Elara’s POV

Lyra had been fussing since somewhere around three in the morning.

Not screaming. Not wailing. Just that restless, squirming whimper that made it impossible to sleep and impossible to be angry about not sleeping. I’d rocked her, fed her, changed her, walked circles around the bedroom in the dark until my legs ached. She’d finally surrendered sometime before dawn, her tiny fist curled against her cheek, breathing slow and even in her cradle.

I stood over her now, watching the rise and fall of her chest. The morning light crept across the nursery floor in pale gold bands. She looked so peaceful. So impossibly small.

I envied her. The ability to simply stop fighting and rest.

Footsteps behind me. The creak of the floorboard near the doorway—the one that always groaned no matter how carefully you stepped.

"She’s out?"

I turned. Kaelen leaned against the doorframe, two cups of coffee in his hands. His dark hair was a disaster—half-flattened on one side, sticking up on the other. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Just loose trousers slung low on his hips. The morning light carved shadows along the ridges of his bare chest, every line of muscle catching gold.

It was profoundly unfair that he could look like that at this hour, a completely distracting perfection.

"Finally," I whispered, accepting the cup he offered. Our fingers brushed. His skin was warm. The coffee was bitter and perfect.

He stepped closer, peering down into the cradle. A softness crossed his face that he never let anyone else see. Then he looked at me—really looked—and the softness shifted into something more careful.

"You didn’t sleep."

"I slept enough."

"You slept nothing." He said it without accusation. Just fact.

I sipped my coffee and didn’t argue.

We moved to the corridor, pulling the nursery door half-shut behind us. His scent wrapped around me—pine and leather, familiar as my own heartbeat. It steadied something inside my chest. A fraying thread pulled taut.

"I got a message yesterday," he said, leaning against the wall. "From Riley."

I looked up. "Riley?"

"She and Sir Cassian." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "They’re engaged."

Something warm bloomed behind my ribs. Genuine, uncomplicated warmth. Riley and Cassian. Of course. I’d seen it coming long before either of them had.

"She’s invited you to the celebration," Kaelen continued. "At the old training grounds."

The warmth froze.

The training grounds. Where I’d drilled formations. Where I’d sparred with Marcus until my knuckles bled. Where I’d stood in front of the tactical board and directed operations like I belonged there. Like I was someone who mattered.

That was before.

Before the failed mission six months ago. Before my tactical miscalculation had nearly killed my entire squad just prior to my capture. Before I’d lost—

Moonlight.

My wolf. My other self. Gone.

The coffee turned to acid on my tongue.

"Ela." Kaelen’s voice, low and close.

I realized my hand was shaking. I pressed the cup against my stomach to steady it.

"I can’t go back there," I said.

"You can."

"You don’t understand." My voice came out thin. Scraped raw. "That mission—the ambush happened because of me. My tactical call. My miscalculation. People almost died, Kaelen. And now I’m—" I swallowed hard. "I’m nothing. I’m a mortal woman playing dress-up in a world of wolves. What am I supposed to contribute to the empire now?"

He set his own cup on the windowsill. Then he was in front of me, both hands framing my face, tilting it up until I had no choice but to meet those dark gold eyes.

"You are not nothing." His thumbs traced my cheekbones. "You survived things that would have destroyed anyone else. That didn’t come from Moonlight. That came from you."

My eyes burned. I blinked hard.

"They’ll look at me and expect the person I used to be."

"Then let them look." His forehead touched mine. "You’ll earn their respect the same way you always have. By showing up. I promise you that."

I closed my eyes. Breathed him in. Pine. Leather. Steady, unwavering certainty.

"Riley would want you there," he murmured.

That was the part that broke through. Because he was right. Riley would want me there. And I owed her more than my fear.

"Fine," I whispered. "I’ll go."

---

Three days later, I stood outside the knight training grounds in a simple black dress that fell to my ankles. No armor. No insignia. Just dark fabric against pale skin and silver-white hair braided over one shoulder.

The compound looked exactly as I remembered. Stone walls weathered by wind and rain. The iron gate with its wolf-head emblem. The distant clang of practice swords from somewhere inside.

My stomach clenched.

I pushed through the gate.

The courtyard was alive with movement. Soldiers crossed between buildings. The smell of sweat and steel and crushed herbs hung in the air. Familiar. Painfully familiar.

"No. Way."

I barely had time to turn before arms engulfed me. A massive, bone-crushing bear hug that lifted my feet clean off the ground.

"Jack—" I wheezed.

"Elara Nightfire, in the flesh!" Jack set me down, gripping my shoulders at arm’s length. His friendly grin was enormous. Then it flickered. His eyes moved over me—quick, assessing. The way communications officers were trained to scan. "You’ve lost weight."

"I had a baby."

"Babies make people gain weight, not lose it." He squeezed my arm gently. "You eating enough? You feel different."

"I’m fine, Jack."

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. He looped his arm through mine and steered me toward the main training hall.

The hall was decorated. Garlands of forest greenery and pale ribbon hung from the rafters. Lanterns cast warm, honeyed light across the stone floor. A long table dominated one wall, laden with food and wine. People clustered in groups—some in formal dress, others still in training leathers.

"Ela!"

A blur of motion. Then vanilla flooded my senses and strong arms crushed me against a warm body.

Riley.

She pulled back, holding me at arm’s length. Her dark eyes were bright. Shining. She looked radiant—flushed with happiness, practically glowing.

"You came," she breathed. "I wasn’t sure you would."

"I wouldn’t miss this."

She hugged me again. Tighter this time. Her enhanced wolf strength pressed against my ribs in a way that would have been nothing before. Now it ached. I hid the wince.

"You look tired," she said softly when she released me, her perceptive gaze sweeping over my face.

"Lyra keeps interesting hours."

Riley smiled, but her gaze lingered a beat too long. Searching. I looked away first.

"So," I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "Tell me everything. When’s the ceremony?"

"We’re thinking sometime around October." She laced her fingers together, almost shy. "Cassian wanted to wait until the border patrols settled, but I told him I’d drag him to the altar myself if he stalled any longer."

I laughed. A real laugh, and it surprised me. "That sounds exactly right."

"He’s somewhere around here," she said, waving vaguely toward the sparring rings. "Pretending he’s not nervous about the party."

We were mid-conversation when a deep voice cut through the hall’s noise.

"Well, well. Look who finally returned to us."

I turned.

Sir Marcus walked toward us with his easy, rolling stride. Broad shoulders. Dark skin gleaming under the lantern light. That same unhurried, easygoing smile he’d worn every time he’d knocked me flat during sparring practice in the past. Two young wolves flanked him—a young man and a young woman, both barely old enough for their first assignments.

"Marcus," I said.

He clasped my hand. His grip was iron. Warm.

"Good to see you, Elara." He meant it. I could hear it in the roughness of his boisterous voice. Then he turned to the two young wolves, pulling them forward with a casual arm on each shoulder.

"Tyler. Jenna." He nodded toward me. His chest expanded with visible pride. "I want you to meet someone. This is Elara Nightfire. Our former tactical captain."

He paused. Let the words land.

"And the strongest woman in the empire."

The words hit me like a physical blow to the sternum.

Strongest woman. The title rang hollow against the empty place inside me where Moonlight used to live, leaving me feeling like nothing more than a fragile mortal doll. Under the reverent stares of the two young wolves, the crushing weight of their misplaced admiration threatened to break me. With my heart hammering in terror of being exposed, I swallowed my panic and forced my lips to curve upward, pasting on a perfectly convincing, devastatingly fake smile.