My thumbs brushed her tears away though holding myself together felt like walking barefoot over glass.

“Hey,” I whispered, even as my throat splintered. “Look at me.”

She did. Barely.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said. “Or at Ethan. The mate bond isn’t something we choose. If the Moon Goddess says it’s him… then that’s the end of it.”

A lie. A half-truth. A wound wearing a calm voice.

Inside, my wolf snarled—hurt, hollow, furious at fate itself.

But truth didn’t care about my feelings.

If fate was going to take him… then why did She let me believe he was mine at all?

Nora sobbed harder, guilt melting into desperate relief as she clung to me. I held her because if she fell, I’d fall with her. If she broke, I’d shatter.

When she finally loosened her grip, I put a tissue in her hand. She dabbed her ruined mascara, still impossibly pretty for someone unraveling.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Nora,” I said carefully, “are you absolutely sure? One hundred percent?”

Her breath stuttered. She hesitated. And then—

“I felt it the second I saw him tonight.”

The crack widened in my chest, cold air rushing through.

But I forced a smile anyway. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

She did—barely.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. This sucks. A lot. But it doesn’t change us. If you and Ethan are meant, I won’t come between that. Ever.”

Her lip wobbled. “Bitches over dicks, right?”

A laugh tore out of me, shaky but real. “Damn right.”

The wards hummed, low and sympathetic, sigils softening from harsh white to cool silver. Moonlight swept across the floor, cold and beautiful and merciless.

I meant every word.

But the truth I buried under all of it?

When Ethan claimed her tonight, it would break me into pieces I wasn’t sure I’d ever put back together.

We slid into Nora’s obsidian car, the paint swallowing lanternlight like liquid shadow. The engine purred awake, runes across the dash lighting in a map of glowing threads. Travel sigils. Valorian glamours braided with Lycandran warding. Smart enchantments that recognized wolves with Academy clearance.

I normally loved this car.

Tonight, the leather felt too tight. The air too thick. My chest too small.

Neither of us talked.

Nora’s knuckles were white on the wheel. Hope and dread coiled around her wrists like twin snakes.

I stared out the window, letting Silver Ridge blur—moonstone spires, ivy-draped walls, glowing cobblestone scripts guiding students through the campus. Blue-white fae lamppost flames shimmered, heatless and beautiful.

It was a perfect night. A cruel one.

The Silver Stag appeared—warm light, laughter, magic flushing out its windows like the tavern itself was alive. Old hospitality sigils glowed faintly beneath the doors, ensuring any fights fizzled before they began. A necessity in a place where wolves, fae, and drakonic heirs drank side by side.

Before she could go inside, I reached for her arm.

“Tell him now,” I murmured. “I’ll call him out. You two need privacy.”

Her eyes filled with gratitude so fierce it hurt.

She hugged me—tight, desperate. “Thank you, Rhee.”

“Don’t thank me,” I said softly. “Just breathe.”

While she waited, I called Ethan. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped my phone. Every ring was a countdown to losing someone I thought was mine.

When he finally came out—gods.

Dark jeans. Hunter-green button-up. Curls pulled back but a few loose around his temples. Hazel eyes bright under lanternlight.

Every detail stabbed me.

“Hey,” he said, smiling like nothing was wrong. “Didn’t expect you out here. Everything okay?”

No. Not even close.

“Just wanted to see you before we went in,” I lied.

His scent—pine, clean rain, warmth—wrapped around me, familiar and cruel.

“You sure?” he asked softly. “You seem off.”

I shrugged. “Just tired. Thinking too much.”

He stepped closer, worry tightening his jaw.

And gods, it made everything worse.

“Whatever happens,” I whispered, resting my hands briefly on his shoulders, “we’ll be friends. Always.”

His brows furrowed. “Of course. You’re my person, Rhee. Nothing could change that.”

My heart twisted until it hurt to breathe.

“I want you happy,” I said, voice tight.

Then I kissed his cheek—soft, quick, final.

Before I could break, I turned and walked into the warm glow of the pub.

And I didn’t look back.

Inside the Silver Stag

The Silver Stag breathed—full of magic and sin and too many feelings.

Moonlily lanterns floated above tables, petals fluttering open and shut to the rhythm of the bard’s music. Oak walls shimmered with enchantment; vine etchings shifted if you stared too long. Runes glowed underfoot, smoothing traffic around velvet booths and crowded bars.

It should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

Lila spotted me instantly. Gold hoops flashing, curls bouncing, she waved me over like she owned the place. Bree sat beside her—elegant, quiet, sharp-eyed. A glass of starlit cider rested in front of her, surface rippling with glamour-light.

“What happened?” Lila asked, grin fading. “You look like the Moon Goddess personally dragged you through a hedge.”

“Not far off,” I muttered.

“Talk,” Bree said gently.

I inhaled. Exhaled. Broke.

“Nora thinks Ethan is her mate.”

Silence fell—but not the cruel kind. The steady kind. The I’ve-got-you kind.

“Oh, Rhee,” Bree murmured, reaching for my hand.

Lila pulled me in under her arm. “And you told her it was okay, didn’t you?”

My throat tightened. “She didn’t choose this. None of us do. I’m not going to punish her for gravity.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t gut you,” Lila said.

“It’s like I spent years painting a future,” I whispered. “And now it’s gone. Just… gone.”

Bree leaned in. “You’ll find your light again. And it’ll burn brighter than this.”

Lila squeezed me. “We’re not doing this here.”

She shoved us through an ivy-carved arch into a quieter lounge. Constellation candles floated above a moonstone table, glowing soft when we touched it.

“Okay,” Lila said, folding her legs. “Spill the rest. The ugly stuff. The messy stuff. Go.”

I swallowed thickly. “It’s not losing Ethan. It’s losing the picture I built. He was my safe place.”

“And now?” Bree asked softly.

“Now I don’t know where to stand.”

Lila laced our fingers. “You stand with us.”

Bree nodded. “Ethan is a chapter, not your whole book.”

Something inside me loosened.

A server arrived. Moon-honey torte. Water. Cider. We ate quietly, warmth settling back into my bones.

“Better?” Bree asked.

“A little,” I admitted.

Lila pulled me up. “Good. Now we re-enter like queens.”

“Don’t make me strut.”

“Then glide.”

We stepped back into the main room, music curling around us like ribbon. The tavern buzzed with life.

Nora wasn’t back yet.

Good. Bad. I didn’t know.

But I was still standing.

Sometimes, in a world built on magic and fate, that was victory enough.