The sound of the gates clanging shut echoed long after Lyra passed through them.
Blood still clung to her knuckles. Her ribs ached with every breath. But she didn't ask for help. Didn't limp. Didn't flinch.
She had passed the Trial by Claw bruised, bloodied, but not broken.
The pack watched in silence as she walked past them, head held high. There were no cheers. No welcome. Only wary gazes and judgmental eyes tracking her like prey.
Pride demanded she ignore them. Pain reminded her not to forget.
Every step she took back to the packhouse was laced with defiance.
They'd wanted her to fall. To fail.
But she didn't.
When she reached the corridor near the Alpha's wing, Alaric was already there, leaning against the doorframe of his office, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, not quite cold, but far from warm.
"I heard you didn't go easy on them," he said.
"They didn't go easy on me." Lyra's voice was flat, but not without edge.
A flicker of something passed over his face. Guilt? Regret? She couldn't tell.
"I didn't ask for applause," she added. "But I earned my place out there. Whether they like it or not."
"They won't," he said quietly.
"Then they'll just have to live with it."
She started to walk past him, but Alaric reached out and gently touched her elbow. She stopped, barely turning.
"Why didn't you finish that last wolf?" he asked. "You had her."
"She was already down," Lyra said without hesitation. "I fight to prove I belong. Not to humiliate."
He looked at her differently than a strange, lingering gaze that didn't judge. For once, it looked like... respect.
"I'm not one of you, Alaric," she said. "But I'm not afraid of becoming something better."
Later, she stood alone in her room, peeling off the bloodied wrap around her midsection. The bruises along her side were darkening, blooming like ugly reminders of what she'd endured.
Cade had offered to bandage her. Even Evander, stiff as he was, had nodded slightly in her direction after the trial, a gesture she might have mistaken for approval if she believed he was capable of it.
But Lyra didn't want their help.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her jaw was swollen, her lip split, but her eyes burned with fire.
This wasn't just survival.
This was a transformation.
Not into what they wanted her to be… but what she chose to become.
She wasn't the same rogue girl who had been dragged into Ravenguard territory weeks ago. She wasn't the outsider anymore, not completely.
They still hated her. Distrusted her. But now they feared her a little too.
And fear, she knew, was often the first sign of respect in a world ruled by wolves.
Downstairs, murmurs filled the training yard. Warriors stood in small clusters, discussing the trial, dissecting her every move. A few praised her form. Others dismissed it as luck.
But all of them remembered one thing: she didn't kneel.
She didn't surrender.
Not once.
By nightfall, Alaric called a private meeting in the strategy hall. Only a few were allowed inside the Beta, the lead warrior, and Lyra.
She stood by the far wall, refusing the seat offered. She didn't need their comfort. She needed space.
Evander didn't hide his displeasure. "She shouldn't be involved in the war council. She's not Luna yet."
"She completed the first trial," Alaric replied. "She's earned a place here."
"It's not just about earning," Evander pressed. "It's about trust. Loyalty."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "And who here has bled for this pack more recently than she has?"
Silence.
Then, reluctantly, Evander backed down.
Lyra said nothing. But she didn't forget it.
After the meeting, Alaric lingered behind. Lyra moved toward the exit, but his voice stopped her.
"You didn't flinch," he said.
She turned. "Because I couldn't afford to."
"You don't have to fight everyone, Lyra."
She tilted her head. "Don't I?"
A pause.
He walked toward her slowly. "You still think I see you as weak."
"No," she replied. "I think you see me as a complication."
He didn't deny it.
"You think this bond is a threat to your rule," she continued. "Choosing me even by force makes you vulnerable."
Alaric's jaw clenched.
"But maybe," she whispered, stepping closer, "you're just afraid I might be right for the role. And that scares you more than the alternative."
Their eyes locked. Tension buzzed between them, not violent, not yet romantic, but taut. Tangled.
"I don't fear strength," Alaric said finally.
"Then you'd better get used to mine."
She turned and walked out, leaving him standing in silence.
That night, Lyra sat beneath the moon on the rooftop balcony, overlooking the grounds. Her ribs ached. Her pride throbbed like a pulse in her chest.
The pain hadn't broken her.
It had sharpened her.
She still didn't know if she belonged here. If this place would ever feel like home.
But she knew one thing for sure.
They would never forget her now.
Not after today.
And one day soon, they would stop seeing her as the girl who didn't belong… and start seeing her as the Luna they never saw coming.