The peace didn't shatter with a bang. It cracked, quietly—on a warm afternoon, after training.
Layla was in Janet's room, as usual. It had become a kind of ritual—soft music playing, the window open to let in the breeze, and Janet talking nonstop as she changed outfits for absolutely no reason. Layla sat cross-legged on the bed, half-listening, half-dozing, still sore from that morning's sparring.
Then Janet froze mid-sentence.
Layla sat up instantly. "Hey… what's wrong?"
Janet's eyes were distant, focused on something Layla couldn't see. Her usual playfulness drained away like someone had flipped a switch.
"There's unrest through the pack link," she said slowly, already rising to her feet. "Something's going on."
Layla blinked. The pack link. Right.
Another reminder that she didn't have a wolf. No link. No instinctive pulse of emotion or shared thought. Just silence where something wild should be.
Still, she followed Janet out of the room, heart already tightening with unease.
They stepped outside and found Gwen, one of the older pack members, speaking to a group of warriors. Gwen was kind—soft-voiced, always smiling—and one of the few people Layla had grown genuinely fond of.
Layla moved closer just in time to catch the tail end of her sentence.
"—I think they found unknown wolves near the northern border. They claim our pack is hiding a fugitive from their territory."
Layla's breath caught.
Janet's voice cut in. "A fugitive?"
At the same time, Layla greeted, "Hi, Gwen."
The older woman turned to her with that familiar warmth. "Hello, Layla. How are you, dear?"
"I'm fine, thank you—" she began, but Janet was already pushing forward.
"Wait, hold on. Unknown wolves? From which pack?"
"No one's said for sure yet," Gwen answered, her smile dimming. "But the patrol team is gathering. The Alpha has already been informed."
Layla swallowed. Her fingers curled at her sides. She glanced at Janet, who looked anything but calm.
A fugitive.
From another pack.
And they were claiming Crescent Moon was hiding them.
A quiet unease began to settle in her chest.
Something about this wasn't just random. It didn't feel random.
And worse—she had the growing sense that, somehow, it had something to do with her.
The hours passed in quiet tension.
After the unknown wolves were confirmed as non-hostile, they were escorted—under heavy guard—to the Alpha's office. No one knew who they were, only that they carried a message. A claim. A threat wrapped in the language of diplomacy.
The pack buzzed with speculation.
Layla stayed in Janet's room, pacing, too restless to sit. Janet tried to act casual, sprawled on her bed with a book in her lap, but she hadn't turned a page in over twenty minutes.
"They wouldn't call you," Janet said eventually, like she was trying to convince herself. "Right? You're not a fugitive."
Layla gave a weak laugh. "I mean, I don't think I am."
That earned a small smile—but it didn't reach Janet's eyes.
Then came the knock.
A single, heavy rap against the door.
Janet stiffened.
Layla opened it slowly, and a warrior stood there, unreadable.
"The Alpha has requested your presence," he said.
Layla's stomach dropped.
"Requested," she repeated.
The warrior didn't smile. "Now."
Janet stood up, her voice sharp. "Why? What for?"
He didn't answer.
Layla didn't argue.
She followed him out, heart pounding in her ears, the quiet hallway suddenly feeling like a tunnel leading to something she didn't understand. Something old. Something waiting.
She had been to the Alpha's office before. A few times, actually. But this time was different. This wasn't about training reports or disciplinary check-ins. This time… she could feel something humming beneath the surface. Tense. Quiet.
She thought of the wolves in that room. The word fugitive. The broken pieces of her memory—of running, of blood, of being found at the border half-dead.
By the time they reached the heavy door of the Alpha's office, her palms were slick with sweat.
The warrior knocked once, then opened it.
"Layla's here."
And then she stepped in.
Cael stood near the window, arms crossed, expression tight. Dorian was behind his desk—silent, unreadable, as always. Three strangers stood near the far wall. Wolves. All of them carried the kind of stillness that came with command.
They looked at her.
All of them.
Layla's feet froze just inside the doorway.
