Chapter3

The moment I saw Ron, a thought flashed through my mind—fine. I'd been holding these words in for a whole year. Whether I said them to one person or in front of a crowd, the only difference was how many people would watch me get rejected.

My palms were slick with sweat. The ring in my fingers was burning hot, nearly hot enough to sear through my skin. I thought of her smile when she pulled someone up on the training ground, of the new leather grip I'd put on her sword, of the dust that had settled on the amulet, of Ron's words by the bonfire—you are nothing.

Then I looked into her eyes. Golden irises, wolf eyes, with a metallic sheen in the setting sun. She didn't tell Ron and Raine to leave. Her expression was calm as she looked at me, like the surface of a lake. Whether there was anything beneath that surface, I couldn't see.

"I hope to stand beside you as a mate," I said, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "In your eyes, I only want to be your one and only."

Silence. An embarrassing, crushing silence.

Ron let out a whistle. It cut through the quiet encampment like a blade.

Raine crossed his arms, face unreadable.

Vera looked down at my open palm. The ring lay there, its runes glowing pale gold in the sunset light. She reached out and took it. My heart slammed against my ribs. Her fingers were long and strong—wolf hands, each knuckle carrying innate power.

She weighed it in her hand. Then she looked up at me. The corner of her mouth curved slightly—a playful, mocking smile.

Her gaze was dismissive, her face utterly indifferent.

For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes.

"Kyle." Her voice was calm, like she was explaining an obvious rule. "Do you know how wolves choose their mates?"

I didn't answer.

"Someone who can fight beside you. Someone you can trust with your back on the battlefield." She took a step forward, closing the distance between us—close enough that I could smell the pine resin and iron on her. The scent of armor and weapons, the scent every wolf warrior carried. "What can you give me?"

She paused. That pause cut deeper than any words.

"Fixing armor? Delivering arrows? That's a servant's work."

She placed the ring back in my palm. The metal had absorbed her warmth, then cooled just as quickly. Her fingertips brushed across my palm without stopping.

"I don't need a human who needs me to protect them on the battlefield. Keep the ring—for yourself."

"I don't need a lowly servant!"

She turned and walked away. Raine followed without looking back. A few steps out, Raine murmured something—I couldn't make out the words, but I saw Vera pause for two seconds, then shake her head.

That two-second pause. I saw it.

Ron passed by me, glancing my way. The smirk still lingered at the corner of his mouth. There was no malice in his eyes—worse than malice was the inevitability. As if he'd known this outcome all along. As if everyone had known, and I was the only one who didn't.

His companion muttered something. I didn't catch the words, but I heard the laughter.

Then their footsteps faded too.

I stood there. The ring lay in my palm, her name carved on the inside—and a mark she'd never seen. Sunlight filtered through the pines, catching the ring, the runes reflecting scattered golden flecks. I'd spent an entire summer making it. Summer was over, and the ring was still in my hand.

The shadows of the pines crept from my feet to my knees. The sounds from the training ground gradually died out, replaced by the footsteps of night sentries. The evening wind came from the west, carrying the scent of pine resin and damp earth from the forest, taking the last warmth from my skin.

Then I walked back to the workshop.

I opened the tool kit. Bottom layer. I wrapped the ring in velvet and placed it inside. I took a canvas cloth from the shelf and spread it across the workbench. Portable forging tools. Three rune stones. Two changes of clothes. A small vial of magic potion. Half a packet of dried meat. I folded the four corners of the canvas and tied them in a tight knot. My hands didn't tremble.

I left a note on the workbench: "Supply inventory is on the third shelf on the left. Rune arrows stocked through year-end. Potion labels updated. —Kyle"

No salutation. I didn't know who to address it to.

When I stepped out of the workshop, the moon was overhead. I slung the bundle over my shoulder and headed south. The Darkmoon Pack had no curfew for human logistics staff; the night sentries only checked those entering, not those leaving. I'd been here three years and knew every watchtower's shift change. The south tower guard on night duty was prone to drowsiness—I'd mixed a sleeping aid for him once. The narrow path was used for firewood deliveries; no wolf patrols passed through. When I passed the tower, the guard was dozing. I didn't wake him.

At the forest's edge, I paused for a moment.

The lights of the Darkmoon Pack shrank behind me into a small patch of warm yellow glow. Three years. The armor I'd repaired could fill a warehouse; the potions I'd mixed could last the pack's warriors two winters. Now all of it was still there—just like the ring at the bottom of the tool kit.

"I'm never coming back."

I said it to myself. My voice was soft, swallowed by the wind through the pines.

Then I stepped into the shadows of the trees.

At the same moment, in the commander's tent.

Raine lifted the tent flap and stepped in. "Commander. That human mage has left the pack."

Vera didn't pause in what she was doing. The gleam of her sword blade flashed across her face.

"Let him go. Just a human." She slid the sword into its sheath; the metallic click was crisp and final. "He won't last three days out there. He'll crawl back sooner or later."

She stood and hung the longsword on the weapon rack.

On the rack, the moonstone amulet was covered in dust. Just as it had been before she rejected him. Nothing had changed.

Her gaze swept over the weapon rack. It passed over the amulet without stopping.

"Change tomorrow's patrol route. The northern rebels have been active lately. Expand the patrol range northward."

"Yes, ma'am."

Raine let the tent flap fall; his footsteps faded into the distance. She was alone in the tent. A fire burned in the corner, casting her long shadow across the canvas wall. She stood for a moment, then raised a hand to rub the space between her brows. Three hours of meetings today, patrols tomorrow.

She didn't glance at the weapon rack again.

She didn't care about me at all. In her eyes, I was nothing but a dispensable jester.

I left. But the mockery and ridicule had cut deep into my heart.