Chapter Five

The funeral ground was crowded, yet I had never felt so alone. The whole pack had gathered in black, their heads bowed, their voices low with mourning chants. Smoke from the torches curled into the night sky, carrying the heavy scent of sage. Every sound, every smell pressed down on me until I could hardly breathe.

At the center of the circle lay my brother’s body. He rested on a wooden bier, wrapped in white cloth, his golden hair still peeking from beneath the folds. His hands were crossed over his chest, a warrior’s farewell.

All eyes were on him. All prayers were for him. Not one for me.

I stood at the very edge, behind the others, where shadows stretched long. My fingers twisted together, nails digging into my palms as I tried not to shake. My chest hurt, swollen with grief, but I didn’t dare let it show. If I cried too loudly, if I dared to step closer, they would notice me. And if they noticed me, I already knew the whispers that would come: It should’ve been her.

Since the day of his death, those whispers had clung to me like burrs. No one said them aloud now, but I felt them in every glance, sharp and cutting. My father sat in front, his jaw locked, his grief hidden behind a mask of stone. But earlier, his eyes had flicked toward me—cold, hard. As if my standing here at all was an insult. My mother wept openly, her sobs shaking her shoulders, but she hadn’t looked at me once.

I hugged myself tighter, wishing Leah were by my side. But servants weren’t allowed near the sacred circle. I knew she was watching from the crowd, though. She always did.

The Elder’s voice rose, slow and solemn, speaking blessings over my brother’s sacrifice. Every word felt like a blade pressed against me. Bravery. Honor. Golden wolf of the Moon Goddess. Each title was his, never mine. He was the chosen one. I was the shadow.

A breeze stirred the clearing, carrying sparks from the torches, and my eyes lifted for the first time. The firelight danced across bowed heads, across shoulders heavy with grief. And then—

I felt it.

A weight. A warmth. A gaze that pressed against me so strongly it felt like a hand on my skin.

My breath caught. Slowly, almost afraid, I turned toward it.

At the far edge of the clearing, just beyond the circle of torches, a man stood. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his stance steady like a tree rooted deep into the earth. His hair was dark, falling in waves across his forehead, and his jaw was cut sharp as if from stone.

But his eyes… his eyes were what held me. Grey, piercing, burning with something I couldn’t name. Not pity. Not grief. Something else. Something that made my heart stumble in my chest.

I froze, unable to look away.

He wasn’t from our pack—I would’ve known him. And he didn’t bow his head in mourning like the rest. He stood apart, as if untouched by the grief that swallowed everyone else. Yet somehow, he didn’t seem like an intruder. He belonged, in a way I couldn’t explain.

Why is he looking at me? My thoughts raced. Out of all the people here—my father, my mother, the grieving warriors—why me?

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. His gaze pinned me in place, sharp and searching. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel invisible. For the first time, someone truly saw me.

Around us, the chants grew louder, rising like a tide. My hands trembled, pressed against my sides. My lips parted with a question I couldn’t speak.

The man tilted his head slightly, as though studying me, as if I were a puzzle he meant to solve. A shiver raced down my spine. A memory flashed—of a black wolf in the trees, of glowing eyes cutting through the dark. I didn’t need to guess. I knew. Those eyes were his.

“Aria.”

The whisper came from behind. I turned quickly. One of the younger warriors, a boy barely older than me, had moved closer. His voice was tight, his face pale. “You shouldn’t stand here.”

I swallowed hard. “Why not?”

“People are already… talking,” he muttered, his eyes darting to the others. “They’ll think you bring bad luck to the circle.”

His words cut, though they were no surprise. I pressed my nails deeper into my palms. “He was my brother,” I said, my voice shaking. “I have the right to be here.”

The boy shifted uncomfortably, guilt flashing in his eyes. He said nothing more and slipped back into the crowd, leaving me with his warning hanging in the air.

I turned back quickly, afraid the stranger would be gone.

But he wasn’t.

He was still there, still watching, as if the entire world had narrowed to just me.

My father’s voice rose above the chants, deep and commanding. “We light this fire in honor of Theo, golden wolf of Silvermoon, son of his pack, protector of his people.”

The crowd bowed their heads. My mother’s wail carried sharp and broken through the night.

I wanted to weep with her, to scream my grief into the air, but my throat closed tight. I could only stand frozen, torn between mourning my brother and the man whose eyes refused to leave me.

The Alpha struck the torch to the pyre. Flames leapt high, swallowing the wood, licking the sky. Gasps and howls rose from the pack, voices lifted together in a storm of mourning. Wolves tilted their heads back, their cries shaking the earth.

I should have looked at the fire. I should have watched my brother’s body return to ash. But I didn’t.

I looked back at him.

The man didn’t move. He didn’t bow. He didn’t howl. He simply stood, his face unreadable, his grey eyes locked with mine as if the fire, the pack, the death meant nothing compared to this silent exchange between us.

My chest ached, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. For the first time since Theo’s death, I didn’t feel cursed. I didn’t feel hated.

I felt noticed.

The flames roared higher, sparks flying into the night sky. The smoke thickened, blotting out the stars. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t look away from him.

Who are you? The words screamed inside me, but my lips never moved.

The man’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second—barely a blink, barely a change—but I saw it. As if he knew my question. As if he had an answer he wasn’t ready to give.

And then, as the chants reached their peak, he turned. Slowly, he stepped back into the darkness, swallowed by the shadows beyond the torches.

I gasped, a small sound lost in the cries of the pack.

He was gone.

But the echo of his eyes burned in me, bright and unshakable.

And as the smoke curled upward, blotting the stars, one thought struck me so sharply I could hardly breathe:

Those grey eyes…