Alexia POV
Jacob’s mouth opened, but the words died in his throat.
He looked down at Kassandra, who was sobbing into his chest, and then lifted his gaze to me, standing alone in the dirt.
The silence between us stretched, heavy and suffocating, amplified by the crackling of the bonfire.
Then, Kassandra let out a long, dramatic wail, collapsing entirely into his arms.
"Take me away, Jacob! Her aura... it’s suffocating me! Get me away from her!"
Jacob didn't look at me again. He swept her up, bridal style, and turned his back.
"The celebration continues!" he commanded the Pack over his shoulder, his voice strained as he tried to salvage the mood.
He carried her away toward the Alpha house, leaving me in the shadows.
I stood there for a moment longer. I watched the Pack members—people I had healed, people I had grown up with—avert their eyes. They shifted on their feet, staring resolutely at their cups. They went back to their drinks. They went back to the party.
The message was clear: *You do not exist.*
A strange sensation washed over me. It wasn't pain. It wasn't anger.
It was numbness. A beautiful, cold numbness.
The tether in my chest, the one that had pulled me toward Jacob for five years, finally snapped. It didn't snap with a bang. It simply withered away, shriveling like a dead vine in winter.
I turned around.
I walked away from the light of the bonfire, toward the edge of the territory where the servants' shacks were located. My destination wasn't the exit yet. It was my "studio"—a damp shed behind the kitchens where I slept.
The moon was high now, a sliver of silver watching me with cold indifference.
*I am not a Luna,* I thought, the realization settling in my bones. *I am not a Mate. I am just Alexia.*
I reached my shack. It smelled of mold, damp earth, and old paper.
I didn't have much. Just a few clothes and my music.
I grabbed my battered suitcase from under the cot. I threw in a change of clothes. I looked at the pile of sheet music on my desk—the originals. The ones Kassandra hadn't managed to steal yet.
I took a lighter from the drawer.
I picked up the sheet music for "Alpha's Lullaby," the song I wrote for Jacob when his father died.
I flicked the lighter. A small, hungry flame danced to life.
I set the corner of the paper on fire.
I watched it burn. I watched the notes curl and blacken into ash. I threw it into the metal trash can and added more. "The Dawn Chorus." "The Winter Hymn."
I burned them all.
I stripped off the cheap necklace Jacob had given me years ago—a piece of cloudy glass he claimed was a diamond. I held it for a second, feeling its lack of warmth, then threw it into the fire.
Then, I pulled out my diary.
This wasn't just a diary. It was a log. Every time Jacob used the *Mind-Link* to force me to play, I wrote it down. Every time Kassandra threatened me, I wrote it down.
I didn't burn this.
I sat down and wrote a cover letter. My hand shook, pain shooting up my arm, but I forced the pen to move.
*To the Werewolf Council,*
*Enclosed is the record of the abuse of power within the Obsidian Pack...*
I sealed it in a waterproof envelope. I would mail it from the human world.
I looked around the empty room. With the music gone, it looked like a cell.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
I walked out the door. The fire in the trash can was dying down, leaving nothing but ash and melted glass.
Just like what we were.
