The Ghost in the Cell
The forest outside Silverfang was alive with whispers.Selene stood at its edge just before dawn, her breath curling in the chill of morning.
The trees murmured in a language she couldn't fully comprehend—but her soul answered anyway. It was as if every leaf held a memory, every shadow a secret. She wasn't the same woman who once feared the dark.
Now, the dark moved for her.
Her fingers tingled with raw energy, magic still unfamiliar, still wild. It curled around her wrists like silk and shadow, as though coaxing her forward, whispering deeper, deeper still.
The shadows at her feet moved when she didn't. They were loyal now—maybe the only things that were.
But even they couldn't silence the storm raging inside her.
She closed her eyes and listened. Past the rustling canopy, past the howl of a lone wolf far away, came another sound—one she had almost forgotten.
A heartbeat.
But not from a creature.
From beneath the ground.
A low, buried thrum beneath the Alpha's Hall—deep and deliberate, like the pulse of something trapped beneath stone and shame. It was a prison.
She'd sensed it once before—an echo behind Damon's sharp glares and clipped answers. A place laced with wolfsbane, iron, and fear. A secret they had buried and chained.
And now it called to her.
Selene pulled her cloak tighter and turned back toward the fortress. Her steps were silent, her presence a ripple in the air. She had walked this world once as a Luna, bathed in gold and love and warmth. Now, she walked as a phantom.
But someone had been watching her.
"Lysandra."
Damon's voice snapped through the dark like a whip. Selene froze, pulse spiking. She turned slowly to find him leaning against the outer wall, half-cloaked in shadow.
His shirt hung loose at the collar, his hair tousled from sleep or worry. He didn't look like the Alpha the others bowed to—he looked like a man unraveling.
But even now, his presence radiated danger.
"Out for a stroll?" he asked coolly.
"I don't sleep well in cages."
She answered, her voice even.
His eyes darkened, but he didn't move.
"You don't belong here, Lysandra. And the deeper you dig, the more dangerous this becomes."
"I thought we already covered this," she said, stepping closer.
"I'm not afraid."
"You should be."
There was something in his voice—still laced with power, yes—but underneath, a note of... concern?
Selene hated the way her chest tightened. Don't look at me like that, she wanted to scream. She had been burned by that gaze once. She wouldn't melt again.
"I died once, remember?"
She said, voice sharp as a blade.
"You already taught me how much pain I can survive."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them.
A flicker crossed his face—pain, maybe. Or guilt. But he didn't argue.
He just turned and walked away.
Selene stood in the silence he left behind, jaw clenched, breath shaking. Part of her wanted to follow. The other part wanted to bury him in the forest he ruled.
Instead, she slipped back into shadow.
---
That night, long after the torches dimmed and the fortress fell silent, Selene made her move.
Eira had whispered once of a path—a servant's tunnel long forgotten, sealed after the war. It wasn't on any patrol routes. No guards. No prying eyes.
She found the entrance hidden behind crates in a storage wing, slipped through, and followed the stone corridor as it spiraled downward.
The air grew thick the deeper she went—saturated with rust, mildew, and something older.
Regret, maybe. Sorrow that had sunk into the walls.
Torchlight flickered as she reached the bottom, throwing long shadows over iron bars.
And there, behind those bars, sat the ghost.
A man shackled by wrists and ankles, his frame large but slumped in defeat.
His black hair was long and matted, partially veiling his face. Even in stillness, Selene felt his energy ripple—contained but potent. Like a storm forced into a bottle.
This wasn't a common prisoner.
This wasn't a rogue.
This was something... else.
She stepped closer, the magic inside her prickling.
"Who are you?"
She whispered.
The man didn't respond.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head.
And met her gaze.
Golden eyes stared back—not like Damon's bright fire, but something deeper. Wilder. They glowed with a feral light, rimmed with exhaustion and pain. And behind it...
Recognition.
Selene's breath caught.
"You... you were there. The night—"
He laughed, a hollow sound like brittle branches.
"So you're the one they call Lysandra."
His voice was raw, worn, but it still held power. It reached into her, curled around something broken.
"Who are you?"
She asked again, firmer now.
"Names don't matter,"he said.
"But if you must have one... call me Talon."
Talon.
Her blood ran cold. She knew that name—had heard it whispered in council meetings, buried in old war stories. A traitor. A killer. One of the enemy.
"Why are you here?" she demanded.
"Punishment."
A smile ghosted his lips.
"For sins I didn't commit."
Selene's eyes narrowed.
"They wouldn't imprison someone this powerful without a reason."
"Oh, they had a reason," he said softly.
"I refused to kill a child."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Selene's heart slammed against her ribs. Her mind raced. She had flashes of memory—screams, blood, a small hand slipping from hers.
She pushed the image away, shoving it back into the vault where she buried all her pain.
"I don't know who you think I am—"
But Talon tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he already solved.
"You wear her face well. The false Luna. But I see the truth in your eyes."
Selene stepped back instinctively, her hand twitching toward her dagger.
"I'm not your enemy," he said, voice quieter now.
"But you are surrounded by them."
She hesitated.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're not the only one who died that night," he said.
"And if you want to survive what's coming... you'll need the truth."
Her throat tightened.
"You should go."
He added after a moment, a trace of warning in his tone.
"If Damon finds you here—"
"I'm not afraid," she whispered.
Talon's gaze darkened. "You should be."
---
She didn't remember walking back. The corridor blurred, the cold night air barely registered.
She reached her quarters, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed without undressing.
But she didn't sleep.
Talon's words echoed like drumbeats. The pain in his voice. The way he had looked at her—not like an assassin, or an Alpha's spy.
But like someone who knew her. As if they shared something—some terrible, unspeakable grief.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
Her heart still beat. But it felt fractured.
Who was Talon?
Why did he carry her secrets like scars?
And why did her soul ache so deeply when he looked at her like that?
---