Elsie stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
I stood in the center of my mother's room, the Charter still in my hand, and let the silence stretch. Grant hadn't moved from the doorway. The two Omegas were frozen on their knees, scrub brushes dripping soapy water onto the floor.
"Get out," I said again.
Elsie's mouth opened. Closed. Her fingers went to the moonstone brooch pinned to her blouse. "You can't just—"
"I am Luciana, daughter of Alpha Matthias and Luna Serena." My voice was steady. Cold. "I am Dexter's legal, marked Luna. I am the last surviving heir of the founding bloodline of Silvercrest. And you are wearing stolen jewelry in my mother's chair."
Her face went white.
"So I'll say it one more time." I took a step forward. "Get out of the Luna's quarters. Now."
Elsie shot to her feet. For a second, I thought she might try to argue. Her mouth twisted, her eyes flashing with that familiar arrogance. But then she glanced at Grant, and whatever she saw in his face made her think better of it.
She grabbed her purse from the side table and walked past me, chin high, trying to salvage some dignity. But her hands were shaking.
I waited until she reached the door.
"Leave the brooch."
She stopped.
"It was purchased with Silvercrest treasury funds," I said. "It belongs to the pack. Not to you."
For a moment, I thought she'd refuse. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. But then, slowly, she unpinned the brooch and set it on the desk.
She didn't look at me as she left.
The Omegas were still staring. One of them, a young girl with wide brown eyes, looked like she might cry.
"You can go," I told them gently. "Thank you for your work."
They scrambled to their feet, grabbed their buckets, and fled.
Grant cleared his throat. "Luna, I—"
"Send word to Dexter," I said. "Tell him I'm waiting."
He hesitated. Then nodded and left.
I stood alone in the room. My mother's room. The chair Elsie had been sitting in still smelled like her perfume, something floral and cloying. I walked over and opened the windows, letting the cold air sweep through.
Then I sat down in the Luna's chair and waited.
---
Dexter arrived twenty minutes later.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him. Quick, sharp, angry. The door to the suite slammed open, and he strode in like he owned the place.
Which, technically, he thought he did.
"Luciana." His voice was smooth. Controlled. The same voice he'd used for three years to tell me the pack was broke, that we had to ration everything, that I needed to sacrifice more. "What's going on? Grant said you were causing a scene."
I looked at him.
He was still wearing the charcoal suit from the lounge. The one that cost more than a month's worth of supplies. His hair was perfectly styled. His shoes were polished.
He looked expensive.
"Sit down," I said.
His eyebrows lifted. "Excuse me?"
"Sit. Down."
For a second, he just stared at me. Then he laughed. It was a short, dismissive sound. "Luciana, you're clearly upset. I understand. But this isn't the way to—"
"I saw you today," I said. "At the lounge in Blackridge. With Elsie. You gave her a moonstone pendant."
He went very still.
"I also heard your mind-link," I continued. "The one where you told Alpha Callum that I'm barren. Greedy. Bleeding the pack dry."
The color drained from his face.
"So let me be very clear." I stood up. "I have invoked the founding-blood Charter. Every wolf in this packhouse knows it. You can lie to me. You can lie to yourself. But you can't lie to ancient pack law."
Dexter's jaw tightened. The smooth mask slipped, just for a second, and I saw something underneath. Something cold and calculating.
"You're confused," he said. His voice was softer now. Gentle. Like he was talking to a child. "You've been under a lot of stress. I think you need to rest. Maybe see the healer."
"I'm not confused."
"Luciana—"
"I'm awake."
He stopped.
I took a step toward him. "For three years, you told me the pack was struggling. You told me we had no money. You made me starve. You made me wear rags. And the whole time, you were living in a penthouse in Blackridge, buying jewelry for your mistress, and telling every Alpha in the region that I was the problem."
His expression hardened. The gentleness vanished. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"I have the Charter," I said. "I have my bloodline. And I have witnesses."
"Witnesses to what?" His voice turned sharp. Dangerous. "You think anyone will believe you? You're a broken, weak Luna who can barely shift. You've been useless for three years."
The words should have hurt. A week ago, they would have destroyed me.
But now, they just sounded pathetic.
"Every action you take from this moment forward," I said quietly, "will be witnessed. By the pack. By the Council. By the Moon Goddess herself."
Dexter's eyes narrowed. For the first time, I saw fear.
Real fear.
"You're making a mistake," he said.
"No," I replied. "I'm fixing one."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he turned and walked out.
The door slammed behind him.
I stood in the empty room, my heart pounding.
The Charter was still on the desk. My mother's seal gleamed in the afternoon light.
But I knew the Charter alone wasn't enough. Dexter had spent three years building his power. He had loyalists on the Council. He had allies in other packs. He had money, influence, and a network of wolves who believed his lies.
I needed help.
I needed someone who understood pack law, Lycan authority, and how to dismantle corruption from the inside.
I needed Ridge Hunt.
I pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking. I hadn't spoken to Ridge in three years. Dexter had convinced me that Ridge was trying to seize my family's assets, that he was dangerous, that I couldn't trust him.
But Dexter had lied about everything else.
Maybe he'd lied about Ridge too.
I typed out a message. Short. Simple.
*I was wrong. I need help. — L.*
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
The reply came two minutes later.
*Northridge Café. Tomorrow, 10 a.m. — R.*
Then, a second message.
*I'll be there.*
I stared at the screen.
For the first time in three years, I felt something I'd almost forgotten.
Hope.
