Chapter 3

I woke before sunrise, lying beneath the blankets as the darkness slowly faded beyond the curtains. For a few quiet seconds, I stared at the ceiling without moving, until the memories of the previous night returned: the silverthorn, Adrian telling me not to make a scene, my mother's call, and the name that had changed everything.

Cassian Frost.

Seven days.

That was all the time I had left in the Blackthorne Pack.

I sat up and looked at the suitcase beside my bed. It was still open, half-filled with clothes I had folded the night before. I had packed the things that were easiest to choose—clothes, shoes, and a few personal belongings that didn't carry too many memories.

The rest was harder.

I crossed the room and opened my wardrobe. As I reached for the dresses hanging at the back, something on the top shelf caught my attention. A cedarwood box was tucked behind an old stack of blankets, covered in a thin layer of dust.

I pulled it down and immediately recognized the brass latch.

The memory box.

Adrian had given it to me on our first anniversary. I still remembered the ridiculous pride on his face as he handed it to me, promising that we'd keep adding memories until it became too full to close.

"Then we'll buy a bigger one," he'd said when I teased him about being sentimental.

I carried the box to my bed and opened it.

Inside was eight years of my life.

The first photograph showed us beside Moonfall Lake, both of us soaked after falling into the water. Adrian had insisted he could teach me how to fish, only for us to end up in the lake twenty minutes later. He had blamed the slippery rocks, while I had laughed until my stomach hurt.

I ran my thumb over the faded photograph.

"Idiot," I whispered, smiling despite myself.

Beneath it was the silver bracelet he had bought with his first paycheck. It hadn't been expensive, and the clasp had broken years ago, but I had never thrown it away. There were movie tickets, pressed wildflowers, birthday letters, the ribbon from his first bouquet, and photographs from festivals and celebrations.

One picture showed Adrian asleep against my shoulder during a twelve-hour council meeting. Another captured our twentieth birthday, when Rowan had shoved both of us into the dessert table.

I laughed softly as I turned through the memories.

For a moment, I forgot about the cake, Mira, and the fact that I was leaving. I simply remembered us.

Back then, loving Adrian had been easy. I had never questioned where we were going because he had always made our future sound certain. I believed there would be a day when everything would fall into place.

I reached the bottom of the box and found the leather-bound scrapbook.

The first page was marked Year One, followed by Adrian's messy handwriting.

"To the prettiest wolf in Blackthorne. Don't laugh—I know my handwriting is terrible."

I smiled.

"Still terrible."

The next years were filled with photographs from festivals and letters we exchanged whenever he traveled. There was even dried lavender pressed between the pages because I had once mentioned how much I loved the scent.

Then the memories began to thin.

The entries became shorter, and the photographs became fewer. Council meetings replaced celebrations. Business trips replaced dates. Canceled plans were followed by promises that we would make up for lost time.

I stared at the pages, wondering how I had never noticed.

Perhaps because I hadn't been looking back. I had been living inside those years, accepting every missed dinner and postponed celebration because I believed there would always be another day.

Then I found a photograph of us standing beneath the evening sky, overlooking the cliffs of the Blackthorne territory. Adrian had his coat wrapped around my shoulders because, as usual, I had forgotten to bring one.

Beneath the photograph, he had written:

"One day, you'll be my Luna."

My fingers went still.

One day.

For years, those words had lived in my heart as a promise. Now, looking at them again, I realized how little they actually meant. There was no date, no plan, and no certainty.

Only one day.

A tear slipped onto the page.

"One day," I whispered.

The words sounded empty now.

I closed the scrapbook and held it against my chest.

"I'm pathetic."

You're grieving.

My wolf's voice was gentle.

"I loved him."

I know.

"I still do."

She didn't answer.

Maybe there was nothing to say. Love wasn't what had failed. What had failed was my willingness to keep accepting less and calling it love.

I carried the box downstairs and knelt in front of the fireplace. The sitting room was quiet, the early morning light barely touching the windows, while the remains of last night's fire glowed faintly.

For several seconds, I held the scrapbook in my lap.

"I thought we'd grow old together," I whispered.

Then I picked up the photograph from Moonfall Lake.

"I'm sorry."

I dropped it into the flames.

The photograph curled almost immediately, the edges blackening until our faces disappeared. One by one, I fed the memories into the fire—the birthdays, anniversaries, flowers, letters, and tickets that had once seemed so precious.

I expected to cry.

Instead, I felt strangely numb.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I froze.

Adrian stood in the doorway, still wearing yesterday's clothes. His hair was disheveled, and dark shadows rested beneath his eyes as though he hadn't slept. His gaze moved from me to the fire and then to the photographs scattered beside it.

Without saying anything, he crossed the room and snatched the scrapbook from my hands.

"Sera. What are you doing?"

"Give it back."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"No."

"You're burning our memories."

I held out my hand. "Give me the scrapbook."

"No." He pressed it against his chest. "These are our memories."

"Our memories?" I glanced toward the fireplace. "Yes. They're mine too."

His expression faltered.

"You can't just burn eight years because you're angry with me."

"I'm not angry."

"Then what is this? You're trying to punish me."

I shook my head. "I'm not burning them because I hate you. I'm burning them because I don't want to keep looking at them and pretending they mean something they don't."

His grip loosened, and I gently took the scrapbook back.

"I loved these memories," I said, my voice cracking. "That's exactly why I can't keep them."

"Sera..."

"Every time you said one day, I believed you. You told me that one day I'd be your Luna, so I waited."

He swallowed.

"I never asked you to—"

"You didn't have to." I closed the scrapbook. "I waited because I loved you. I defended you whenever people asked why you hadn't claimed me, and I told myself you were simply waiting for the right time."

I looked at him.

"But eight years is a long time to wait for a day that was never promised."

Adrian's jaw tightened.

"I was going to claim you."

"When?"

He didn't answer.

I nodded.

"Exactly."

"There are things you don't understand."

"Then you should have explained them."

"It's complicated."

"Everything becomes complicated when you don't want to give someone an answer."

His eyes hardened.

"That's not fair."

I smiled sadly.

"Neither was waiting."

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Adrian reached for my wrist.

"Sera."

His Alpha aura rolled through the room, the command instinctive and familiar. For eight years, my wolf had responded without question.

This time, nothing happened.

Adrian noticed.

His fingers slowly loosened, and I pulled my hand away.

"I don't belong to you anymore."

He stared at me, and something changed in his expression.

Not anger.

Fear.

"Sera..."

Behind me, another photograph folded into the flames.

"You can't just stop loving me," he said.

I looked at him for a long moment.

"I didn't stop loving you."

His eyes searched mine.

"I stopped waiting for you."

Something broke across his face.

I placed the scrapbook beside the fire and stood.

My wolf stirred inside me, but she wasn't grieving anymore. She was listening to something distant, something unfamiliar.

A faint warmth had begun to replace the weakening bond between Adrian and me.

A new pull.

A different Alpha.

A different future.

I looked at Adrian one last time. He was still staring at me as though he had only just realized that I was capable of leaving him.

For eight years, he had been certain I would always be there.

Now, for the first time, he wasn't so sure.