The Midnight Crest Pack was in chaos.
Warriors gathered in tense clusters, whispering among themselves. Elders questioned one another in hushed voices. Servants moved cautiously through the halls, sensing the storm brewing beneath the surface.
Isla was gone.
Seraphine stood in the center of it all, her blue eyes wide with feigned distress.
“She wouldn’t just leave,” she said, her voice soft, breaking in just the right places. “She must be scared… confused.”
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, playing the role of the devastated sister flawlessly. But inside, her heart soared.
Isla was gone. Finally.
The little shadow that had followed her for years, that pitiful thing who had clung to hope despite being unwanted—gone.
“What the hell did you do, Seraphine?!” Garrick’s voice thundered through the room, his rage palpable. “She was supposed to serve me!”
Seraphine’s lips twitched, but she quickly pressed them into a sad little frown, her expression carefully schooled. She had to look heartbroken, devastated—not pleased.
Garrick was pacing, fists clenched, his anger rolling off him in waves. Unlike her, he wasn’t pretending. His fury was raw, real.
“You let her slip through our fingers!” he seethed, turning on Seraphine, his sharp eyes burning into her. “After everything. Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me?”
Seraphine tilted her head, blinking up at him innocently. “Father,” she murmured, voice soft, careful. “I didn’t think she had it in her. She was always so… pathetic.”
Garrick’s jaw clenched. “Then you’re a fool.”
Her nails dug into her palms, but she smiled. It wasn’t often her father’s anger wasn’t aimed at her, and she’d savor that, just for a moment.
“She’ll come back,” Seraphine said lightly, with the air of someone discussing the weather.
Unlike Seraphine, he wasn’t pretending. His fury was real.
Not because he cared. Not because he loved Isla.
But because he had lost control of her.
“She was getting bolder,” he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle in his cheek twitched. “I should have broken her sooner.”
Seraphine glanced between her parents, something off in the way Garrick’s rage filled the room. She had expected anger—he hated losing control—but this? This was different.
Her brows furrowed as she tilted her head, studying him. Why was he this furious?
“Why do you care so much that she’s gone?” Her voice was slow, measured, curiosity slipping through the cracks of her usual indifference.
Silence.
The question hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Her father stilled, his jaw tightening just a fraction too much.
Then, finally—“Other packs can use her against us. Don’t you understand?”
A forced answer. Too quick. Too practiced.
Seraphine narrowed her eyes, but before she could push, a scoff broke the tension.
She turned just in time to see her mother roll her eyes, barely suppressing her irritation.
Their mother Leonora sat quietly, watching the commotion with cool, detached indifference. She had always been like this—ice where their father was fire. She never raised her voice. Never spoke unless she had something worth saying.
After a long moment, she stood, brushing nonexistent dust from the sleeve of her robe
“She was never meant to survive,” Lenora murmured.
Seraphine turned to her, blinking. The words settled between them, thick and final. A weighted silence stretched, heavy enough to make Seraphine shift uncomfortably.
Then—“Get out of the room, Seraphine.”
Her father’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.
Seraphine hesitated, her eyes flicking between them, but something in the air had shifted. Her father’s fists were clenched, his body taut with something uglier than rage.
She left. Slowly. The door clicked shut behind her.
And then—a crash.
Seraphine froze just outside, heart pounding as the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting wood filled the room.
Inside, Garrick’s hand was wrapped around Lenora’s throat, slamming her against the wall.
His breath was uneven, his eyes dark with something feral.
“What did you do, Lenora?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You know she’s mine.”
Lenora’s lips curled into a breathless, mocking smile. She let out a strangled chuckle, her nails clawing at his wrist. “Y-you’re a sick bastard,” she rasped, her voice shaking but not with fear. With amusement.
His grip tightened.
Lenora grinned, even as her vision blurred. “Kill me, and the whole pack will know just how fucking disgusting you are—that you’ve been fantasizing about Isla like the pathetic monster you are.”
Garrick’s fingers twitched. His grip loosened.
Lenora dropped to the floor, coughing, regaining her breath as she smoothed her gown like nothing had happened.
Like a queen.
And just like that, the conversation was over.
No warriors were sent after Isla. No trackers were called.
She wasn’t worth the effort.
Instead, the story was twisted before the next sunrise. The pack was told Isla had abandoned them. That she was weak, selfish, ungrateful.
And Kael?
When he heard the news, he said nothing.
Seraphine curled into his side later that night, whispering words of reassurance, stroking her fingers down his chest, feeding him the lies that made his heart shift further away from Isla.
“She never really loved you, Kael,” she murmured, pressing her lips against his throat. “She only wanted what she thought she deserved.”
Kael exhaled, long and slow.
And just like that, Isla became nothing.
A name fading from their memories.
A ghost.
Forgotten.
