I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 16 – old scars

Lyra hadn’t meant to go to the cliffs alone.

She’d left the garage after three straight hours of Theo’s anxious rambling and Cassian’s relentless planning and told herself she was just getting air. Her feet, apparently, hadn’t believed her.

Now she stood where rock dropped into endless blue, wind cutting across the bluff, the ocean below chewing the shore to pieces.

It smelled too much like before.

Salt. Stone. Training days in Thornridge, when Silas had shouted commands over the surf and kids had learned where to put their teeth. Nights when she and Jonah had snuck out here and pretended the world was bigger than their elders’ plans.

Her wolf pressed against her ribs, restless.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

The voice came from behind her, soft but carrying. Lyra didn’t start; she’d scented the familiar mix of steel and pine before Cassian spoke. She kept her eyes on the horizon.

“Funny,” she said. “Most of my worst mistakes started with people telling me where I should and shouldn’t be.”

Gravel crunched. He came to stand a few steps to her right, leaving space. Hands in his pockets, jacket unzipped, eyes on the sea.

“Atlas is arranging witness testimonies,” he said. “Elara’s talking to survivors from other packs. Darius is writing a list of things he wants the Council to choke on.”

“Mmm.” Lyra wrapped her arms around herself against a wind that had nothing to do with cold. “Efficient.”

“And you,” he added, “are out here trying not to remember.”

She laughed once, short. “You say that like I’ve got a choice.”

He was quiet a moment. Waves thundered below, the spray catching moonlight.

“When I left Hollow Ridge,” Cassian said finally, “I thought distance would fix everything. That if I got far enough from this place, I’d stop waking up feeling like I couldn’t breathe.”

Lyra glanced at him. “How’d that work out?”

“Made new problems,” he said wryly. “Missed the old ones. Found out my wolf didn’t care about miles; he cared about what I was running from.”

She looked back at the sea. “I ran from faces. Voices. Rooms where nobody heard me unless I made them bleed first.”

“Did it help?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I’m still here.”

The wind whipped her hair into her face. She pushed it back, fingers catching on the edge of the amulet at her throat.

“I keep thinking,” she went on, voice lower, “about that day. The circle. Jonah’s hand in mine. Silas’s voice. How small I felt. How…loud.” A humorless smile tugged at her mouth. “I screamed so much inside my head I couldn’t hear anything for a week.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. “Lyra—”

“I walked away,” she said. “Everyone likes that part of the story. Rogue girl, dramatic exit, wow, so brave.” Her hand tightened. “They don’t see the part where I almost turned back. Twice. Where it would’ve been so easy to stay and let them decide for me.”

He didn’t say anything. The silence didn’t feel like judgment.

“And now,” she said, “I get to go stand in front of the same kind of room and tell them why they were wrong. With your pack, your brother, your…everything on the line if I screw it up.”

Her wolf paced. Hollow Ridge hummed in the back of her head through the wards—steady, present, there.

Cassian shifted a half-step closer, still not touching.

“You think we’d put this on you alone?” he asked quietly. “You think Atlas is counting on one speech to save his hide?”

“I think Silas is counting on me freezing,” she said. “On me being that girl again.”

Cassian turned then, fully facing her. Moonlight caught in his eyes, turning them molten.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did. It felt like stepping off a ledge.

“That girl,” he said, “walked out anyway. Without anyone at her back. No safe place to land. No stubborn i***t of an almost-Alpha offering to punch her problems in the face.”

Despite herself, her mouth twitched. “You are not almost anything, Reid.”

He ignored that. “Silas doesn’t get to define you by the worst day he gave you. The Council doesn’t either. You’re not proof of their mercy or their danger. You’re proof they screwed up.”

Her throat burned. She looked away, back at the waves.

“I don’t want to break down in that hall,” she muttered. “Not in front of him. Not in front of everyone.”

“Okay,” he said. “So we don’t let you.”

She snorted. “You going to forbid me from crying, Alpha-boy?”

“No.” A hint of humor threaded his tone. “I’m going to make sure if you do, it’s with my hand in yours and a room full of wolves who know exactly why your tears are valid.”

“Great,” she said. “Weaponized emotional support.”

“New Hollow Ridge policy,” he said. “We cry together, or we don’t cry at all.”

Something in her chest cracked at that—ridiculous and true all at once.

The wards hummed, faint but reassuring. She could feel other wolves moving on patrol, the line holding.

“Rowan’s message,” she said after a moment. “You believe him?”

Cassian’s jaw worked. “I believe Jonah’s scared enough of what Silas will do to try something different. That’s not the same as trusting him. But if an internal crack makes Silas trip on his own ambition faster, I’ll take it.”

“So we walk into the Council hall with enemies on three sides and a maybe-ally who used to hold my hand while they rewired my life,” she said. “What could possibly go wrong.”

Cassian’s fingers brushed hers, feather-light.

“You’re not walking in alone this time,” he said. “You have me. Atlas. Elara. Half a dozen wolves who owe their freedom to what you started. And a pack that already decided you’re theirs at the edge.”

Her wolf eased, leaning into the quiet certainty in his voice.

“You really think of me as ‘theirs’ now?” she asked, testing.

He smiled, small and fierce. “I think of you as ours. Rogue and all.”

The word settled somewhere low and warm.

Lyra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Okay,” she said. “Council, then. Let’s go ruin an old man’s day.”

Cassian’s laugh broke sharp and bright across the wind.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. “We’ll start packing tomorrow.”

She stared out at the crashing sea, feeling the wards, the bond, the hum of Hollow Ridge like a second heartbeat.

For the first time, the idea of walking into that old hall didn’t feel like returning to the scene of a crime.

It felt like bringing witnesses.