The great hall of Blackthorn Pack never slept. Braziers still blazing, way past midnight, tossing orange light on stone walls lined with banners of the silver crescent. Selene had no business being there, not after curfew, not when she was bruised, humiliated and exhausted from the day's combat test. But sleep had abandoned her the moment whispers seeped into the squeaks of her chamber door.
Her instincts was to lie in bed, but curiosity drew her out. She moved barefoot through darkened corridors, holding tightly to the wall as murmurs grew louder. The voices were low, harsh with suppressed secrets, and had a deadly weight that made her heart pound.
"…the prophecy resurfaces," one male voice muttered. His tone was heavy, as though even speaking the word was forbidden.
"Keep your tongue down, Elder Varun," another hissed. "Walls have ears and if the Court suspects we've been careless…"
A third voice, softer but sharper, broke in: "The girl's return was not chance and the twins are the Moon's omen. One to lead, one to ruin. If we misstep, the pack will fracture before the Alpha ever learns the truth."
Selene caught her breath, twins, moon's omen. She burrowed deeper into the shadows, throat throbbing. They couldn't possibly be talking about her, they thought she was Lyra, heiress of Blackthorn. But… the words slid between her ribs like icy talons, reviving uncertainties she'd fought to bury after arriving here.
Selene glanced around the corner and saw three robed members of the council confer over a table, documents spread out before them. The firelight cast their creased faces in and out of darkness.
Elder Varun leaned forward, his voice a near growl. "The Alpha need not know the depth of this yet. If she is the true one, the signs will show themselves. If not…" He sliced his hand through the air, final as a blade.
Selene ducked back, lungs straining for air. True one? Signs? One to ruin… one to lead?
Her fingers trembled; she couldn't keep hunched like a thief with the ground shifting beneath her. She stepped back, letting her feet retrace the silent path back to the quarters she had been allocated. The passageways loomed like a maze, her every step as thunderous as if in her own ears.
When she reached Lyra's room, she closed the door quietly behind her with a noise that echoed like rebuke. She stayed there, looking into the room's shadows that were not hers. The silken curtains, the woodwork dressing table, the residual hint of lavender oil in the air—these were all Lyra's. Not her, never her.
Selene pressed a hand against her chest, grounding herself. The whispers gnawed at her thoughts, refusing to fade. Prophecy, twins, omen. She couldn't shake the gnawing certainty that she had stumbled into a story already written long before her birth.
Restlessness drove her across the chamber. She began to walk around the room, her eyes passing over all of the things she knew so well—the shiny armor stand, the silver combs on the vanity, the clothes trunk too fine for her flesh. None of it was correct and none of it felt secure.
Her stride came to a halt at the corner of the room where a tall mirror was draped with a sheet of red material. She had ignored previously, offended by its intrusion. But today something about the coarse folds attracted her interest. Carefully she drew back the material, and her own face looked up at her—wide-eyed, white, and trembling.
Behind the glass, a seam in the wall caught her eye. Selene ran her fingers across the stone until her hand fell into a shallow depression. She explored with a gentle prod, and the panel creaked stiffly to open a hidden alcove the size of a cupboard as dust crawled out like the dead's breath.
Inside, stacked loosely, were scrolls, maps, and a leathery notebook charred to the ends as if it had survived a fire. The sight anchored her where she stood. Her pulse thudded in her chest as she approached to grab it because the leather was dry in her hands.
She carried it to the bed and lit the lantern with shaking hands. The pages were warped, their ink smeared in places, but there were sufficient words remaining to pull her deeper into terror she had not sought.
Dates, pack territories, names written and scratched out. Notes in Lyra's sharp, slanted hand. And in the margins, words that froze Selene's blood:
The twin must not rise. She is the shadow; I am the flame.
Selene's breath snagged, her heart slamming against her ribs. She traced the burnt edge of the page, trying to piece together what had been lost. The script spoke of alliances, of the Alpha King, of betrayal woven like threads across the continent.
And always—the twin.
A sudden knock jolted her. The journal nearly slipped from her grasp as she shoved it beneath the pillow, her chest heaving.
"Lyra?" Kael's voice cut through the silence, low but edged with command.
Selene froze, staring at the door. The Alpha stood outside, and she was caught between lies and truth, between shadows and flame.
"Lyra?"
Kael's voice was quiet, but quiet in him never meant gentleness. It was a testing blade, wrapped in velvet. Selene's body locked, frozen between instinct and fear. Her hand pressed hard on the pillow under which she'd shoved the charred journal, as though her palm alone could erase its existence.
"I know you're awake," he continued. A pause. "Open the door."
The command laced his tone with Alpha authority, making her pulse stumble. She swallowed, smoothed her hair with trembling fingers, and crossed to the door. When she opened it, Kael filled the threshold—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence heavy as storm clouds. His dark eyes scanned her face, catching the flicker of guilt she failed to mask.
"You walk like a shadow," he said at last. "I heard you in the corridor."
Selene's stomach tightened. "I couldn't sleep," she whispered. "The… the trials today."
He studied her; gaze unblinking. The weight of his silence pressed against her ribs, demanding more than her fragile excuse could cover. For a terrifying moment, she thought he might push past her, search the room, discover the truth she had no words for.
Instead, Kael stepped inside slowly, his eyes sweeping across the chamber. His nose flared faintly as if scenting something, though Selene prayed he would not detect the faintest curl of smoke lingering from the half-burned pages.
"You've changed," he said finally, turning back to her. "Not since today but since you returned."
Her throat dried. The words scraped out of her: "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Maybe." His jaw tightened. "Or maybe it's a lie."
Selene's chest constricted. He was closer now, his shadow brushing hers in the lantern glow. The air between them carried both heat and danger.
"If you are lying to me, Lyra," Kael murmured, "it will not end the way you think. Lies cut deeper than blades in this pack."
Her lips parted, a hundred denials rising but strangled before birth. What truth could she possibly offer? That she wasn't Lyra? That she was no heir at all, but a forgotten twin who stumbled into a role sewn by fate and fire?