A she-wolf working the ledgers in his legitimate front den.
A secret.
My injuries weren't serious, so the moon-healer kept me under watch for three days before releasing me. Everything was routine. Quiet. Uneventful. The private healing den smelled of crushed herbs and old bloodline wealth, and the attendants moved with the particular carefulness of wolves who knew better than to ask whose name was truly on the account.
The cost went through the Pack's care arrangement, and whatever was left over was refunded directly back to Salvar's account.
Three days.
Not a single visit.
Not even a message.
And then, on the day I was released, my communicator chimed.
"You're out already?" Salvar's voice came through, casual, almost mildly annoyed. "You could've at least given me a heads-up."
I held the communicator in silence.
"I've got a council gathering today," he continued. "Can't come for you."
"…Okay."
That was all I said.
I swallowed everything else. The questions that rose to my throat. The ones that used to matter.
I didn't ask where he was.
I didn't ask who he was with.
Instead, I opened my communicator and checked his location.
A lodging house. One of the ones on Pack-controlled ground, the kind with discreet staff and no watchers in the corridors.
I didn't need him to explain anything. I didn't need confirmation.
Then, faintly, through the receiver, I heard a she-wolf's voice.
"Come dry my hair, will you?"
The line went dead almost instantly.
He cut it off.
I stared at my communicator for a moment, unmoving. Somewhere beneath my ribs, my wolf went very still, the way a creature goes still when it has finally understood a thing it cannot fight.
Not long after, two transfer notices surfaced on the screen.
1,314 gold moons.
1,520 gold moons.
The numbers hit me harder than anything else.
They weren't random.
They meant something. They always had.
1314 meant forever.
1520 meant I love you.
For years, I had wished for this. For him to send me those numbers, for something so simple and full of meaning. I had imagined catching it on a crystal screen, sharing it to the spirit network, just once, like everyone else. Just once, to show that I had something real.
But every time I brought it up, he refused.
He didn't like attention.
He didn't want wolves asking questions.
He didn't want anyone knowing. An Alpha's private life was a liability, he said. Something rival packs could use.
And now… now that I had already decided to let him go, he sent them?
I didn't know if it was guilt. Or habit. Or something else entirely.
I opened his profile without thinking.
The moment it loaded, I froze.
His profile image had changed.
It was a paired portrait. A bonded picture.
But not with me.
I didn't hesitate.
I returned both transfers immediately.
A few seconds later, my communicator buzzed again.
A string of question marks.
I didn't reply.
When I got back to the den, nothing had changed.
Everything was exactly the same as the night of the Blood Moon feast. The same shoes by the door. The same coat tossed over the chair. The same faint scent lingering in the air, black cedar and cold iron with an undertone of ash and bitter clove, the ghost of a world where decisions were made in back rooms and sealed with oaths that could never be taken back.
Which meant one thing.
He hadn't been back.
Not once.
I stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle around me. Then I took a deep breath, pushed down the tight ache rising in my chest, and started packing.
It didn't take long.
Piece by piece, the space began to empty.
Five years.
Five years of a life I had carefully built around him, dismantled in just a few hours.
Most of what I packed were things I had chosen myself.
Bonded things.
Matching mugs. Coordinated clothes. Small carvings that hinted at something shared.
Salvar had never liked any of it.
He never wore anything that could suggest he was claimed. Never used anything too obvious. He said a wolf in his position couldn't afford to look soft. Couldn't give anyone a handle to grip.
I used to joke about it.
Saying he acted like some scout living under a false scent, hiding his name from the world.
Now I realized.
It was never a joke.
He just never saw me as someone he needed to claim. No mark at the junction of my neck and shoulder. No warmth that would have glowed when he came near. Nothing.
I was halfway through packing when I heard the door open.
He came back.
His scent reached me a breath before he spoke, and my wolf lifted her head once, then turned away.
"Selene, what's this about?" he snapped the moment he saw me. "I've been calling you! I told you to come out for dinner. You didn't pick up or reply!"
I didn't look up immediately.
The scent reached me first.
A she-wolf's scent.
Not mine.
Not even close.
Without thinking, I lifted my hand slightly, stopping him from coming any closer.
When I finally raised my eyes, they drifted to his neck.
Faint red marks.
Bite-bruises that were not a mate's claim.
"Sorry," I said calmly, my voice steady. I smoothed the fold of a blouse flat against the lining of my bag, pressing the crease until it was sharp enough to cut. "I've been busy. Didn't check my communicator."
He frowned, his gaze sweeping across the room.
Only then did he notice the packed bags. The empty shelves. The missing pieces.
"Don't tell me you've been busy tearing down the den," he said, irritation creeping into his tone. "You just got out of the healing hall. You should be resting."
His eyes landed on a few unopened boxes I hadn't gotten to yet.
Inside were the bonded things I had bought recently. Still new. Still unused.
"You don't want any of this?" he asked.
