Chapter 4

I didn’t follow Alpha Caelen after the banquet.

Instead, I drifted—weightless, invisible—toward the small cottage I had once called home.

It stood there quietly at the edge of the pack’s northern border, just as I remembered it. Still. Untouched by time. The windows sparkled. The wooden porch was swept clean. Fresh rose bushes bloomed along the railing—someone had replaced the ones I used to prune every morning.

Inside, the soft hum of a television echoed through the living room.

My chest clenched.

I already knew who it was before I saw her.

Leah.

My only true friend.

That stubborn, sweet girl had promised me she would move on after my death. That she’d start over, find a new pack, a new life. Anything but this—haunting the shadow of my memory.

Three years later she was still there. Still waiting. Still cleaning my empty house like I might walk through the door any second.

Liar.

Grief twisted in my gut, colder than death itself.

Leah had endured hell. Her mate died suddenly in a border skirmish, and her young pup had been born with congenital leukemia. She worked herself raw taking on any job she could find—barmaid, courier, cleaner—just to afford his treatments.

And still, when I was dying, when my Moon Sickness had become irreversible, she handed me her entire savings without blinking.

Now, I could only watch her from the shadows, sweeping the floor I once danced barefoot on, dusting my old books, tears lining her lashes. I tried to reach out to her, tried to show her I was here—but I couldn’t. I was just a soul, a whisper in the wind.

Ten minutes passed before she collapsed onto the couch, worn out from her silent vigil.

And that’s when I heard it.

The television host’s voice shifted, urgent and sharp:

“Breaking News: Alpha King Caelen ambushed by rogues while patrolling the Northern Territory!”

My heart dropped like a stone.

I didn’t think. I just moved—soul or not—racing through the forest, the pack lands, the misty shadows of the north. For the first time, I was grateful for what I’d become. No barriers, no fatigue. Just the need to find him.

To see if he was still breathing.

When I arrived, I spotted him instantly. His scent still stirred something ancient inside me.

Blood stained the sleeve of his shirt, seeping from a gash on his arm. But it wasn’t life-threatening.

He wasn’t going to die today.

He refused medical attention at the outpost and insisted the Pack Doctor meet him at home. I followed him, not even realizing that my soul had led me to the place I had once called ours.

Home.

Beta George was at his side, worry etched across his face.

“Alpha King,” he said gently, “your condition isn’t just from the injury. Is it because... she was mentioned at the banquet today?”

There was a long silence.

Everyone in Caelen’s inner circle knew the truth. I wasn’t just a name in the past. I was the one thing that ever broke him.

Caelen’s gaze turned ice-cold.

One look.

That’s all it took.

Beta George immediately bowed his head and stepped back, silenced.

Because even after all this time, my name was the one thing no one dared say in his presence.

I followed him into the master bedroom, barely breathing. The doctor arrived a minute later, swiftly cleaning the wound and bandaging it with practiced hands. Once finished, he left quietly, leaving Caelen alone with the silence... and the ghosts.

I should’ve left then.

I wanted to leave.

But I lingered.

And then—he turned.

His head tilted slightly, his eyes scanning the room like he felt me.

His voice, raw and hoarse, whispered a name that cracked my soul:

“Little one.”

My breath caught.

He used to call me that when I curled up in his arms after a long day. When I was too tired to shift. When my illness had started to take hold and all I wanted was to feel safe.

That name had never been said to anyone else.

Not before me.

Not after.

He was looking straight at me, like some part of him knew I was there. Like our broken bond still whispered my presence through the veil between worlds.

My hands trembled.

He couldn’t see me. He couldn’t touch me.

But in that moment, I believed...

He still remembered.

And maybe—just maybe—some part of him never stopped loving the ghost of the girl who left.