The first night of captivity, I didn't sleep. I pressed my ear to the door, using my gift to sense the guards outside. Their emotions were clear—boredom mixed with unease. They'd been told their Luna was dangerous, unstable. They believed it.
By dawn, I'd tested every window, examined every inch of the room. All sealed. The bathroom offered no escape either. I was well and truly trapped.
Marcus didn't come.
Through our bond, I felt him constantly—distant, shielded, but there. His emotions came in glimpses: frustration during meetings, anger at some report, cold determination when someone mentioned my name. Never regret. Never doubt about his decision.
Elise brought breakfast, her fear so thick I could taste it. Someone had gotten to her, filled her head with stories of what I'd done. She wouldn't meet my eyes, practically threw the tray on the table and fled.
I didn't eat. Morning sickness combined with stress made food impossible. Instead, I sat at the window, watching pack life continue below. Warriors training. Pups playing. Normal wolves living normal lives while their Luna rotted in prison.
That's when I saw Jonas.
He moved differently than usual—stiff, careful. When another warrior clapped him on the shoulder, he flinched. Through my gift, even at this distance, I caught the edge of his emotions. Guilt so heavy it was eating him alive. Fear that made his heart race. And underneath it all, the phantom pain of claws that had raked across the Northern wolf's throat.
He'd done it. I knew it with absolute certainty. But knowing and proving were different things.
The second night, Morgana came.
"Five minutes," she told the guards. "Alpha's orders."
She entered like a woman approaching a wild animal, medical bag clutched tight. But when the door closed, her entire demeanor changed.
"Let me examine you properly," she said, voice pitched for the guards' ears. Then, quieter: "They're planning something worse."
I submitted to her examination, playing along. "Who?"
"Can't say names. But the Northern Alpha is pushing for your extradition. Says you're too dangerous for Silver Moon to contain." Her hands were gentle on my stomach, checking the baby. "Marcus is resisting, but..."
"But Garrett's whispering in his ear."
She neither confirmed nor denied, but her emotional spike told me everything. "The baby is strong. Stronger than usual. Whatever's happening to your gift, she's part of it."
"She?"
"A feeling." Morgana pulled something from her bag—a small vial of clear liquid. "Moonsbane. Three drops on your tongue if you need to disappear. It'll mask your scent for six hours."
"Why are you helping me?"
Her eyes met mine, and I saw decades of regret. "Because I've watched too many special wolves be destroyed for being different. Because your grandmother was my friend, and I failed her. Because..." She glanced at the door. "Because what's coming will destroy more than just you if it succeeds."
"Tell me—"
"Time's up." She raised her voice again. "Rest, Luna. For the baby's sake."
She left me with more questions than answers and a vial that felt like possibility.
The third night brought smoke.
I woke to the acrid smell, heard the howls of alarm. Through the window, I could see flames licking at the eastern border of our territory. Not wildfire—too precise, too targeted. Attack fires.
My door burst open. Not guards this time—Marcus himself, wolf form rippling just beneath his skin.
"Rogues," he snarled. "Coordinated attack. They're burning the refugee settlements."
The refugee settlements I'd helped establish. Where unmated females and orphaned pups found safety. My project, my responsibility.
"Let me help," I begged. "Please, I can—"
"You can stay here." His eyes were wild, torn between Alpha duty and something else. "This is probably connected to you somehow. Your conspiracy—"
"I don't have a conspiracy!" The scream ripped from my throat. "I have a gift that showed me the truth, and you're too proud to believe it!"
For a moment, he wavered. Through our bond, I felt his doubt crack. Then Garrett appeared in the doorway.
"Alpha, we need you. The fires are spreading."
Marcus left without another word. But Garrett lingered, studying me with those calculating eyes.
"Convenient timing," he mused. "The Luna locked away, unable to interfere. Almost like someone knew she'd be... indisposed."
"You did this."
"Prove it." He smiled, cold and sharp. "Oh wait. You can't. Because the only evidence you have is your broken gift that no one trusts."
He left me to watch my people burn.
The fourth day, everything changed.
I woke to commotion—running feet, raised voices, the sharp tang of grief and rage filling the air. Through my gift, I felt the pack's collective shock like a physical blow.
Jonas was dead.
Found at dawn, throat torn out, the words "traitor" carved into his chest. The same claws that had attacked the Northern wolf had silenced the only person who could have confirmed my innocence.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was the evidence found in his den—plans for attacks on Northern wolves, correspondence with rogues, and at the bottom of it all, a note:
"For our Luna. As ordered."
The frame was perfect. Jonas, acting on my supposed orders. His guilt over the Northern wolf attack explained. His death—silencing a conspirator who knew too much. And me, locked away but still somehow orchestrating violence.
When they came for me this time, it wasn't guards.
It was the whole pack.
Marcus led them, flanked by Garrett and the remaining council. Behind them, wolves filled the hallway—some I'd known since childhood, others I'd helped personally. All looking at me with the same expression.
Betrayal. Disgust. Hatred.
"Luna Aria Nightshade," Marcus's voice was formal, empty of everything that had once lived between us. "You stand accused of conspiracy against the pack, orchestrating violence against allied wolves, and sedition. You will answer these charges before the pack."
"Marcus, please—"
"You will address me as Alpha." The words were ice. "Guards, bring her."
As they hauled me from the room that had been my prison, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Hair tangled, clothes wrinkled, the silver strands that marked my gift now looking like premature aging from stress. I looked exactly like what they believed—a mad woman, a danger to the pack.
Garrett had won.
But as they dragged me toward judgment, my hand found the vial in my pocket. Morgana's gift, still hidden.
I might be walking into a trap, but I wouldn't be helpless.
The baby moved within me, strong despite everything. And for just a moment, I felt something impossible through our growing bond—not just emotion, but intention. My daughter, already fighting alongside me.
Whatever happened next, I wouldn't face it alone.