Semua Bab Moonlit Secrets: Bab 161 - Bab 170

Morning came on with the thin light of a hospital corridor—sterile and too honest. We gathered in the control room without announcing it, as if our bodies remembered the choreography better than our minds: Victor checking the time, Marco already wired into his screens, Leo with coffee he wouldn’t drink, Elise with a tote that could fix a small war, Jennifer leaning near the door like she owned the air. Lena came last, blue coat, messenger bag, and a steadiness in her step that had been rehearsed into her bones.“This is the last handoff,” Marco said, no preamble. “We don’t need them to print. We need them to say it.” He lifted the tiny recorder from a velvet tray, the capsule so small it looked imaginary. “We go for voice today, not pixels.”Elise held out a hand; Lena gave her the lapel of the coat. Elise’s hands were warm, professional, almost ceremonial as she fixed the wire into place—two points of contact sewn between lining and seam, a whisper of copper laid flat like a secret v

The peace forged on the mountaintop still lingered, fragile as morning dew. Yet beneath its gleam, old wounds waited—unspoken, unhealed, stitched into the fabric of the pack as surely as any new law or scroll. Aria felt it like a bruise beneath the skin, an ache that belonged not only to her but to the people she led.The healer’s wing, once a dim alcove for the forgotten, had grown into something luminous. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, carrying the scent of lavender and sage. Clean linen hung to dry, and children’s laughter threaded through the halls like birdsong. The transformation was more than stone and timber—it was a promise, kept with every soft touch, every wound dressed, every life tended with dignity.Aria was arranging fresh bandages when a frantic knock rattled the door. A young apprentice stumbled in, face flushed, eyes wide.“Luna—wolves at the gate. Rogues. They say… they know you.”Cold tightened through her chest, but she kept her voice calm. “Bring me ther

The sky was bruised violet by the time the pack gathered in the judgment circle, the hollow of earth ringed with standing stones etched by centuries of scars. This place had never been kind. It was where disputes had been shouted into law, where exile had been decided by raised voices and averted gazes. Aria had once stood here, a trembling girl branded by silence and scorn. Every word had cut like a whip. Every silence had left a scar.Now she returned—not as the judge, but as Luna. As witness. As a shield.Word had spread quickly. A rogue girl, hardly older than Aria’s own daughter, had been caught with stolen bread clutched to her chest. The bakers had shouted for punishment, the council had summoned the pack, and the old hunger for swift judgment coiled in the air like smoke. For all their vows of unity, suspicion still lingered in their bones.The child was led forward. She was small, filthy, her black hair hacked short, her eyes huge and wild with fear. She hugged the loaf as if

The first pale light of dawn brushed the mountains, streaking the sky in gold and rose. From the high balcony above Moonrise, the valley seemed to sleep still—stone roofs curled in smoke, winding lanes hushed in dream. Only the embers in the square below betrayed what had happened the night before: the burning of a letter, the fire that had consumed the last venom of the old order.Aria stood at the railing, cloak drawn against the chill, the wind teasing strands of her hair loose. She rested her palms on the cold stone, breathing deep, as if the thin air might strip her of the last traces of fear and leave only steadiness behind. For a fleeting moment, she imagined the old Lunas—gentle shadows in history, silent beside their Alphas—gazing down at a world that had never let them be more than ornaments. She wondered what they would think, seeing her here now, unbound, unbowed.Soft footsteps broke the thought. Councilor Hale emerged, a velvet bundle cradled in his arms. Myra walked wit

The door to Aria’s childhood home groaned on its hinges, releasing a breath of dust and the faint, lingering scent of old lavender. The little stone cottage had been abandoned for years, surrendered to moss and ivy, to wildflowers that claimed the paths where once her small feet had run. Yet the bones of it endured—walls stubborn against the seasons, windows cracked but still holding—like a memory that refused to fade, no matter how much time tried to bury it.Aria paused on the threshold, her palm pressed flat against the splintered wood. The ache came back, not sharp as it once had been, but soft—like the echo of a song. She closed her eyes and breathed in the musty air. For a moment, she was a child again, wearing patched dresses, shrinking into silence, praying for something—anything—to love her back.Her daughter’s hand slipped into hers, warm and steady, a tether to the present. “Mama,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “Was this really your house?”Aria nodded, a smile tugging at her m