The Luna Who Walked Away
Mira tugs at my sleeve, whispering urgently, “Elara, don’t. Lyra’s family—her bloodline founded half the combat techniques in the northern packs. You know what she’s capable of.”
“I know,” I whisper. My eyes don’t leave Lyra’s. “Combat might run in her veins, but it’s carved into my bones.”
Lyra smirks. “Then let’s make it interesting.”
She raises her voice, making sure every watching eye catches her words. “If I win, you will admit defeat on national television. You’ll tell everyone you’re not building a pack, that you’re stepping away from politics forever.”
The murmurs grow louder. Even the wind seems to pause.