[Another dying star was discovered today, my mate. How have you been? I long for you. ]
When I retire, I don’t want to fade into an empty void like a collapsing black hole. I swear, I’ll return to our pack and stand by your side.
But that day still feels so far away. My chest aches just thinking about it.
Beta Zephyr—my fated mate—was raised in a distant pack, his humor dry and foreign. Over the past five years, his messages had piled into an insurmountable mountain, flooding my inbox with love letters and candid photos of me. I had backed up every piece, terrified they’d vanish one day. But I never answered. This bond had always been a solo performance—his devotion met with my silence.
Unlike Alpha Dashiell, my so-called mate, I recognized the sacred bond the Moon Goddess had bestowed
