The elders do not knock.
They enter Caelan's chamber at dawn, faces carved from stone, eyes sharp with judgment. The air shifts immediately—tension rolling through the room like a coming storm.
Lyra feels it before she hears it.
The bond tightens, warning her.
Caelan stands near the window, sleepless and rigid, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He doesn't turn when they approach.
"You're being watched," Elder Maeric says flatly.
Caelan exhales slowly. "I'm aware."
"Your patrol changes are disruptive," another elder snaps. "Your absences from council are unacceptable."
"And your behavior toward the outsider," Maeric adds, gaze flicking briefly to Lyra where she stands near the door. "Is reckless."
Caelan turns then.
The room goes cold.
"She is under my protection," he says.
Lyra stiffens.
"That decision was not yours alone," Maeric replies. "The pack senses instability. Your wolf is agitated. Alphas from neighboring territories have noticed."
Good, Lyra thinks. Let them.
"You're overreaching," another elder presses. "This fixation—"
Caelan's control snaps.
A low growl rips from his chest, raw and feral. The sound reverberates through the chamber, vibrating in Lyra's bones.
"Choose your next words carefully," he warns.
The elders exchange glances.
They smell it now.
Not weakness.
Fracture.
"You will submit to observation," Maeric says. "Until this… disturbance is resolved."
Silence crashes down.
Lyra's breath stills.
Caelan laughs.
It's short. Sharp. Wrong.
"You forget who leads this pack," he says quietly.
Maeric meets his gaze without flinching. "We remember exactly what happens when an Alpha loses control."
That does it.
Caelan moves before thought—closing the distance in a blur, slamming Maeric back against the wall with one hand braced beside his head. Stone cracks beneath the force.
The elders shout. Guards surge forward.
Lyra feels the bond scream.
"Caelan," she says sharply.
He freezes.
Her voice cuts through the rage like a blade.
Slowly—painfully—he steps back, breathing hard, wolf snarling beneath his skin.
"This meeting is over," he growls.
The elders retreat, but not before Maeric delivers the final blow.
"You will keep her close," he says. "If she is the cause of this instability, she will not be allowed out of your sight."
Lyra's eyes flash.
"That wasn't agreed upon."
Maeric doesn't look at her. "You are not the one in danger."
The doors slam shut.
Silence.
Then—
"You don't get to cage me," Lyra snaps.
Caelan turns to her, expression tight, jaw clenched like he's holding himself together by force alone.
"I didn't ask for this," he says.
"But you wanted it," she fires back. "You've wanted it since the moment I arrived."
The bond pulses—hot, undeniable.
He steps closer.
"So now what?" she challenges. "You lock me in your chambers? Parade me as your weakness?"
His eyes darken.
"You stay with me," he says. "Until I understand what you've done to me."
She laughs bitterly. "I didn't do this to you. You did."
He reaches out—not touching, not yet—fingers hovering near her wrist again.
"You should be afraid," he says softly.
"I am," she replies. "Just not of you."
That unsettles him more than any threat.
That night, Lyra is given a room.
Adjacent to his.
The doors are close enough that she can feel him through the bond—restless, pacing, barely contained. Every spike of his anger reverberates through her chest.
She presses her palm to the wall between them.
"Careful, Alpha," she murmurs. "Obsession rots faster than guilt."
On the other side, Caelan stops pacing.
His hand presses to the same wall.
Separated by stone.
Bound by something far worse.
And for the first time, the pack whispers openly.
Their Alpha is no longer unquestioned.
And whatever Lyra is to him—
She is not leaving.