Chapter 118 Quiet Power
Rowan's POV
The Mooncrest College hallways are all so familiar. I've been pacing these halls for years — as a freshman struggling to find my footing, then as a member of the Moonfall legacy, whether I wanted to be or not, and now as someone who's mastered the art of moving through these halls with cautious neutrality.
Students part like the Red Sea around me. Not because I order it like Aiden does with his alpha. Not because I’m scary like Cian can be when he goes silent and cold.
Just Saying I'm a Moonfall. And Moonfalls’ get space whether they want it or not.
A cluster of girls huddles near the lockers. One of them —Jessica, I think—waves shyly when she meets my eye. I smiled back easily and politely, the sort of smile that acknowledges but doesn’t encourage.
They giggle. Whisper to one another. I keep walking.
My destination is on the third floor. Faculty wing. Departments that smell like ancient texts and more ancient grudges.
Madame Vesper's door is closed but I can see light beneath it. She's here. Good.
I knock once. Firm. Clear.
"Come in." Her voice is clipped. Professional. The air of someone who doesn't value being interrupted.
I push open the door.
Her office is what you'd expect: spotless, obsessively organized, decorated with academic and family lineage certificates that greet anyone who steps inside. She sits behind her desk like a queen on a throne, red-framed glasses catching the light.
Her expression changes when she catches sight of me. Surprise waves across faces normally so controlled.
"Mr. Moonfall " She is back on her feet swiftly, her expression smoothed out to something like warmth. "This is unexpected. Please, sit."
"I'll stand, thanks." I shut the door behind me. Make my posture relaxed. Hands in pockets. The image of casual confidence.
Her smile tightens slightly. "What is it you want?"
"I wanted to discuss one of your students." I try to keep my voice nice. Conversational. "Malia Reed."
Vesper lays down her pen with deliberate precision. "Miss Reed. Yes. What about her?"
"I've been helping her with your assignments. "Noticed some—" I pause, choosing my words carefully, "—interesting grading patterns."
"Is that so." Not a question. A threat in disguise.
"Yeah. I took your class last year. Got an A." I pull my hands out of my pockets and lean in slightly against her desk. Still casual. Still friendly. "So I'm familiar with your standards. Your rubrics. What's passing work and what's not is."
"Your point Mr. Moonfall ?"
"What I’m saying is that Malia’s recent projects the ones you flunked are demonstrably better than anything I ever sent you that got an A. " I let that hang in the air. "Makes me wonder why the discrepancy."
Her jaw clenched. "Miss Reed has had difficulty with the material. Rigor and depth is what was missing in her work –”
"Bullshit."
The word lands like a slap. Her eyes flash.
"Excuse me?"
“You heard me.” I sit up, dropping the friendly façade. “Her last essay included twelve sources that were peer-reviewed, she had a full analysis and her points really interacted with the other side. You scored it a 2 out of 20. That’s not grading. That’s sabotage.”
“Oh, how dare you slam into my office and — ”
“I’m not done.” It doesn’t go up. Doesn’t need to. There is authority in it—the quiet power of centuries of Moonfall blood—that fills the room just the same. “You flagged Malia before she ever set foot on this campus. Since she arrived, you have compiled evidence of her every mistake, fabricated failures, filed a petition to have her expelled.”
“You know that is a gravely troubling allegation—”
“It's the truth.” I lean in now. Close enough that she needs to look up at me to see into my eyes. “I don’t know what your problem is with her. Don’t know or give a damn. But this is what’s going to happen.”
Her mouth opens. I raise a hand.
“You’re going to grade Malia’s work fairly. By the same standards you use for every other student. No more slaughtering essays that really hold up in red ink. No more undue make-up work. No more targeting."
“Or what ?” her voice was cold. Questioning. “You’re going to report me to the administration? For what proof? Your idea of fair grading?”
“No.” I smile. Not pleasant. Something more cutting. "I will make you lose your job the minute Malia loses her scholarship."
Silence. Heavy. Knocked-out of his mind."You can't—"
"I can do that." I straighten up, put my hands back in my pockets. Casual now. But the menace is still there. "My family literally owns and monetarily supports a majority of this institution. The Moonfall title means something. Just one word from me—from any of us—and now your job is... questionable."
"That's—" She searches for words. "That's blackmail."
"It's not blackmail, that's just life." I tip my head up. "You’ve been using your position to destroy a student’s academic career based on personal bias for months. That's a fireable offense. I’m just saying if Malia goes, so do you.”
Her color has drained. Hands folded tightly on her desk.
"And don't try to spin this as me using family influence—" I pull my phone out and show her the screen. "I documented everything. Her assignments. Your grades. The discrepancies compared to other students' work. Email from a friend in one of your other classes about how some professors grade. Enough to make a pretty compelling case to the academic review board."
