Todos los capítulos de Rise of the Silent Luna: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 5

The morning fog always clung heavily to the valleys of the Silverwood territory, thick enough to hide the scorched earth where the Vane ancestral manor used to stand. From the window of the guest cottage, you couldn't see the blackened remains of my childhood—only the rolling, endless pine trees that the Beta council had quietly absorbed into the pack’s public ledger three years ago.I turned away from the glass and faced the mirror, smoothing down the front of a cream-colored, knitted turtleneck sweater. It was soft, oversized, and paired with loose grey trousers. I didn't wear jewelry or makeup. In a territory ruled by physical dominance and sharp wolf senses, looking small, comfortable, and aggressively unthreatening was my only real armor.I carefully tucked a stray coil of my thick 4C hair back into a neat, low bun. My obsidian eyes in the glass looked wide, neutral, and perfectly empty. For two years, this was the face I gave the Sterling family. Aria Vane: the tragic, unawakene

The door to the guest cottage clicked shut, and the absolute silence of the small wooden room wrapped around me like a shroud. I didn't turn on the lights. I walked through the dim afternoon shadows straight to my desk and unclenched my right fist. The digital routing number I'd copied from the dispensary ledger was slightly smudged with sweat against my palm, but the digits remained clear. SR-0034-V. I pulled a blank sheet of paper from my university binder and sat down, forcing myself to separate the facts from my suspicions. Three years ago, I'd lost my family in a fire that the Silverwood Pack blamed on a rogue attack. For years, I'd accepted that explanation because I had no reason to question it. I was young, grieving, and surrounded by people who insisted they knew what had happened. But the processing slip I'd found in the dispensary suggested that someone had been preparing to access my family's land before the fire even began. I needed to understand what that meant.

By four-thirty in the morning, the heavy rumble of the twin-diesel engine vibrating outside the outer gate cut through the freezing draft of the cottage. The standard pack transit truck—a converted, open-backed military transport used to shuttle low-profile human-status students and omegas into the city campus—had arrived exactly on schedule. I rolled off the mattress, my bones feeling unusually stiff. As my feet hit the cold floorboards, a sharp, unaccustomed tremor ran up my spine, accompanied by a dull, throbbing pressure directly behind my eyes. It wasn't the powerful roar of a wolf awakening; it was the raw, heavy friction of a two-year-old chemical dependency starting to fray at the edges. My senses were raw, the morning air smelling overly sharp, almost metallic, as my body silently revolted against the sudden absence of the wolfsbane-infused water. I didn't dare touch the tap or the bathroom sink. Keeping my movements completely deliberate, I threw on a pair of loose black c