“It’s just a photograph,” Clarisse said quietly, her voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument. “We don’t need to keep taking more of them.”
Alpha Paul, never one to easily accept rejection, tilted his head and suggested gently, “The sky’s clear tonight, though. If you want, we could snap a few more later. It’s been ages since we left the pack grounds. Might do us some good, a little change of scenery.”
He added quickly, his tone laced with hope, “And Lira could come too. She’s been wanting to explore the northern forest for so long.” He spoke as if a casual excursion could somehow maintain the fragile equilibrium between them.
The mention of Lira—sweet, naive Lira—caused a flicker of something on Clarisse’s face, almost a faint smile, though it carried more resignation than amusement. She let the moment pass, offering no reply, and Paul interpreted her silence as acquiescence, a fleeting reprieve from the tension that hung over them like a storm cloud.
They started walking toward the den, a sense of tentative relief evident in their movements, but Paul froze abruptly when his eyes caught the stack of boxes neatly arranged by the door.
“What’s all this?” he asked, genuine confusion flickering across his features.
Clarisse avoided his gaze, eyes sliding past the boxes. “I resigned from the pack’s intelligence division,” she stated plainly. “General Nathan already approved it.”
Shock and disbelief crossed Paul’s face. He knew the significance of her position—the countless battles she had fought to maintain it, refusing to let even her health impede her commitment. His mouth opened, then closed, as though words had deserted him.
He remained rooted in place, flustered, struggling to find a response. A faint trace of panic danced in his eyes. He moved his lips, about to speak, but before he could, Lira’s soft, nervous voice floated down from upstairs, delicate as fine porcelain.
“Alpha? The lights are out in our room… it’s so dark. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”
Paul’s expression softened immediately, the tight line of his jaw easing as concern replaced frustration. Without hesitation, he sprinted upstairs, his steps purposeful and urgent. Clarisse watched him go, noting the intensity in his movements, the way his presence seemed to fill the space he left behind. Dust swirled around the scattered boxes in his wake, the room settling back into silence as if holding its breath.
Once he had disappeared from view, Clarisse pulled her phone toward her and dialed a familiar number. After a few rings, a warm, comforting voice answered. Amira. Not just a healer, but a motherly presence who had guided and nurtured Clarisse during her early years, offering the care and stability that had been absent in her life.
“Clarisse?” Amira’s voice carried the gentle strength that had always calmed her as a child.
Clarisse’s own tone softened in response. “I wanted to let you know… I’ll be leaving soon. I’m going to join my mate—my parents arranged the match.”
There was a pause on the line, heavy with unspoken emotion. When Amira finally spoke, her voice carried a touch of sorrow. “And Alpha Paul… have you told him yet?”
“No,” Clarisse replied, her voice even and steady. “He’ll find out in due time. For now, I need things to remain uncomplicated. Please, Amira… don’t say a word to him.”
A slow sigh came through the line, and Clarisse could almost picture Amira shaking her head, torn between understanding and sorrow. “You’ve always been his anchor, Clarisse. He’s watched over you like no one else. I thought… I always thought… it would be different.”
A faint, wistful smile brushed Clarisse’s lips. “There’s no need for pity, Amira. We were never fated mates, not really. He’ll understand eventually.”
Another pause, softer this time, filled with a quiet longing. “Promise me you’ll come see me before you go. This feels so sudden, and… who knows when we’ll cross paths again?”
“I promise,” Clarisse replied, warmth threading through her voice. “I have something for you anyway. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
They exchanged a few more brief words before ending the call, leaving Clarisse in the hush of the room. But her solitude was fleeting; her mind link buzzed again, this time with the authoritative voice of General Nathan, crisp and decisive.
“Clarisse, your contributions in the intelligence division have been invaluable. As recognition, I’ve commissioned a crystal trophy in your honor. It has already been delivered to your residence.”
The mind link ended abruptly, leaving Clarisse a moment to consider his words before a knock at the door pulled her attention forward. She opened it to find Lira standing there, a small box in her hands containing the crystal trophy. Her expression was a mixture of gratitude and something subtler, something Clarisse chose not to name.
“It’s yours,” Lira said softly, extending the box toward her.