"You wouldn't—"
"I absolutely would." My voice is steel wrapped in velvet. "Malia is pack. I protect pack. And right now, you're the threat. "
Vesper looks at me. Looking for the flaw the angle the means to take back this conversation.
She won't get it.
I keep my voice low as I say, "I don't know why you're so desperate to get rid of her, and to tell you the truth, I'm not too worried about it. But there's something you need to understand" I lean in once more. “Malia has been through hell. She is drowning. Struggling to maintain her scholarship as she navigates personal calamities, public humiliation, and the likes of you who have decided she doesn't belong here."
"She—"
"She's doing her best." The words come out flat. Final. “She works twice as hard as your honor students. She cares more. She’s brilliant and committed and she deserves a fair shot. And you’re going to give her one. Or I’ll ruin your career."
She blinks.
"Right" I stand up and pull my jacket on. “Good, we understand each other.”
She says nothing. Just stares with barely contained fury.
“One more thing,” I say, my hand on the doorknob. "Those men you were talking to last week. The ones in suits. The ones talking about Malia’s bloodline and protocols for containment.”
Her face turns even paler and I watch.
“Yeah, I know about that too. And if I catch wind of you doing anything to harm her beyond academic bullying—" I break off.
“That’s—those were private conversations—”
“Nothing’s private when it’s about Malia” I open the door. “Give her a fair grade, Madame Vesper. It's really that simple. It is really that simple. Fair grades, fair treatment, and I have no reason to make phone calls to end your career."
I step into the hallway.
"Mr. Moonfall ."
I stop and look back. She is now standing, her hands on the table. "You think you can protect her? From this?"
"I could try." Simple. Honest.
"She’s a threat not just to herself, but to the rest of us. Unstable. Those power manifestations—"
"None of your concern." My voice becomes harder. "You worry about teaching your class soundly. That’s all Leave the rest to someone who actually gives a damn about what happens to her."
I shut the door on whatever she was going to say next.
The hall is empty. Classes in session. Just me and that quiet satisfaction of a message received.
Be effective? Perhaps. Maybe not.
Vesper has her own motivations, her own agenda. Whatever it is she’s involved with–the men in suits, the monitoring, the deliberate sabotage–it’s bigger than mere personal bias.
But I’ve put her on notice. I made it clear that there are consequences for hurting Malia.
That’s all I can do for now.
All we can ever do—try to hide as much of the worst of it from her as we can, even as she dismantles herself and remakes herself shred by shred.
Aiden cannot see it. Too consumed with his own pain, his own pride, his own desperate need to move on in some public, dramatic fashion. He thinks he’s protecting himself by dating Lydia, by posting photos, by showing that he doesn’t need Malia.
He’s wrong. And maybe one day he’ll believe that.
Cian sees it but can’t do anything about it. We’re all paralyzed with guilt over the video, paralyzed with hurt from Malia pushing him away, paralyzed from that rift in our family none of us knows how to mend.
So I have to do it. The one person who nobody looks at as being able to make a move or do anything.
Fine. I'll carry this for a while.
I will tutor her. I'll write Vesper’s grading. I'll make threats I know I can keep. I'll do anything to help Malia get through this semester.
Because that’s what an Alpha would do
Even when the pack is broken. Even when they’re all hurting. Even when it would be less complicated to just walk away.
We keep our own safe. And Malia is ours.
Whether Aiden keeps that in mind or not, whether she even thinks that way. Whether or not anyone else believes she’s earned it.
She’s bonded to us.
And I'll go a thousand miles, I'll burn down this whole institution if I have to protect her. That's not romantic love speaking telling you to protect someone.
That's something deeper. That's something that pre-exists all of the drama, the break-up, the chaos. That's bond.
And bonds don't snap simply because things get tough. They bend, they stretch, they challenge themselves.
But they don't break. Not if we can help it.
I pull out my phone. Text the group chat with July and Freddy.
Me: Talked to Vesper. She's backing down on Malia's grades. Probably.
July: WHAT DID YOU DO
Freddy: My man! Details???
Me: Later. For now, I just need you both to stay busy with Malia this weekend. Study sessions, movies or something. Just — don't let her be alone too much.
July: On it. Thank you Rowan.
Freddy: You’re a real one.
I tuck the phone away and make my way to my next class.
The corridors are still the same. Still navigable.
But now they feel less like neutral territory and more like battlefield.
And I am fine with that.
Whatever war is coming, whatever Vesper and her sleepwalking conspirators have planned – I’ll be ready.
All of us..Because that's what it is to be bonded.
To protect. To fight. To put yourself between the people you love and whatever it is that’s trying to destroy them, so it can’t get to them.
Even when they don’t know you’re fighting.
Even when they push you away. Up against the odds. Even when they look impossible.
You fight anyway.
Because some things are worth a thousand miles.
And Malia Reed—shattered, brilliant, drowning Malia, is without question one of them.