Chapter 3

After I left Damien, I hesitated for a long time.

Then I went to my mentor.

Dr. Maren Holt lived in the oldest stone-wall building in the north district. Dried herbs sat on her windowsill beside dusty old books.

When she opened the door and saw my thin suitcase, she didn’t ask anything.

She just stepped aside—like she always had.

The moment I walked in, I broke.

Years ago, when I quit school and accepted the mate bond, she’d fought me harder than anyone.

Even on the bonding day, she kept messaging me:

“Elara, hardship is temporary.”

“Don’t gamble your whole life on a bond. That man looks down on you. You won't be happy with him.”

“Everything you give him will be invisible.”

“And if you live by reaching your hand out, you’ll live with your head bowed.”

Time proved her right.

In the beginning, Damien admired my competence. He liked that I could calculate, organize, stay quiet.

Then Serene Voss arrived.

She said I was “unmarked trash,” that education wouldn’t erase my “low habits.”

She said I needed to learn the rules of the upper pack.

That I needed “proper spending discipline.”

That I needed to be “trained by procedure.”

So I became the woman who had to submit forms to exist.

Damien could approve, deny, or approve in a way that humiliated me.

I cried until I couldn’t breathe. Then Dr. Holt poured me hot water and spoke like she was assigning homework:

“I’m hoping you haven’t lost your skillset.”

“I’ve got a project. Border territory. We’re collecting moonstone-vein data and magical spring hydrology.”

“You’ll be in water, in mountains, awake at night. It’s hard work.”

She looked at me. “Are you in, or not?”

I froze.

I didn’t expect her to offer me a way back to myself.

She frowned slightly, that familiar sharpness in her voice:

“What? Been a Luna too long? Can’t handle worker-life anymore?”

Tears still on my face, I smiled—real, for the first time in years.

“I can. Professor. For myself… I can handle anything.”

She nodded, decisive.

“Then contact the team. This isn’t a love story. No time for heartbreak.”

So I joined the field team.

At first, I struggled.

No heating in the camp. Wind cutting through rock cracks at night.

Carrying equipment over mountains. Mud and water in my boots every day.

Waking up at three a.m. to catch the most stable magic-flow window at the upper spring.

But the longer I worked, the more my body remembered.

The procedures, the calculations, the instincts—everything came back.

I got faster. Cleaner. Better.

Even our stone-faced lead, Grant Ryder, finally said:

“I thought you’d be fragile. You’re not.”

I laughed. “Everyone’s been looking out for me. Otherwise I wouldn’t adapt this fast—”

And then a voice cut through the trees.

“Elara?”

I turned.

Serene Voss stood at the edge of the treeline in a city-sharp outfit, silver-gray cloak, the newest travel case in her hand—like a queen who’d wandered into a mud camp.

Her gaze skimmed over my teammates’ dirty gear, and her mouth curved with quiet contempt.

“So this is why you’re suddenly screaming about dissolving the bond.”

“Same old habits. The second you leave the pack, you go back to running with… low-grade wolves.”

The way she said “low-grade” made it sound like rot.

My face went cold.

We were dirty and exhausted, yes—but that didn’t give her the right to spit on us.

“Serene,” I said evenly, “are you a bloodhound? Wherever I go, you show up.”

Her expression flickered—

and then the air behind her shifted.

A familiar presence stepped out.

Black coat. Straight shoulders. That Alpha pressure that makes the forest feel smaller.

Damien Blackwood.

As he walked closer, a few of my teammates tensed on instinct.

You don’t “ignore” an Alpha. Your body hears him before your brain does.

“What’s going on?” Damien asked, voice flat.

Serene’s eyes turned glossy instantly. Perfect timing. Perfect weakness.

“Nothing…”

“It’s just—Luna’s been gone so long, and today I found her following a bunch of questionable people all the way out here.”

She paused like she was sparing me the shame.

“I just wanted to talk her down. Tell her not to ruin herself.”

I nearly laughed.

I didn’t even bother explaining.

Damian's gaze fell on me, his brow furrowed, his expression showing that he once again trusted his secretary without a doubt.

“Elara. Are you bullying Serene again?”

“If you’re here to apologize—start with her.”

I rolled my eyes and turned away.

A girl beside me whispered, “Elara… who are they?”

I answered without slowing down.

“My blind, brain-dead ex-mate.”

“And his most loyal Pack Secretary.”

Damien’s face darkened. His voice tightened with controlled anger.

“You tracked me all the way here—how long are you going to keep this up?”

“You’ve been away from the pack for days. You haven’t checked on your foster mother once.”

“Where the hell is your conscience?”

Then he did what he always did—pulled out the sharpest threat.

“You really want me to cut off her treatment right now?”

I looked at him.

All I felt was exhaustion.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Damien’s expression froze for a fraction of a second—like something stabbed him.

Then he forced it down, like he had to prove he still owned the ground beneath me.

He raised his phone..

Serene’s face flashed with panic. She lifted a hand to stop him, voice small.

“Alpha… don’t. Luna she’s just—”

Damien shook her off.

“She needs a lesson.”

“Otherwise she’ll never learn how to be a proper Luna.”

The line connected. Noah, his second-in-command, answered.

“Alpha.”

Damien’s voice was calm. Military calm.

“Terminate all medical access and blood-bond supply for Elara’s foster mother.”

“Now.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Noah’s voice came back low—strained.

“Alpha…”

“Luna’s foster mother… passed away last month.”

“Her treatment was discontinued three days before her death.”

Damien went still.