Exiled Wolf, Fated Luna

Chapter 24 – Three Wolves and a Screen

Bran’s office feels smaller with three of us in it.

He’s behind the desk, glasses low on his nose, fingers steepled. Darian takes the chair to my right, bandaged arm resting on the armrest like he’s daring it to complain. Rhoen sits to my left, shoulders too broad for the space, knees almost bumping mine.

The screen on the wall is still dark.

“That thing always feels like a window someone else controls,” I murmur.

“Accurate,” Bran says. “Also necessary. Deep breaths, all of you. The Council can smell fear through pixels.”

Rhoen snorts. Darian huffs. My stomach knots.

The screen flickers to life.

Elen Frostwail appears, jaw tight, hair pinned back in that severe way that makes her look carved from frost. Today there are fewer wolves behind her—just one older male I vaguely recognize from Bran’s “rogues and idiots” lecture, and a younger woman taking notes with mechanical precision.

“Grimvale,” Elen says. Her gaze tracks each of us. “Alpha Blackmaw. Elder Hollowroot. Rhoen Wolfsbane. Vexa.” A brief pause at my name. “Thank you for making time.”

“Time is what we have when we’re not chasing Helix,” Darian says. “Let’s make it quick.”

One corner of her mouth almost twitches. “I’ll try. We’re here to finalize the framework for integrating Hollowpeak evacuees under Grimvale’s protection and to clarify Vexa’s role in the Helix taskforce as it intersects with that.”

“Translated,” Bran murmurs, “they want to know who owns which pieces.”

Elen hears him. “We’re trying to avoid jurisdictional conflict,” she says. “And ensure the evacuees aren’t left in limbo.”

Limbo. Nice word for people with nowhere to stand.

Rhoen leans forward. “Most of them don’t even know what they’re asking for,” he says. “They just knew they couldn’t stay. Some still believe leaving makes them traitors.”

“Then our first job,” Bran says, “is to stop using language that reinforces that. Evacuees, not deserters. Guests, not exiles.”

Elen inclines her head. “Agreed. Officially, Hollowpeak’s territory is under temporary oversight pending investigation of collusion with Helix. Unofficially…” She exhales. “It’s a mess.”

Her gaze flicks to me. “Which means the story those wolves hear about what you did, Vexa, matters. A lot.”

My pulse pounds in my throat.

Darian glances sideways, checking on me via bond as much as sight. I force my shoulders down.

“They already have stories,” I say. My voice sounds thin in my own ears but it doesn’t crack. “Most of them about the ‘broken girl’ who had to be sent away before she infected anyone.”

Rhoen flinches. Elen’s brows tighten.

“I’m not interested in clearing Hollowpeak’s name,” I go on. “I am interested in making sure those kids don’t think being different means they deserve to be abandoned.”

The older Council wolf clears his throat. “No one is suggesting—”

“With respect,” Darian cuts in, voice edged, “that’s exactly what the old regime suggested every time they called her a danger to the Goddess instead of admitting they were afraid of what they didn’t understand.”

Silence hums.

Elen looks between us, eyes sharp. “Then let’s put this plainly,” she says. “From this moment, the Council recognizes all Hollowpeak evacuees currently in Grimvale as under Grimvale’s jurisdiction and protection. Their status is not temporary exile, but voluntary relocation.”

“Write it that way,” Bran says. “In every file. Words stick longer than claws.”

“Done,” Elen says. She makes a note. “As for Vexa—”

My shoulders tense.

“—we will list her in all official documentation as a member of Grimvale Pack provisionally assigned to the Helix taskforce,” she continues. “Not as ‘Hollowpeak anomaly.’ Not as an asset. As a wolf with a specific talent Grimvale has chosen to share with us.”

Chosen. Shared. Not owned.

The knot in my chest shifts, not entirely easing, but changing shape.

“Who writes the reports about her work?” Darian asks. There’s an undercurrent in his tone I’ve learned to recognize: this is where he expects a trap.

“Jointly,” Elen says. “Your medic and our analysts. She has access to read them. She has veto power over any language that misrepresents what she did or why.”

That is not what I expected.

Bran nods slowly, pleased. Rhoen looks… thrown.

“You’re really giving her edit rights on Council files?” he blurts.

Elen’s gaze lands on him. “She’s the one going into the dark for us,” she says. “The least we can do is let her decide how that’s recorded.”

Heat stings behind my eyes. I blink hard.

“What about Helix’s attention?” Rhoen presses. “The more we say her name, the more they—”

“They already have it,” I cut in. The words surprise even me. “Hiding hasn’t worked. I’m done pretending I don’t exist to make other people feel safer.”

Darian’s bond-flare is pure pride, hot and fierce.

Elen nods once. “Then our job is to make sure when Helix looks, they see more than one wolf.” Her gaze sharpens. “They see Grimvale. They see the Council. They see a world that won’t let them pick you off without consequence.”

The older Council wolf clears his throat again. “We will also be issuing guidance to other packs,” he says. “To treat Vexa as a traveling envoy when she’s on Helix business. Safe passage, logistical support, no refusal of entry without cause.”

“Fancy way of saying I get a hall pass,” I mutter.

Darian huffs a laugh. “A hall pass with claws behind it.”

Rhoen lets out a slow breath. Some of the tightness drains from his shoulders. “Then when the kids ask,” he says, “I can tell them she left because she chose to. And stayed where they chose her back.”

Elen’s gaze softens, barely. “You can.”

Bran looks satisfied. “That’s the story I’ll be telling,” he says. “Even when you lot are dust.”

Elen glances back at me. “Vexa, you still can say no,” she reminds. “To any part of this. We will adjust.”

Fear and something sharp and bright twist together in my gut.

I think of Milo asking if he can find me when he’s scared.

Of the Hollowpeak girl at dinner whispering, Will we be sent away again?

Of Darian on the bridge, blood on his shirt, saying, You don’t let go. Neither do I.

I straighten in my chair.

“I don’t want to be your symbol,” I say to the screen. “I don’t want to be their cautionary tale. I want to be a reminder that the next kid like me doesn’t have to be traded away to count.”

Elen inclines her head. “Then that’s what we’ll write.”

The call winds down—details, dates, the usual threat of future meetings. When the screen finally goes dark, the room feels too quiet.

Rhoen exhales. “That was… less awful than I imagined.”

“High praise,” Bran says dryly.

Darian looks at me instead of the blank wall.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

“Full,” I admit. “Lightly on fire.”

He smiles, brief and fierce. “You did good.”

Rhoen huffs. “You both did. Even Bran, which pains me to admit.”

Bran waves a dismissive hand. “Out. All of you. I have to file things and pretend I don’t enjoy it.”

We step into the hall together.

For once, I don’t rush to get away from the closed door and the echo of Council voices.

I walk between my brother and my Alpha, the pack humming around us. The weight of my name in other people’s mouths hasn’t gone away.

But for the first time in my life, I helped decide what it means.