Eleanor POV
The mountain didn't just break; it roared.
The sound drowned out the screams of the Thorne delegation as a tidal wave of white powder surged down the slope, swallowing the path where Marcus and Isabelle had stood only seconds before.
"Rescue teams! Move!" Julian barked, his Alpha command cracking like a whip over the chaotic scene.
Royal Pack warriors shifted into their wolf forms in mid-stride—massive, disciplined beasts—and sprinted toward the churning snow.
I stood by the safety rail, watching the devastation. The Luna Dowager stood beside me, her hand hovering protectively near my shoulder.
"Eleanor," she said gently. "Are you... are you worried?"
I looked at the violent, shifting snow. I searched my heart for the panic that should have been there. I searched for the suffocating fear that used to grip me whenever Marcus so much as got a papercut.
It wasn't there.
"No," I said, surprising myself with the honesty of it. "I hope they are found, for the sake of peace. But I don't feel it. I don't feel him."
It was the truth. The bond was gone. He was just a man. A bad man, but just a man.
An hour later, the radio crackled to life.
"Found them. They were in the reinforced tunnel entrance. Minor injuries. Shaken up, but alive."
"Good," Julian said, though his eyes were fixed on me, gauging my reaction.
"He was brave," the Luna Dowager tested softly, watching my face. "The report says he shielded the girl."
"He's an Alpha," I shrugged, feeling a strange, cool detachment. "Instinct is a powerful thing. It has nothing to do with me."
I felt lighter. As if the mountain had fallen, but I wasn't the one buried under it anymore.
"Eleanor," the Luna said, taking my hand and turning me away from the cliff edge. "You are one of us now. Whatever you need to start this new life—a studio, materials, solitude—you have it. The Royal Pack protects its own."
Tears pricked my eyes. Not for Marcus, but for this. For kindness given without a price tag.
"Thank you," I whispered.
I turned my back on the mountain and the rescue efforts. I had a new studio to organize.
*
Marcus POV
The infirmary in the Thorne Pack house was stifling, smelling of antiseptic and panic.
"It's just a bruise, Marcus," I snapped at the Healer, slapping his hand away. "Stop fussing."
"You were buried in snow for twenty minutes, Alpha," the Healer retorted, though he took a step back. "You need to rest."
I sat up, ignoring the vicious throbbing in my head. Isabelle was in the next bed, weeping dramatically about how cold it had been. Her whining was starting to grate on my nerves like sandpaper.
"Where is Eleanor?" I asked. It was a reflex. Whenever I was hurt, Eleanor was there with cool towels and herbal salves before I even had to ask.
The room went quiet.
"She's... gone, Alpha," the Beta said awkwardly, avoiding my gaze. "She's in the Royal Pack."
"Still?" I scoffed, rubbing my temples. "She's really committing to this tantrum, isn't she? It’s been a week. Surely she's run out of money by now."
"She... she cleared out her accounts before she left, sir. And took her personal designs."
I waved a hand dismissively. "She'll be back. Omegas can't survive without a pack structure. She's probably sleeping on a park bench in the Royal territory, waiting for me to come save her."
I felt a twinge of annoyance. I had planned to go see her today. I was going to be benevolent. I was going to offer her a position designing the new grain silos. It was beneath her talent, but it would get her back in the door. She would be so grateful.
And frankly, I needed a cold compress, and no one else knew how to make them properly.
"Get the car," I ordered, swinging my legs off the bed. "We're going to the Royal Pack border. I'm going to pick her up. She's probably learned her lesson by now."
Isabelle sat up sharply. "Marcus! You can't go to her! She tried to kill me with her... her bad energy!"
"Quiet, Isabelle," I muttered, already walking toward the door. "I need my architect back."
We drove to the address my spies had found. It wasn't a park bench.
It was a sleek, modern studio in the heart of the Royal Pack's arts district. The windows were large, letting in floods of afternoon light.
I walked up to the door, adjusting my cuffs. I prepared my speech. *I forgive you for the scene you caused. Come home.*
I reached for the handle. It was locked.
I peered through the glass. The place was empty. No furniture. No drafting table. Just a single piece of paper taped to the inside of the glass.
It was a legal notice.
"Property of Eleanor Vance. Trespassers will be prosecuted by the Royal Guard."
I frowned. She wasn't here?
I reached out with my mind, trying to push through the static to find our link. Even rejected, there was usually a scar, a residual path I could force open.
*Eleanor?* I projected, pouring my Alpha will into the command. *Stop hiding. I'm here to take you home.*
Silence.
Then, a mechanical, cold sensation hit my mind. It wasn't Eleanor ignoring me. It was a wall. A psychic block so thick and absolute it felt like slamming into concrete.
"The user you are trying to reach has severed all Mind-Link connections. Do not attempt to reconnect."
I staggered back, clutching my chest.
Severed? That wasn't possible. Only dead wolves had severed links.
Or...
Or someone who had truly, utterly, stopped caring.
For the first time, a cold drop of genuine unease slid down my spine.
