Chapter Five

IVY’S POV

The silence was the worst part. Not the fire, not the capture, not even the eyes that wouldn’t meet mine. Just… the silence.

We arrived at Nightfall just after dawn.

The wagon creaked and groaned beneath me as the woods fell away and the trees gave birth to something colder, sharper. I’d never seen a pack like this. Even in the stories whispered between stolen breaths in Silver Crest, Nightfall had always been an enigma. A name more than a place. An idea more than a home.

But it was real and it was terrifying.

Massive stone walls rose ahead like sleeping giants, crowned with steel and shadow. The gates were black iron, adorned with symbols I couldn’t decipher—ancient, looping, carved with deliberate menace. Two towers flanked the entrance, each with sentries watching us like owls poised to strike.

The closer we got, the more it felt like stepping into a myth.

A dark, sacred one no child should ever repeat.

And yet here I was.

No chains, no ropes, just silence. Like they didn’t know what I was or didn’t want to.

The gates opened without a word.

And then I saw it.

The Nightfall.

Not just a fortres but a kingdom hidden in mountains. Courtyards paved in dark cobblestone. Towers rising like daggers against the morning sky. Everything was quiet, efficient, neat. Not like Silver Crest’s chaos. No shouting, no running omegas, no stink of desperation or fear.

This place was ordered and controlled.

It pulsed with power.

And not a single person looked at me.

Not one.

Even as the wagon rolled through the main courtyard, as warriors passed and guards changed shifts, as women with long braids swept steps and hauled crates of supplies, no one looked at me.

Like I didn’t exist.

Even the air was different. Clean but cold. I couldn’t smell the fires anymore. Or the bodies. Just pine, stone, and something metallic like blood that had long since dried.

The wagon stopped near a wide building that looked like a barracks, or maybe a secondary hall. One of the guards hopped down and opened the back gate.

I hesitated. Still wrapped in that scratchy blanket. Still half-starved, half-awake, wholly confused.

He didn’t say a word.

Just nodded for me to get out.

So I did.

Feet numb from days of barely standing. Knees trembling like I was made of glass. The stone beneath me was cold, but steady. I walked like someone waiting for a blow. For a shout. For hands dragging me to a cellar or a cage.

But none came.

The guards turned and walked away.

And I was alone in the middle of a courtyard full of strangers.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, it was worse than any punishment Silver Crest had ever given me.

A tall woman with steel-colored hair and piercing green eyes approached as the guards disappeared into the northern corridor. She wore robes—deep forest green, lined with fur and fastened with a simple silver brooch in the shape of a crescent moon. Her gaze was impassive, but not cruel. Not welcoming either.

Just neutral.

“You’ll be staying in the west wing,” she said simply, voice clipped and quiet. “Follow me.”

I obeyed.

What else could I do?

She didn’t look back to check if I followed. She knew I would.

We passed under arched walkways, past enclosed gardens and training yards, all while the fortress whispered around us. Not one curious glance. Not a whisper of gossip. Not even suspicion.

I had been spared.

And now I was being ignored.

We reached a modest stone structure with ivy crawling up the sides like a name whispered into forgotten walls. The woman opened the door and stepped aside.

“Inside.”

I entered.

It was simple. A small room, furnished with a clean, real bed with thick blankets and a wooden table set with folded clothing, a basin of water, and a plate of food.

Warm bread, cheese and soup that still steamed.

I stared at it like it might vanish.

“You will not be locked in,” she said, tone still unreadable. “But you are not permitted to leave this section of the fortress without escort.”

I turned to look at her. My lips parted. A question itched in my throat.

“Why am I here?”

She paused. Just a breath.

“Because Alpha Kane said so.”

“Is he—?”

“Not available,” she said, cutting the question before it could form.

I nodded slowly.

She lingered a moment longer, then added, “If you need anything, place a note outside the door. Someone will come.”

And with that, she was gone.

The door didn’t slam.

It didn’t lock.

It jus clicked shut.

And I stood in the center of that too-clean room, unsure what was happening. Why I hadn’t been punished, interrogated or starved.

I had been expecting hate.

Instead, I got nothing.

And that terrified me more than the fire.

I didn’t eat the food right away. It felt like a trick.

Back in Silver Crest, food meant games, rewards or onditions. If you didn’t grovel, you didn’t eat. If you forgot your place, you went hungry for three days. If you cried, they took it away entirely.

But here?

No orders, no questions, no cruelty.

Just bread and soup and clean clothes.

And then silence.

I eventually sat down and forced myself to eat. Slowly and cautiously. Every bite tasted like confusion.

Afterward, I changed into the simple tunic and pants left for me. They were soft, functional, and warm. A deep brown, like tree bark. Nothing fancy, nothing dyed.

Just comfort.

That night, I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

I didn’t cry.

Didn’t pray.

Didn’t even dream.

I just existed.

Floating in a quiet too deep to swim out of.

The next few days passed in a fog.

Each morning, a tray of food appeared outside the door.

Each night, fresh linens and water.

No one spoke to me.

Not even the servants who dropped things off.

They didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge me.

I wandered the west wing as much as I dared—small gardens, empty hallways, a library that no one guarded. Always silent. Always cold.

Kane never came.

I didn’t see him once.

And I hated myself for noticing.

Because part of me, some traitorous, lonely part wanted to understand why he had spared me.

Why he had taken me.

Why he refused to look at me now.

I heard his name whispered once, through a thin wall. Warriors passing in the hall.

“Alpha Kane will return from patrol tonight.”

“He hasn’t spoken to anyone in days.”

“He’s not pleased about the prophecy girl being here.”

That phrase hit like a knife.

The prophecy girl.

That’s what they saw me as.

Not Ivy.

Not a survivor.

Just a name tied to something old and dangerous.

I should’ve known.

Should’ve expected it.

But it still cut deep.

The next morning, I opened the door and froze.

Because he was there.

Kane was tanding across the courtyard, speaking to a group of warriors.

His back was to me, tall and commanding, hair tied back, broad shoulders tense beneath a dark leather jacket. His voice was low, too far to hear but sharp and decisive.

And then he turned snd our eyes met.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for my breath to leave me.

Long enough for something sharp to flare behind his icy expression.

Recognition?

Regret?

Anger?

I didn’t know which.

He didn’t speak, did’nt nod, did‘nt come closer.

He just turned away and walked inside like I hadn’t existed at all.

That night, I sat by the small garden bench in the courtyard, staring up at the stars, wrapped in the same blanket they’d given me after the fire.

And for the first time since arriving…

I let myself cry.

Not loud, not broken.

Just soft quiet tears.

Because I didn’t understand why I was here.

Why he spared me.

Why he hated me enough to ignore me.

Or why part of me cared.

All I knew was that the silence was louder than screams.

And the cold here didn’t come from winter.

It came from being seen then discarded.