The Truth Begins to Crack
The moon hung low in the sky as Draven returned to the packhouse, his wolf instincts still bristling. He hadn’t slept, and the weight of his suspicions had only grown heavier with each passing hour. The ceremonial wing was quiet, but the tension in the air was suffocating.
Draven strode down the corridor toward Isla’s—her—chambers. His steps were deliberate, his mind sharp as a blade. He needed answers, and he wouldn’t leave without them.
When he entered the room, Seraphine was seated at the vanity, her back to him. The soft glow of the moonlight illuminated her figure, but Draven’s focus was fixed on her reflection in the mirror. Her posture was tense, her movements too calculated. Something about her felt wrong, like an actor playing a role they hadn’t mastered.
“You’re up late,” he said, his voice low but sharp.
Seraphine startled slightly, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity. She turned, offering him a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. “There’s… a lot on my mind.”
Draven stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. “What kind of things?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting briefly to the floor before meeting his. “The trial, the ceremony, everything,” she said. “It’s overwhelming.”
His jaw tightened. The response was vague, evasive. “You didn’t seem overwhelmed before,” he said pointedly. “What’s changed?”
Seraphine’s heart raced, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I’m just tired,” she said, her tone laced with weariness. “I’ve been trying to adjust to everything—to being Luna, to… to us.”
Draven’s wolf stirred within him, its growl low and insistent. “You’re hiding something,” he said, his voice steady but cold. “I can feel it.”
Seraphine’s eyes widened, panic flickering in their depths. “Hiding something?” she repeated, her voice shaking slightly. “Draven, I—”
“You’re different,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Your scent, your mannerisms—even the way you look at me. It’s like I’m standing in front of a stranger.”
Seraphine stood abruptly, her hands trembling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice rising. “I’m the same Isla I’ve always been.”
Draven’s gaze darkened, his instincts screaming that she was lying. But he didn’t have proof—yet. “If you’re the same,” he said slowly, “then tell me this. Why do I feel like the woman I chose, the woman I bonded with, is gone?”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t respond. Draven’s words were cutting, too close to the truth she was desperate to hide. She forced herself to take a step back, her expression crumbling into one of pain.
“Maybe it’s you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Maybe you’re the one who’s changed.”
Draven froze, her words catching him off guard. Before he could respond, she turned away, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry. It was a calculated move, but it was enough to make him hesitate. His wolf growled in frustration, but he silenced it, unsure of how to proceed.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Get some rest.”
