The forest had not changed.
It was still silver under the night sky. Still breathing. Still alive with the whisper of leaves and the low hum of distant wolves guarding the borders of what remained of Nightfall.
But Lucien Blackthorn had changed.
He stood alone beneath the tallest oak at the edge of the territory, his hand braced against rough bark, his breathing uneven.
A mortal heartbeat.
Slow. Heavy. Fragile.
It had been months since the war ended. Months since the moon went dark. Months since Seraphine stepped into the ritual circle and rewrote fate itself.
He was alive.
And she was gone.
The pack no longer knelt when he passed. They did not bow with the same instinctive awe. Their Alpha no longer radiated immortal dominance. He bled. He tired. He healed slowly.
And yet they f
