CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Ashes Don’t Lie

The smell of smoke clung to everything.

It seeped into the stone walls, into my hair and clothes, into my lungs until every breath tasted like burned earth and iron. Dawn crept slowly over the fortress, pale and hesitant, as if even the sun was unsure whether it was welcome after the bloodshed of the night before.

The courtyard was a ruin.

Broken weapons littered the ground, splintered arrows and twisted spears half-buried in scorched earth. Dark stains marked where bodies had fallen—some dragged away, others burned to ash where Ronan's power had struck too fiercely to leave remains.

I stood at the edge of it all, wrapped in a heavy cloak someone had draped over my shoulders without asking. My wolf was quiet for once, alert but no longer snarling, as if she too were watching and learning.

"They retreated too quickly," I murmured.

Ronan stood beside me, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the damage with sharp calculation. "They were never meant to win," he said. "Last night was a message."

"To test the fortress," I said.

"And to test you," he added.

I swallowed hard, my hand drifting once again to my abdomen. The warmth was there, steady and comforting, a quiet reminder that I wasn't facing this alone—even if no one else knew the full truth yet.

"They felt it," I said softly. "The attack. The power."

"Yes," Ronan replied. "And now they'll adapt."

That thought chilled me more than the night air ever could.

As we walked through the courtyard, warriors bowed instinctively to Ronan—but many of them looked at me differently now. No longer with curiosity or suspicion alone, but with something closer to awe… and fear.

Word traveled fast.

Too fast.

In the infirmary, the wounded were tended with grim efficiency. I helped where I could, binding wounds, offering water, doing anything to quiet the restless energy buzzing beneath my skin. Each injured warrior I touched sent faint echoes through me—pain, gratitude, loyalty.

"You're empathic," said a healer quietly as she watched me work. "That's rare."

I stiffened. "I'm just helping."

She smiled faintly. "Power wears many faces, child."

The words stayed with me long after I left the infirmary.

Later that morning, Ronan summoned the council.

I was not asked to attend.

Which told me everything.

I paced the length of my chamber, irritation coiling tightly in my chest. Staying had been my choice—but being excluded reminded me sharply that I was still an outsider. A protected one, yes. But not trusted with everything.

The bond pulsed faintly, uneasy.

He knows, my wolf whispered. Something is wrong.

A knock sounded at my door before I could respond.

It wasn't Ronan.

A woman stood there instead—tall, sharp-eyed, her dark hair braided tightly down her back. Her presence was controlled, calculating, and cold.

"Aria," she said smoothly. "I'm Lyra. Ronan's strategist."

I inclined my head politely. "What do you want?"

Her gaze flicked briefly to the corridor behind her before returning to me. "To warn you."

My muscles tensed instantly. "About what?"

"There are those in this fortress who believe the Purge is justified," she said quietly. "Who believe you are too dangerous to protect."

My stomach dropped. "You're saying there are traitors."

"I'm saying fear makes people desperate," Lyra replied. "And desperate people make choices they can't undo."

"Why tell me this?" I asked.

"Because Ronan won't," she said frankly. "He's trying to shield you. And that may get you killed."

Anger flared, hot and sharp. "I don't need shielding. I need the truth."

Lyra studied me closely for a moment, then nodded. "Then here it is: someone disabled part of the eastern barrier before the attack. From inside."

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

"Who?" I demanded.

"I don't know yet," she said. "But they'll try again. And next time, they won't be testing."

After she left, I stood frozen in place, dread sinking deep into my bones.

A traitor.

Inside the fortress.

The thought made my skin crawl.

That evening, Ronan found me on the western wall, staring out at the forest. The setting sun painted the sky in bruised shades of red and gold, too much like blood for comfort.

"You should have told me," I said without turning.

He stopped beside me. "Lyra spoke to you."

"Yes," I replied. "About the barrier. About the traitor."

Silence stretched between us.

"I was going to tell you," he said finally.

"When?" I snapped. "After they try again? After someone succeeds?"

His jaw tightened. "After I knew more. I won't burden you with threats you can't control."

"I can control more than you think," I said fiercely, turning to face him. "Last night proved that."

Ronan met my gaze, something conflicted flickering in his eyes. "That's exactly what frightens them."

"And you?" I asked quietly. "Does it frighten you too?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then, softly, "No. It terrifies me."

The honesty of it stole my breath.

"Because if they fail," he continued, "they'll turn their attention to what you carry. And I will burn this world to protect it."

The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down my spine—not fear, but something deeper. Something dangerous.

"You can't protect me from everything," I said.

"No," he agreed. "But I can make them regret trying."

The bond flared again, warm and insistent.

I exhaled slowly. "Then stop hiding things from me."

He held my gaze for a long moment before nodding once. "Very well."

The air shifted subtly between us—an unspoken agreement forged in the aftermath of blood and fire.

As night fell, the fortress settled into uneasy quiet. Guards doubled. Wards were reinforced. And somewhere in the shadows, someone watched and waited.

I lay awake long after midnight, listening to the steady rhythm within me—three quiet pulses, calm and strong.

They weren't afraid.

And for the first time, neither was I.

Not of the future.

Not of the bond.

But of the truth I was beginning to accept:

This fortress was no longer just a refuge.

It was a battlefield.

And I was standing at its center.