The Suspicion Deepens
Draven returned to the packhouse under the cover of darkness, his fur damp from the dew that clung to the forest floor. His run hadn’t brought the clarity he had hoped for; if anything, it had only deepened his unease. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.
He shifted back into his human form as he entered the main hall, his sharp eyes scanning the empty space. The packhouse was quiet, the celebrations of the previous night long since ended. But the quiet wasn’t comforting—it was oppressive.
He climbed the stairs to the ceremonial wing, his movements deliberate and slow. His thoughts were a whirlwind of doubts and suspicions, each one circling back to the same question: What had changed in her?
When he reached the door to the Luna’s chambers, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle. The memory of her tears, her confession about Kael, replayed in his mind. Something about it didn’t sit right.
Draven pushed the door open silently, stepping inside. The room was dim, the faint light of the hearth casting long shadows across the walls. Seraphine—disguised as Isla—was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. She didn’t notice him at first, too lost in her thoughts.
“Isla,” Draven said, his voice cutting through the silence.
She jerked upright, her wide eyes meeting his. For a fleeting moment, there was something unfamiliar in her gaze—panic. But she quickly masked it, forcing a small smile. “Draven,” she said softly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He stepped closer, his dark eyes studying her intently. “You’ve been crying.”
She touched her cheek, as if only now realizing the tear tracks staining her skin. “I’ve been thinking about… everything,” she said hesitantly. “About Kael. About us. I—”
Draven raised a hand, silencing her. “I don’t want to talk about him,” he said firmly. “I want to talk about you.”
“Me?” Seraphine asked, her voice wavering.
“Yes,” Draven said, his tone sharper now. “You’ve changed, Isla. Since last night, since the ceremony. Something about you feels… different.”
Seraphine’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I’ve been through a lot, Draven,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. “I’m trying to process everything. Please, give me time.”
Draven’s gaze bore into hers, his instincts screaming at him to dig deeper. But the vulnerability in her voice made him hesitate. He stepped back, his jaw tightening. “You have time,” he said, his voice cold. “But not much.”
As he turned and left the room, Seraphine exhaled shakily, her hands trembling. She had bought herself another reprieve, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Draven’s suspicion was growing, and she was running out of ways to deflect it.
Outside the room, Draven’s fists clenched at his sides. Something was wrong, and he would find out what. One way or another.
