Kingston called a meeting two hours after he received the tribunal notification.
I wasn't invited. I didn't need to be. I heard about it from Mara, one of the Delta wolves who'd been running eastern patrols with me for three years. She found me in the corridor outside the kitchen and told me in a low voice: Kingston, Garrett, and Roland. Closed door. The tribunal filing was on the table.
I thanked her and kept walking.
I didn't need to know what they were saying. I already knew what Kingston would decide. He'd dismiss it. He'd call it desperation. He'd tell Garrett and Roland that I had no standing, no evidence, no wolf strong enough to make a claim stick. He'd prepare a counter-brief. He'd lock down the pack's narrative. He'd do everything a competent Alpha does when a rejected Luna tries to fight back.
He'd do everything except take me seriously.
That was fine. I was counting on it.
---
The Ward broke forty-eight hours later.
I was in my room when Roland's voice came through the pack link—sharp, clipped, the tone he used for emergencies. *Eastern perimeter breach. Two rogues. Ash grove sector.*
I sat up.
The ash grove was my sector. I'd anchored it myself every new moon for five years. The Ward there was threaded through the oldest trees, woven into the root systems, keyed to my blood. It didn't fail. It couldn't fail.
Except it just had.
I grabbed my jacket and went to the window. From here I could see the eastern tree line. Wolves were moving—fast, coordinated. Patrol formations. I counted six Deltas converging on the breach point.
I didn't go down there. I wasn't part of the response team anymore. I wasn't part of anything anymore.
I just watched.
---
Roland's report reached Kingston within the hour. I didn't hear it directly, but I didn't need to. The pack house had a rhythm—sounds carried differently when something was wrong. Doors opened and closed with more force. Voices in the corridors were quieter, tighter.
I stayed in my room and waited.
Mara came by again that evening. She knocked softly, then slipped inside when I opened the door. She looked tired. There was a shallow cut along her jaw that hadn't been there this morning.
"You were there," I said.
She nodded. "Eastern sector. Two scouts got through the Ward before we even felt them. One of them caught Jared off-guard. Sliced his forearm open before we drove them back."
"How bad?"
"He'll heal. But Natalie..." She paused. Looked at me. "The Ward's thinning. Roland can't explain it. No one can."
I didn't say anything.
Mara's eyes searched my face. "It's you, isn't it? You were holding it."
I met her gaze. "I was anchoring the eastern sector. Every new moon. Alone."
"Does Kingston know?"
"He will."
Mara exhaled slowly. She didn't ask anything else. She just squeezed my hand once and left.
I sat back down at the desk and opened the notebook. I added a new entry: *Ash grove breach. 48 hours post-rejection. Ward failure consistent with severed blood-bond anchor.*
I underlined the last sentence twice.
---
Garrett came the next morning.
I was packing when I heard the knock. Three measured taps. Professional. I knew it was him before I opened the door.
He stood in the corridor with his hands at his sides, shoulders square, expression neutral. Beta efficiency. He didn't waste time.
"The Alpha requests that you re-anchor the Ward's eastern sector before you leave Silverfang territory."
I looked at him. He didn't flinch, but something in his jaw tightened.
"Requests," I said.
"Instructs," Garrett corrected. His voice was flat. "It's a final obligation under your prior bond."
I turned back to my bag. Folded a shirt. Placed it carefully inside.
"A rejected Luna holds no obligation to a pack that cast her out."
The words came out quiet. Steady. I didn't look at him when I said them.
The silence behind me stretched.
I kept packing. I heard Garrett shift his weight. I heard him take a breath like he was going to say something. Then I heard him stop.
When I finally glanced back, he was still standing in the doorway. His face was unreadable, but his eyes weren't. He was processing something. Something he hadn't expected to process.
I held his gaze.
"Is there anything else, Beta?"
Garrett's mouth opened. Closed. He shook his head once—short, controlled.
"No."
He left.
I listened to his footsteps fade down the corridor. Then I zipped the bag closed.
The tribunal was eight days away.
The Ward would keep failing. Sector by sector. The pack would feel it. They'd ask questions. They'd look for answers.
And eventually, they'd look at Kingston.
I picked up the mantle from the bed and folded it one last time. The silver thread caught the morning light. I traced the protection sigils along the hem—each one stitched with my own blood, my own intent.
Mine.
Not his. Not theirs. Mine.
I tucked it into the bag and walked out.
