The Rejected Phoenix Luna

The Cracks Begin to Show

Lina POV

Another clan dinner and I feel eyes burning into me. Everyone knows the shift is coming tonight, and I still have yet to shift. My thoughts are drifting throughout dinner, appetite nowhere to be found and

“And to our continued strength,” Dylan said, raising his glass high, his voice smooth and practiced. “To the unity of our bloodline. And to the legacy we protect with every breath and every flame.”

The crowd echoed him, lifting their glasses and murmuring to strength, to unity, to legacy, like a well-rehearsed hymn.

I sat beside him at the long oak table, smiling where expected, my hands folded tightly in my lap. The dining hall glowed with candlelight and murmured admiration—too polished, too reverent. No one dared mention the tension that had followed us in like smoke.

Dylan’s toast was technically flawless. But I knew better. I could feel the performative chill in the room. No one clapped. Not really.

I didn’t touch my wine.

“Beautifully said, Alpha,” one of the elders offered from the left.

“Of course,” Dylan replied, flashing that easy, hollow smile.

I stared down at my plate, the roasted meat and squash perfectly arranged and completely untouched. The Sigmas had outdone themselves. I wanted to thank them again, but I could still feel the heat of Dylan’s words earlier in the kitchen like a brand across my spine.

This was supposed to be about the clan. About celebration. Instead, it felt like a performance I no longer knew my part in.

Then the door slammed open.

Hard.

Gasps broke across the room. Chairs scraped. Wine sloshed.

I turned sharply, the breath catching in my throat before I could stop it.

She stood in the entryway like she owned the room—or maybe like she’d always intended to burn it down.

Laura.

My twin.

Six years gone. And not so much as a message in all that time. But there she was—long auburn hair cascading over one shoulder, tall black boots clicking on the tile as she strode in with a suitcase in one hand and unapologetic chaos in the other.

“Hope I’m not late,” she said, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d hate to miss a toast.”

I barely registered the whispers that exploded across the room.

Dylan stood so fast his chair scraped backward.

“Laura,” he said, his voice low, unreadable. “You’re… here.”

“You sound surprised.” Her grin widened. “Weren’t expecting family?”

No one breathed.

I rose to my feet slowly, heart pounding.

Her eyes finally met mine. And for the first time in six years, I saw my own face looking back at me—but sharper. Wilder. Glowing with something reckless and unspoken.

“Sister,” she said.