She suddenly couldn't tell if the silence in the room was just silence… or something deeper.
Recognition.
They looked at her, All of them.
Layla's feet froze just inside the doorway.
She couldn't tell if the silence in the room was just silence… or something deeper.
Her chest rose in short, sharp gasps as her heart began to pound. It wasn't pounding fast—it was pounding hard, like it was trying to crack through her ribs.
The Beta she recognized first. His name slipped from her mind like oil, but his face, stern, condescending, always looking at her like she was dirt beneath his feet, burned into her memory.
And then Haylee.
Haylee, with her perfectly twisted smirk, her head tilted in cruel amusement. Layla's arm tingled as if freshly clawed.
But it was him—him—that her eyes couldn't move away from.
The one who had followed her into the woods.
The one who had touched her, almost, and was only stopped because someone interrupted. The one who came back later, ran after her into the woods. Angry, unleashed, and dragged her through the trees like a broken rag.
He had clawed her back open, and had beaten her until her vision went black.
He had left her for dead.
And now… he was here.
Breathing the same air, while standing in her Alpha's office. Wearing a neutral expression, like he hadn't once tried to shatter her body and bury her soul.
Does he even recognize her?
Layla's hands began to tremble. The walls of the office felt like they were closing in, and the ground didn't feel steady anymore. Her throat was dry, but her skin was clammy.
She could feel it happening, her mind being pulled backward, dragged through memory. Through screams, and through blood.
Back in those woods.
Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred.
Her gaze locked with his.
She froze.
Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as the air was sucked out of her lungs.
And suddenly, she wasn't in the Alpha's office anymore.
She was back in the woods, back in the dirt, back in her own body, helpless and screaming, waiting for death.
Her breath hitched—sharp, fast, painful.
Then it shattered out of her.
The scream tore through the room before she could stop it, high-pitched and ragged, ripped straight from her gut.
She screamed again.
And again.
Her hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp as her knees buckled. The walls of the office spun, the floor twisted under her feet. The world tilted violently between now and then—between the polished wood and cold air of the Alpha's office, and the dark forest floor soaked in her blood.
"Get him away from me!"
Her voice cracked with terror, unrecognizable even to herself. "Don't let him touch me, please—please don't let him touch me!"
She didn't realize she was backing away until she hit the wall. She crumpled to the floor, gasping like she couldn't find the air, eyes wide and locked on him—on the man who'd left her for dead.
Shock rippled through the room. The Beta looked confused. Haylee smirked faintly, but even she looked uncertain now.
No one moved at first, then Cael took a step forward, his expression darkening as realization flickered in his eyes.
"Get him out." Cael's voice was like a blade. Cold. Commanding. "Now."
The Beta from the Nightfang pack sputtered, "What's the meaning of this? The Alpha's son would never—"
"Shut up." Cael's voice was like steel. "Not another word."
"Leave here and never return," He added, his voice low, commanding and hard as stone.
Warriors moved.
Voices rose, orders barked.
The Beta, Haylee, and the Alpha's son was dragged out by force, their face unreadable, yet screaming revenge and promise of bad things. Layla didn't care. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see past the shaking.
The room spun. Her body curled in on itself. Her scream dissolved into choking sobs.
Dorian hadn't said a word as usual. But when she collapsed, he stood—his presence quiet but immovable.
Janet burst in seconds later, wild-eyed. "Layla—Layla!"
She dropped to the floor beside her, pulling her into her arms. Layla clung to her, shaking uncontrollably, nails digging into her skin like she might fall apart if she let go.
"He was there," she sobbed. "It was him. It was him…"
"You're safe now," Janet whispered, rocking her slowly. "You're safe now, I've got you, you're safe."
But Layla didn't hear her.
She was still there.
Still in the woods.
Still bleeding, still alone.
And now the truth was out.
She hadn't just run.
She had been hunted.
Her body trembled violently before finally going still. The world around her faded to black as the pain, fear, and memories overwhelmed her.
She lost consciousness.