The notice came in Wells's backpack on a Tuesday.
I found it folded at the bottom, underneath his lunch box and a crumpled math worksheet. The paper was printed on school letterhead. Second notice. Activity fees overdue. Amount: $240. Please remit payment by December 10th to avoid forfeiture of enrollment.
I read it twice. Then I smoothed it flat on the kitchen counter and stared at the date. December 10th. That was four days away.
The stipend was supposed to cover this. The $800 monthly allocation Chandler had promised when Wells started school. But the November stipend never came. And now December's was already spoken for—Chandler had mentioned something about pack security upgrades last week, his tone casual, like it wasn't my business to ask questions.
I folded the notice carefully and slipped it into my notebook. Then I went upstairs.
Chandler's office door was closed. I could hear him on the phone inside, his voice low and steady. I waited in the hallway until the call ended. Then I knocked.
"Come in."
I opened the door. He was sitting behind his desk, laptop open, a stack of invoices spread out in front of him. He didn't look up.
"Chandler," I said quietly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Make it quick." He clicked something on his screen. "I've got another call in ten."
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I kept my voice calm. Diplomatic. "Wells's school sent another notice. The activity fees are overdue. It's $240. I was wondering if the December stipend could be restored so I can pay it before the deadline."
His fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. He looked up slowly.
"The stipend," he repeated.
"Yes. The $800 monthly allocation. For Wells's expenses."
He leaned back in his chair. His jaw tightened. "You're bringing this up again."
"I'm just asking—"
"You're nagging, Elodie." His voice was rising. "Constant nagging. Do you know how exhausting that is? Every week it's something. Boots. Fees. Supplies. You act like I'm not providing for this family."
My hands tightened around the dish towel I'd been holding when I came upstairs. I hadn't even realized I'd brought it with me. "I'm not saying that. I'm just trying to manage Wells's needs—"
"Wells's needs are fine." He stood up. His presence filled the room. "What's not fine is your constant focus on money. It's materialistic, Elodie. It's small. If you were a better Luna, I wouldn't need to spend so much energy elsewhere."
The words hit like a slap. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
He drew a slow breath through his nose. I knew what was coming.
"Elodie." The Alpha tone dropped into his voice like a stone into water. It pressed against my chest, my throat, my lungs. My wolf whimpered and curled inward, shrinking into a space so small I could barely feel her. "This conversation is over. Do you understand me?"
I nodded. I couldn't do anything else.
"Good." He sat back down and returned his attention to the laptop. "Close the door on your way out."
I left. My hands were shaking. The dish towel was twisted into a tight knot between my fingers. I went downstairs and stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing.
My wolf was silent. Completely silent.
I untwisted the towel. Smoothed it. Hung it back on its hook.
Then I went to check on Wells.
That night, after I tucked Wells into bed and kissed his forehead, I went to my room. Chandler was still in his office. I could hear the low murmur of another phone call through the walls.
I opened the drawer of my nightstand and pulled out the book.
It was old. The cover was cracked leather, the pages yellowed and soft at the edges. My father had left it to me. A history of the Lycan bloodlines. Noble houses. Territorial laws. The old ways.
I hadn't opened it in years. I used to read it when I was younger, tracing the genealogies with my finger, imagining what it would be like to live in a world where power was inherited, not earned through dominance and volume.
But I'd stopped reading it after I mated with Chandler. It felt dangerous somehow. Like holding onto something that didn't belong in this life. In this pack house. In this version of myself.
I sat on the edge of the bed with the book in my lap. I didn't open it. I just held it.
The leather was smooth under my palms. Warm. Familiar.
I sat there for a long time. The house was quiet. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the branches against the window.
I thought about my father. About the way he used to look at me when I was small, like I was something precious. Something worth protecting.
I thought about Wells. About the way he didn't wave at the bus stop anymore.
I thought about the $240 I didn't have. The $900 coat. The three thousand, two hundred dollars I'd circled in my notebook.
I thought about the Alpha tone pressing my wolf into silence.
I sat there until my legs went numb. Then I put the book back in the drawer and turned off the light.
I lay in the dark and waited for Chandler to come to bed. He didn't.
Two weeks later, I was at the pack training grounds.
It was a Saturday morning. Cold and clear. The Deltas were running drills in the clearing, and I'd brought a cooler of water bottles and protein bars for the break. It was one of those small Luna duties no one noticed until it didn't happen.
I set the cooler down near the benches and started arranging the bottles in rows. Two of the pack women—Iris and Gemma—were standing a few yards away, talking in low voices. I wasn't trying to listen. But sound carried in the cold air.
"I'm just saying," Iris murmured, "it's strange. She's here all the time. At the pack house. At events. And the money—"
"I know," Gemma cut in. "My cousin works at the bank. She said there's been a lot of transfers. Big ones. All going to the same account."
"Alpha Chandler's foster sister," Iris said. The way she said it—foster sister—had quotes around it. "She must have some kind of hold on him. I mean, what else explains it?"
Gemma laughed softly. It wasn't a kind sound. "Maybe she's just good at asking."
I straightened. My hands stilled on the water bottles.
Both women glanced over and saw me. Their faces went blank. Iris cleared her throat. Gemma looked away.
They walked off quickly, their voices dropping to whispers I couldn't hear.
I stood there for a moment. Then I finished arranging the bottles. I smiled at the Deltas when they came over for their break. I handed out the protein bars. I made small talk.
And I said nothing.
That night, I added a new line to my notebook.
Pack members are noticing.
I circled it twice.
Then I closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer.
My wolf stirred faintly. Just once. A flicker of something I couldn't name.
Then she went quiet again.
