Chapter 62: One Night

The summons came at dusk.

Two guards at my door—silent, grim. They didn’t speak as they led me through the den’s hollowed corridors, but their presence said enough. I clutched Talon tight to my chest, heart pounding with each step. He stirred in his sling, golden eyes half-lidded, oblivious to the verdict that waited.

They brought me not to the gathering hall, but the smaller chamber off the war room—the old council vault. Stone walls, no windows. No crowd this time. Only Bran, Senna, Maen… and Coren.

He stood with his back to me, hands clasped behind him, posture still too polished. Calculated.

He didn’t turn when the guards announced me.

“Leave us.”

The guards hesitated.

“I said leave.”

Footsteps faded. The door shut with a quiet click.

Coren finally turned.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He studied me for a long, silent beat. His eyes—blue as ice—rested briefly on Talon, then lifted to mine.

“You’ve made things… difficult,” he said mildly.

I held his gaze. “No. You made your decision in front of the whole pack. You stripped me of my title. I didn’t resist.”

“No. But you did incite doubt. And doubt is a slow poison.”

He paced once—measured steps across the stone.

“The council met this morning. We’ve reached a decision.”

My spine stiffened. Talon whimpered, and I bounced gently, instinctive.

Coren paused. “You may leave the den. You will not be chased. You will not be bound. But you will be… gone.”

I stared. “Gone?”

His gaze hardened. “You are to be exiled, Lyra. By sunrise tomorrow. You have until then to make your peace.”

I gritted my teeth. “You mean to threaten a grieving mother and call it peace.”

“You are not safe here,” he said smoothly. “Not for yourself. Not for the child.”

My throat tightened. “You mean you’re not safe with us here.”

His eyes flicked to Talon again. “There are those in the pack who see the boy as a risk. Who fear what he carries. I’ve held them back. But I can’t promise I always will.”

My hands fisted in the sling’s strap.

“If I stay—?”

He didn’t blink. “Then Talon is to be taken for his own protection. Raised within the den, as dictated by pack law.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Taken,” I echoed.

“For his own safety.”

“No.” I said it flat, final. “No.”

“Then take the night, Lyra.” Coren’s voice dropped, almost gentle. “Take your child, and leave before anyone else decides his fate for you.”

I couldn’t move.

Talon shifted again. A small, drowsy breath against my skin.

Coren stepped forward and opened the door.

“You have until moonset.”

I didn’t thank him.

Didn’t curse him either.

I just turned—and walked out.

And began to plan our escape.

I didn’t sleep.

Not that night.

Not with his words echoing in my skull—cold and cruel and deliberately measured.

I stood in the center of my chamber with my son clutched to my chest and stared at the flames in the hearth, daring them to speak back. My breath trembled, but I didn’t cry.

Not this time.

I’d already screamed. Already begged. Already shattered.

There was only steel left now.

Talon stirred in his sling, blinking up at me with those impossibly golden eyes. So like Kael’s it hurt to look too long. He didn’t understand the weight of the silence. The threat in every shadow. The poison that had taken root in the walls of the den.

But I did.

I felt it every time boots passed my door. Every time I heard the hiss of whispers in the hall. Every time a bowl of food was delivered—cool, not warm. Late, not on time.

They wanted me quiet.

They were waiting for me to break.

But instead, I dressed.

Layer by layer, I pulled on what remained of my leathers—ones Alis had mended when no one else would look me in the eye. I bound my hair at the nape. Wrapped a worn cloak around my shoulders. Folded Kael’s hunting belt across my waist—not for protection, but memory.

And then I packed.

Not much. There wasn’t much left.

Two wool blankets. The sling. A firestarter stone. Dried strips of meat. A flask of water. An old comb Kael had once carved for me out of pine. My journal. Talon’s first cloth wrap—stained and too small now, but I couldn’t bear to leave it.

By the time the moon hit the far window and coated the floor in silver, I’d wrapped my son tightly to my chest and stood ready.

I knew this was suicide.

Leaving the den in winter. With no weapons. With a child.

But it was either that—or lose him.

Because the threat hadn’t been a bluff.

They weren’t going to let Kael’s heir live freely.

Not under my protection.

Not when he was the last blood tie to an Alpha they feared even in death.

They would bide their time. Wait until the pack forgot his name. Until the whispers stopped. Then they’d make Talon disappear—and say he’d never existed at all.

Not if I was gone.

Not if I took the memory of Kael with me.

He deserves to know who he is, I told myself.

He deserves to grow up unafraid of the mark he carries.

The mark of a father who died to protect him.

A knock startled me.

I spun fast, one hand instinctively shielding Talon.

The door opened an inch.

And Alis slipped inside.

Her face was pale. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me. At my pack. At the fire dwindling in the hearth.

“You’re leaving,” she whispered.

“I have to.”

Her mouth trembled. “He gave you a night.”

“And I’m taking it.”

She moved forward slowly, quietly. Stopped in front of me, hands clenched at her sides.

“They’ll say you abandoned your place. That you forfeited your claim.”

“I don’t care.”

“They’ll come after you.”

“I know.”

She looked at me then—really looked. And something shifted behind her eyes.

“I should come with you.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Yes. You can’t do this alone.”

“I have to. You stay, Alis. Be their conscience if you can. Or at least… be his voice. Someone needs to remember him.”

Alis blinked hard. Her chin lifted. And then she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a bundle.

Bread. Jerky. An old tin of wound salve. A map, folded and bound with string.

“North,” she said. “Toward the outland pines. The border's soft there. They won’t track you quickly in the frost.”

I took the bundle. Nodded.

“Thank you.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up.”

“So am I.”

She looked down at Talon.

Her voice cracked. “He has Kael’s eyes.”

“I know.”

She kissed his brow gently, like she’d done every night since he was born.

Then she stepped back.

“I’ll tell them I brought you broth. I’ll stall as long as I can.”

“You’re risking everything.”

“No,” she whispered. “You are.”

We didn’t hug.

Didn’t say goodbye.

There was nothing left to say.

When the door clicked shut behind her, I crossed the room and unlatched the window.

Snow had begun to fall.

Just a light dusting—but it would thicken soon. The wind had a sharp edge. The forest beyond the cliff looked black and endless. I could smell pine. Wet bark. Cold earth.

My wolf stirred beneath my skin.

She didn’t protest.

She didn’t hesitate.

She wanted out.

We slipped through the shadows of the outer corridors, past the shrine doors and the echoing cavern mouth, moving silent as smoke. I avoided the main passageways. Stayed low and to the ground. I remembered every inch of this den—every creaking board, every loose stone.

By the time I reached the edge of the wall, my fingers were numb.

But my heartbeat was clear.

We climbed the south ridge trail and ducked through the break in the boundary. Talon whimpered once—then fell quiet again.

Snowflakes caught in my lashes.

We didn’t stop.

We didn’t look back.

By dawn, we’d cleared the valley line.

By full light, the cliffs behind us were swallowed by mist.

And we were free.

Not safe. Not steady. Not sure.

But free.

I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t afford to.

Talon stirred again in his sling, and I pressed my lips to the top of his dark curls.

“We’re going to find a place where no one calls you cursed,” I whispered. “Where the name Kael still means something.”

My wolf pulsed behind my ribs.

Where the Moon still sees us.

A wind howled across the trees.

I howled back.

And the forest answered.