She was stirred by pain and it came in waves gradually—throbbing at the shoulder, searing in the ribs. She tried to move but could not. Her body weighed her down and her lips were dry. The air was scented with leather and herbs.
Selene blinked.
The ceiling over her was high, wooden, and strange. The walls are different from her tower; they weren't made of stone. They were built from dark logs, polished and thick. She heard voices outside the room—low and urgent.
And then… a name.
"Lyra."
The sound made her heart stop.
"No," she whispered. Her voice was weak, cracked.
She tried to sit up but winced. Her right shoulder screamed in protest.
The door creaked open.
A man entered.
He stood tall and had broad shoulders, with black hair that had only fallen over his brows. His pale blue eyes were piercing. He didn't smile and he looked at her as if she was a problem he couldn't figure out.
"You're awake," he said, voice cool but unreadable.
Selene's mouth had opened, but no words spoken.
The man moved forward with a step. "Do you remember anything?"
She shook her head slowly.
He nodded once. "You were found near the cliffs, alone and wounded. Do you know who you are?"
She hesitated and said in her mind:
This was it—The moment to speak, to say the truth: I'm not Lyra. I'm not her.
But something in his eyes stopped her.
Neither kindness nor warmth but something colder—expectation.
She opened her mouth again and said nothing.
The man sighed and turned toward the door. "Get the healer and tell the others she's awake."
His footsteps hurried away.
Selene held the blanket tight around herself. She had tight bandages on her shoulder, bruises on her skin and her ribs hurt. Everything hurt.
But not as much as the fear inside her.
Why had they called her Lyra?
Why did they look at her like she belonged here?
The door opened again.
It was a young woman that entered this time. Her face was gentle, and she carried a tray of herbs and warm cloths.
After putting down the platter, the woman said kindly, "You scared us." "We thought we lost you again."
Selene frowned. "Again?"
The healer gave her a puzzled look. "After you disappeared from the palace… The Alpha sent every scout into the woods to find you. And then… to find you like this…" Her voice drifted off.
Selene's mouth went dry. "The Alpha?"
"You don't remember anything, do you?" the healer asked, dipping a cloth into a warm bowl and gently pressing it against Selene's face.
Selene flinched but stayed still.
"Alpha Kael brought you back himself," the woman continued. "He hasn't left the camp since and some say he didn't sleep for days."
Selene's heart jumped.
Alpha Kael—The cold-eyed man.
She didn't know him and she didn't know any of them.
And yet they all seemed to know her.
She looked at the healer. "What… what do you think happened to me?"
The woman gave a soft smile. "You've been through something awful. But you're safe now, Lyra. You're home."
Selene's stomach turned.
She wasn't Lyra but she couldn't say it.
Not yet.
-------
Later that night, the camp grew quiet.
Selene sat alone in the corner of the wooden room, wrapped in a thick cloak someone had left for her. A tray of food sat untouched and her body still ached, but her mind raced.
What was this place?
Why did they think she was someone else?
She replayed the woman's words—Alpha Kael.
She didn't know much about packs. Her caretaker never allowed her to read about them. But even locked away in that tower, she knew one thing:
Alphas were powerful.
And at the same time dangerous.
The door creaked again.
She jumped.
Kael entered, closing the door behind him. He carried no weapons and he didn't smile.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
She nodded slowly.
"Come," he said. "There's something you need to see."
She hesitated but he raised an eyebrow. "Unless the fall made you more stubborn than usual."
She rose, her knees shook, but she managed to follow.
Outside, the camp was lit by silver lanterns and tents lined the forest clearing. Warriors moved between them—men and women in dark armor, each marked with the Blackthorn crest: a silver wolf wrapped in thorns.
No one looked directly at her but she felt them watching.
Kael led her down a narrow path through the woods. The night was quiet except for the wind and distant howls.
They stopped near a wide stream.
A torch flickered nearby.
Kael pointed to the water. "Look."
She stepped closer.
The stream reflected her face—bruised, pale, eyes wide with confusion.
But it wasn't just her.
Kael handed her a metal plate from his belt and she looked into it.
Her own reflection.
And another.
Behind her, on a torn parchment nailed to a wooden post, was a painting.
A face just like hers.
Same eyes, same hair and same features.
But colder, sharper and more confident.
The words above it said:
MISSING: LYRA OF BLACKTHORN.
Her breath caught.
It was her face but not her life.
Kael watched her closely.
"You still say you don't remember?"
She turned to him. "No… I don't."
His jaw tensed. "Your voice is different, your eyes softer and you don't speak like her. You don't move like her."
Selene's heart stopped.
He knew.
"But," Kael said, stepping closer, "you smell like her, you bleed like her and if you're not her—then where is Lyra?"
She swallowed. "I… I don't know."
He stared at her for a long moment then turned away.
"You'll rest here tonight, tomorrow we ride home."
"Home?"
"To Blackthorn—Your pack."
-------
She didn't sleep.
The healer brought her more herbs and a guard stood outside her door all night.
In the silence, Selene stared at the ceiling.
Lyra.
Who was she?
Why did they all believe Selene was her?
And where was the real Lyra now?
The truth trembled on her lips but fear kept it there.
If they found out she wasn't who they thought, what would they do?
The Alpha had saved her but that didn't mean he'd spare her again.
For now… she would stay quiet.
Until she knew the truth, until she could run again.
If she could.