The moment she answered, a chorus of angry voices filled the channel.
“Lyra, as Alpha Halvorn’s adviser, it’s your duty to correct him when he’s wrong!” one elder barked. “You’ve gone missing for days! And now that woman—Mireille—has turned the guild upside down!”
“Do you even care about the pack’s reputation anymore?” another snapped.
Their accusations struck like invisible claws, but Lyra had endured far worse. Once, she might have bowed her head and borne their scorn in silence—for the sake of love, for loyalty to her Alpha. But that Lyra was gone.
“You’re all so dissatisfied with Alpha Halvorn, right?” she said coldly. “Then why don’t you grow a spine and tell him yourselves? You’re a disgrace to your titles—snarling at me when you’re too afraid to bare your fangs at your Alpha.”
The channel went dead silent. Then, one by one, the connections cut off.
Lyra stood by the window, the moon’s pale light washing over her. The truth was simple: the reason the MoonCorp had survived all these years wasn’t Darius’s leadership—it was her.
She had been the one who smoothed over his temper, repaired the broken treaties and appeased the elders when his pride drove them away. She had done it all silently, believing that love meant sacrifice.
Now, she finally saw the cost.
She opened the hidden vault behind the study’s wall—a place Darius never touched. Inside lay years of secrets and memories: her resignation letter, the divorce decree sealed in silver ink, her healing records from the lost pup and a small jar of ashes—ninety-nine burned love letters.
At the very bottom was the moon-crystal orb containing the villa’s surveillance runes. She whispered a spell and the orb shimmered, replaying Mireille’s confession from three nights ago—how she had drugged herself and set Lyra up from the start.
Lyra copied the memory rune onto a flash crystal. “A keepsake for you, Darius,” she murmured. “May it haunt you when you remember what you destroyed.”
Outside, a runic carriage—called from the drive. At the same time, her communicator lit up again with Darius’s messages.
[Lyra, Mireille ruined several alliances. I need you back. I know you’ve always hated her, but I’ll explain everything tonight.]
When she didn’t respond, the tone shifted.
[Don’t be childish. You’re my mate and my adviser. Keep this up and I’ll cut your moon allowance in half. You’ll apologize before the council.]
A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Still trying to command me, even now.”
She blocked every channel tied to his mark and deleted every link connecting her spirit signature to his. Then she walked through the house one last time, erasing her presence rune by rune—like she had never existed there at all.
When she stepped outside, the silver carriage awaited.
Lucian stood beside it, wearing a dark suit laced with sigils of his pack. In his hand, he held a bouquet of white moon tulips—flowers that never wilted, symbols of eternal beginnings.
The sun filtered through the mist as he looked at her, eyes steady and soft.
“Lyra,” he said quietly, “I’ve come to take you home.”
