Rhea

The cafeteria at Silver Ridge Academy wasn’t just a dining hall. It was a damn arena.

Vaulted ceilings arched into shadow, beams carved with Lycan runes that pulsed faintly in rhythm with the wards embedded into the walls. The wards were alive here—listening, testing, feeding on dominance and emotion like curious predators. Stained-glass windows towered along the far wall, fractured with coloured panes that told the story of the Great Accord—wolves clasping hands with fae, dragons bowing flame to treaties, moonlight binding them all.

The air was thick with magic and scent: roasted venison, warm bread, citrus from enchanted fruit, the metallic tang of wards thrumming. Every sound—the scrape of cutlery, the rumble of laughter, the scuffle of boots on stone—was sharper, louder, too aware.

And every gaze snapped to me the second I stepped in.

There she is.

The quads’ Luna.

She doesn’t even look like much.

The whispers bit harder than claws.

Bree strode beside me, calm as always, like she could smother gossip with sheer composure. Nora stayed close, worry softening her every glance. And Lila—bless her reckless, feral heart—walked like a wolf on the edge of violence, chin up, daring anyone to say something out loud.

We found a table near the edge. I sat. I ate. Or tried to. My hands shook when I lifted my fork, but I kept my chin high. That’s what Callum would’ve demanded—control, composure, steel even when the world wanted me on my knees.

For a moment, it almost worked. Bree cracked a joke about the soup looking like swamp water from the Obsidian Wilds. Nora smiled faintly. Lila muttered something about demanding hazard pay for cafeteria food. The laughter was thin but real.

Then they left to grab their trays. And I was alone.

That’s when the whispers sharpened.

Two girls slid into the seats across from me, their perfume too sweet, their smiles too sharp. One flipped her glossy braid over her shoulder, lips curling. “So. You’re the big Luna now.”

The other leaned closer, voice dripping with mock-sympathy. “We were just wondering—how’s it feel knowing you’re not the first? Half the girls here have stories about one of them.”

Her smirk widened when my grip tightened on my fork.

“They say Alpha Seth never sticks around,” she continued, her voice carrying for nearby tables. “That he laughs right after, like you were just a joke. Did he laugh with you yet?”

A few tables over, a fae girl giggled, adding, “I heard Alpha Rory whispers the same lines to everyone. Bet he used them on her too.”

My chest squeezed, the heat climbing my throat.

“And Alpha Jaxon?” The braid girl’s eyes glittered. “He doesn’t talk. He just takes. Bet he did that to you, didn’t he? Didn’t even bother pretending it was special.”

The words tore through me. Images I didn’t want slammed into my brain—Seth’s smirk, Rory’s easy charm, Jaxon’s shadows, Callum’s steel. Girls’ voices layering over it: I had him first. You’re just the newest toy.

The wards hummed louder, tasting the clash of dominance and shame.

I forced a smile sharp enough to cut. “Funny,” I said, voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “I don’t recall asking you about your sex lives. Or your imaginations.”

Their smiles faltered. Just for a second.

But before they could bite back, Babe arrived.

Her golden braid gleamed under the lantern light, her lips painted crimson, her entourage trailing her like obedient shadows. She didn’t sit—she claimed the bench across from me, spine straight, chin high, voice pitched perfectly to carry.

“Well, well,” she drawled. “The quads’ Luna, eating all alone without her protectors. Tell me, Rhea, what’s it like being a charity case one day and the Alphas’ shiny new toy the next?”

Gasps rippled. Forks froze mid-air.

My fork cut into the wood of the table. “Get lost.”

Her laugh was like broken glass. “Hit a nerve? Poor little Rhea. First Ethan chose Nora, and now you’re pretending the quads are into you? Everyone knows they’ll get bored. They’ll pass you around until you’re broken, just like the rest.”

The braid girl snickered behind her hand. “Already cracked, by the look of it.”

My chest squeezed, fury clawing against the ache.

Then Lila slammed her tray down beside me, the sound rattling across the table. “Say one more word,” she hissed, dark eyes glinting like a predator, “and I’ll make sure your pretty little mouth never opens again.”

The wards flared faint silver, feeding off her dominance, muting the air until even breathing felt too loud.

Babe leaned closer anyway, her voice knife-sharp. “Or maybe this is just fate balancing the scales. Your actual parents didn’t want you. Left you at the border like trash. Guess the Moon Goddess had to throw you a bone, eventually.”

Silence detonated.

The words weren’t claws. They were blades. Straight to the heart.

Gasps rippled through the cafeteria. The runes along the ceiling glowed faintly, their silver lines vibrating with the weight of her lie—the wards tasting it, testing it—but not breaking it. Because the truth in her cruelty? That one cut too close to home.

The ache hollowed me out. My vision blurred. My breath faltered.

But I lifted my chin anyway, steady even as my hands shook. “Better abandoned than desperate,” I said evenly. “At least I don’t need to cling to Alphas who’ll never claim me just to feel important. That’s what makes you weak, Babe.”

The ripple of gasps this time was sharp, slicing across the hall. Her smirk faltered.

Lila’s grin turned feral. “Run along, sweetheart, before I braid that shiny hair of yours into a noose.”

Babe flushed scarlet. She stood too fast, her entourage scrambling after her, their whispers frantic as they disappeared into the crowd.

The cafeteria roared back to life. Laughter. Whispers. Forks clattering. But none of it touched me.

I stared down at my soup, a brittle smile plastered on, my whole body trembling under the weight of their words.

“Rhee,” Bree whispered when she slid back into her seat, her hand steady over mine.

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice cracking around the edges.

But inside, I wasn’t.

Because she was right.

Not about the quads. Not about their past. About me. About being left. About being unwanted. About being nothing more than a name sewn into a blanket.

The quads claimed me. But claiming wasn’t the same as choosing.

And as I swallowed another spoonful of soup that tasted like ash, I realized I didn’t feel like a Luna.

I felt like a fraud.