Chapter 56 The Weight of What Was Lost
Grayson:
The hospital corridors were too quiet.
The kind of quiet that existed because pain had been contained behind these walls and doors and machines.
Harrow lay propped up in the bed, awake but not whole. His skin looked too pale beneath the harsh lights.
Bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder, tight, like they were holding him together.
A monitor ticked steadily beside him, slower than it should have been.
He turned his head when he scented me.
A flicker of relief crossed his face before guilt replaced it.
“Alpha,” he rasped.
“Don’t,” I said immediately.
He swallowed. His throat worked like it hurt.
“I failed her.”
The words landed heavy between us followed by silence.
I moved closer to the bed, hands clenched so tightly my claws threatened to slip.
“You got her out,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You kept her alive, faught as long as anyone could.”
His eyes burned. “Not long enough.”
Silence pressed in. Machines hummed. Somewhere down the corridor, a cart rolled past, wheels squeaking.
“I should have been there,” I said. The words came uneven, scraped raw. “I didn’t even know where she was until it was already happening.”
Harrow shut his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was pain there.... and something sharper.
“It wasn’t random,” he said.
I waited.
“They weren’t just rogues. Not scavengers.” His voice was rough. “They moved in formation. Clean entries. Coordinated strikes. They knew exactly where to hit the skimmer to destabilize it without killing us outright.”
My jaw tightened.
“They wanted us alive,” he went on. “At least at first.”
“Why?” I asked.
His gaze slid away. “Because she was the target.”
The room felt smaller.
“There was a signal,” he said. “Just before the hit. A coded burst. Private channel. Not pack. Not council.”
My blood cooled.
“You recognized it.”
He nodded. “Military-grade encryption. Old. Expensive.”
“And the message?”
He hesitated.
“Say it.”
“They said to wait until the second bend,” he said. “Confirm the Luna. Then proceed.”
Confirm.
Not attack.
Not intercept.
Confirm.
“I tried to push her out faster,” Harrow said. “Tried to force a diversion. That’s when they hit us.”
He clenched his fist weakly against the sheets. “I should have ignored protocol.”
“You followed procedure,” I said.
“And she’s gone,” he shot back.
“She’s missing,” I corrected sharply.
The word hung between us.
Harrow exhaled, chest hitching. “I saw the water take her.”
“So did I.”
He looked at me then, really looked, and whatever he saw made his expression falter.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I failed you. I failed her.”
I rested my hand on the bed rail.
“You lived,” I said. “That matters.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For telling me this.”
The medic cleared his throat from the doorway. “He needs rest.”
Harrow’s fingers twitched. “There’s more.”
The medic hesitated. I turned my head just enough for him to see my face.
He backed out.
Harrow lowered his voice. “The driver said the reroute came through command. Logged under your authorization. Construction on the main route. Temporary deviation.”
My head lifted slowly.
“I didn’t authorize a change,” I said.
“I know,” Harrow replied. “That’s why I’m telling you.”
“She didn’t even tell me she was going to her mother’s place,” I said. “She thought the message was from me.”
Harrow swallowed. “Yes. She tried calling you but couldn't reach.”
The weight of it settled in my chest, heavier than grief.
This wasn’t a mistake.
It wasn’t bad timing.
It wasn’t a wrong turn.
Someone had spoken in my name.
“When she trusted that message,” I said quietly, “she trusted me.”
Harrow didn’t argue, but his eyes searched my face, unfocused but sharp with need.
“Alpha,” he said quietly, “tell me something.”
I nodded.
“If she were gone… truly gone… you would know, wouldn’t you?”
The question wasn’t accusation.
It was hope wearing guilt like an armor.
I didn’t answer at once. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, grounding myself in the ache of being upright, breathing.
“I would feel it,” I said finally. My voice didn’t rise. It didn’t shake. “The bond doesn’t lie. It tears. It burns. It doesn’t fade quietly.”
Harrow exhaled, a sound halfway between a sob and a prayer.
“But you don’t feel her,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “And that’s the point.”
Silence settled between us, heavy and unfinished.
“Missing isn’t dead,” I said. “And I won’t let them pretend it is.”
Harrow nodded once, eyes closing again.
“I just needed to hear it,” he murmured.
So did I.
When I left the room, my hands were shaking.
The walk through the hospital was worse than the cliff.
People stopped talking when they saw me. Nurses lowered their voices. Orderlies pretended to focus on screens. A group of pack members stood near the entrance, faces drawn tight.
“She was so young,” someone whispered.
“I heard they’re preparing funeral rites already.”
“Poor Alpha… lost his Luna before she was even crowned.”
The words followed me like ash.
Outside, the city moved on. Vehicles passed. Vendors opened stalls. Children laughed somewhere too loudly.
I wanted to tear it apart.
The transport waited at the curb. Marcus stood beside it, rigid.
“They’re calling an emergency council session,” he said quietly. “Isabelle is pushing hard.”
Of course she was.
“I know,” I said.
“Grayson...”
“They’re already speaking of funerals,” I cut in. “Of statements. Of how to present her absence so it doesn’t destabilize alliances.”
Marcus’s mouth tightened.
“They want certainty,” he said. “Even if it’s a lie.”
I stepped into the vehicle. “They’ll get neither.”
The drive to the council hall felt longer than it should have been. Every street carried memory. Every turn reminded me that she should have been beside me.
She should have been safe.
At the entrance, guards straightened. Some bowed. Others looked away.
Inside, the murmurs were louder.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“They say the sea doesn’t give back what it takes.”
“Isabelle already has a replacement in mind.”
My hands clenched.
Helena fell into step beside me. “Hold your temper,” she murmured. “They’re watching.”
“I hope they are,” I replied.
The council chamber doors loomed ahead.
I stopped once.
Just once.
Because grief pressed so hard against my ribs I thought it might split me open.
Because Harrow’s words echoed in my skull:
Confirm the Luna.
Begin containment.
This wasn’t about loss. It was about control.
I straightened my shoulders and pushed the doors open.
Let them speak.
Let them plan.
I was done listening.