The air in Lunaris Hall trembled with silence so sharp it felt like a blade. Every candle, every silver flame, seemed to hold its breath.
At the center of it all stood two figures locked in a stare so fierce the room could have split apart: Theodore, Alpha of the Crescent Blood heir, and across from him, the Alpha of the Enemy Pack. Their presence collided like thunderheads about to break. Shoulders squared, jaws set, both ready to draw blood if a single word tipped wrong.
Isabella, pressed against Seraphine at the edge of the gathering, felt the weight of it seep into her bones. She whispered, low and biting:
"And here I thought I was coming to watch an elegant reunion. Looks more like they're about to start a war over seating arrangements."
Seraphine's lips twitched but her eyes stayed hard. "Watch closely. Alphas don't fight for petty things. What you're seeing… is power testing power."
The hall quivered. Then—before the storm could break—the great doors swung open.
Two children entered first, walking side by side. Their eyes carried a weight far older than their years, their steps too sure, too steady for youth. Behind them came an old woman in crimson robes, her staff striking the marble with every measured step.
The hall bowed low, Alphas dipping their heads, Betas lowering their gazes. Isabella stiffened, her curiosity burning hotter.
Then, from the shadow that followed them, a man appeared. Middle-aged, broad-shouldered, gray streaking his hair, but his presence eclipsed even the wolves. The hall stirred. Gasps broke the silence.
Isabella's world tilted.
Her lips parted, trembling, and the word tore out of her throat before she could hold it back:
"Father?"
Every head turned toward her. The sound echoed like a broken bell in the hush of the hall. Isabella took a step forward, then another, only for guards to bar her path instantly, steel hands gripping her arms.
"Let me go!" Her voice broke, desperate. "That's my father! Do you hear me? That's him!"
The man did not look at her. His gaze was steady, directed only at the podium, his face unreadable.
Seraphine's arms circled her, pulling her back, whispering sharp against her ear: "Isabella—enough."
She struggled against her, her voice ragged. "Don't you dare tell me I'm mistaken. My eyes cannot lie! That man raised me. He is my father—my only joy in this wretched life. Why—why doesn't he recognize me?"
But Seraphine's silence was its own answer.
At the podium, the man stood tall, greeted by none other than Theodore's father, Alpha of the Crescent Blood Pack. Their handshake was thunder, their presence shaking the hall.
"For decades," the man's voice rang out, deep and commanding, "the Crimson Pack lay in shadow. Hidden. Silent. Absent from these halls for twenty-five long years. But tonight—we return. Tonight, Crimson rises again."
The hall erupted in murmurs—shock, disbelief, fear. Isabella's pulse roared in her ears.
The man raised his arm, gesturing to the children at his side—the boy tall, proud, his eyes burning; the girl calm, unyielding, her presence no less fierce.
"These are my heirs. My son. My daughter. The blood of Crimson that will lead after me."
The hall trembled with the weight of his words. Isabella's chest tightened until she could hardly breathe. Her voice cracked, low and hollow:
"Seraphine… why doesn't he see me? Why is he standing there—presenting them—as if I never existed?"
Seraphine only pulled her closer, her eyes fixed on the podium, her jaw set like stone.
And above them, the Moon blazed brighter, as if mocking Isabella's heart, as though it already knew the cruel truth waiting to surface.