The lipstick on Kael's collar stays with me.
Not because it hurts—I'm past hurting. Because it's evidence. The first physical proof that the affair has begun. In my first life, I didn't find out until months later, when Sera accidentally texted me instead of him.
This time, I'm collecting receipts.
I don't confront him. I don't cry. I take a clean cloth from the drawer, dab the collar carefully to preserve the stain, and seal it in a small glass jar.
Then I hide the jar beneath the floorboard next to my bed.
Evidence, I think. For when I need it.
The morning passes like any other.
Kael leaves before I wake. His side of the bed is untouched. The servants serve breakfast. I eat alone in the dining room, watching the windows fog with autumn chill.
Marta, the cook, brings me fresh coffee.
"You look tired, Luna," she says. Not unkindly.
"I didn't sleep well."
She hesitates. Glances at the door. Then leans closer.
"If you ever need someone to talk to—someone who isn't them—I'm here."
Them. She means Kael's inner circle. His mother's spies. The wolves who report everything back to Aldric.
"Thank you, Marta."
She nods and disappears.
Another ally. Small, invisible, but positioned in the heart of the pack house. The cook hears everything. Servants are furniture to people like Kael—they speak freely in front of them, never noticing the ears that listen.
I file Marta's offer away for later.
Midday, I visit Mira again.
The infirmary is busier today. A hunting accident—three wolves with deep gashes, one with a broken leg. Mira works quickly, efficiently, her hands steady despite the blood.
"Can you stitch?" she asks, not looking up.
"I can learn."
She hands me a needle and thread. "Start with the shallow one. I'll guide you."
The wolf on the table is young—barely eighteen. His arm is split open from elbow to wrist, muscle visible beneath the torn skin. He's shaking, teeth gritted against the pain.
"Hey," I say softly. "Look at me."
His eyes find mine.
"This is going to hurt. But you're a wolf. You've survived worse." I don't know if that's true, but it's what he needs to hear. "Breathe with me. In. Out."
I stitch while Mira watches. My hands aren't as skilled as hers, but they're steady. The needle pierces skin. Thread pulls through. The wolf's breathing evens out.
When I finish, the wound is closed. Not pretty, but closed.
"Good," Mira says. "You're a natural."
"I had a good teacher."
She smiles. It's the first time I've seen her smile without nervousness.
After the patients leave, Mira makes tea.
We sit in the back room, surrounded by drying herbs and glass jars. The kettle whistles. Steam fogs the windows.
"You didn't come here just to stitch wounds," Mira says.
"No."
"Then why?"
I cup my hands around the warm mug. "Because I need people I can trust. And I think you're one of them."
She doesn't ask why I need trustworthy people. She doesn't ask what I'm planning. She just nods, like she's been waiting for this conversation.
"In my first year as apprentice," she says quietly, "I saw things. Things the elders tried to hide. Wolves dying of poison disguised as illness. Accidents that weren't accidents." She meets my eyes. "I know something is wrong in this pack. I just never knew who to tell."
"You're telling me now."
"I'm telling you now."
We drink our tea in silence.
An alliance, formed without ceremony.
That evening, Kael's mother hosts a small gathering.
Elara—the elder Luna—invites a dozen of the pack's most influential wolves. Wives of council members. Daughters of elders. Women who whisper and judge and decide who rises and who falls.
Sera is there, of course. She's always there.
"Elena." Elara kisses both my cheeks. "You look thin. Are you eating?"
"Yes, Luna Mother."
"Call me Elara." She guides me into the parlor, her grip firm on my arm. "I want you to meet some people."
The introductions blur together. Names I remember from my first life. Faces that will smile at me today and vote for my execution tomorrow.
I smile back. I say the right things. I laugh at jokes that aren't funny.
And I watch Sera.
She's across the room, speaking with the Gamma's wife. Her body language is different than it was a week ago. Confident. Almost smug. She touches her neck—a gesture I recognize. She's thinking about Kael.
The lipstick on his collar.
The study at nine.
She thinks she's winning.
After the gathering, Elara pulls me aside.
"Walk with me," she says.
We stroll through the garden, past the rose bushes and the frozen fountain. The moon is full, casting silver light on the gravel paths.
"You're different than I expected," Elara says.
"How so?"
"My son described you as gentle. Soft." She glances at me sideways. "You're not soft."
"I can be gentle."
"Gentleness and softness aren't the same thing." She stops by a bench, sits, gestures for me to join her. "I've been watching you. The way you move. The way you speak. You're calculating."
I don't deny it.
"My son is a fool," she continues. "He always has been. He inherited his father's ambition but none of his wisdom." She looks at the moon. "He'll make mistakes. He'll hurt you. The question is—what will you do when he does?"
"What would you have me do?"
"I'd have you survive." Her voice hardens. "I've seen too many Lunas break themselves against their Alphas' indifference. Don't be one of them."
"I don't intend to be."
She studies my face. Whatever she sees there seems to satisfy her.
"Good." She stands. "I'll be leaving tomorrow. But I'll be watching. From a distance." She touches my cheek. "Don't disappoint me, Elena."
She walks away.
I sit alone in the garden, staring at the moon, and wonder if Elara is an ally or another enemy.
When I return to the pack house, Kael is waiting in the foyer.
He's dressed formally—jacket, tie, polished shoes. He looks like he's going somewhere.
"You're back," he says.
"Obviously."
He frowns at my tone. "I have a dinner meeting. With the Stonecrest Alpha. I won't be back until late."
"Fine."
He steps closer. Lowers his voice. "Elena, I know I've been distant. But I'm trying. Can you at least pretend to care?"
Pretend.
The word cuts deeper than he knows.
"I care," I say. "I care very much."
He searches my face for sincerity. Finds nothing.
"I'll be back," he says, and walks out.
I watch his car disappear down the driveway.
Then I go to my room, pull out my notebook, and write:
Kael's mother is watching. She knows he'll hurt me. She wants to see how I react.
Mira is an ally.
Sera is escalating.
The game is moving faster than I anticipated.
I close the notebook and hide it beneath the floorboard, next to the jar with the lipstick stain.
Tomorrow, I'll visit Aldric again. Tomorrow, I'll ask more questions about the order.
Tonight, I'll sit in the dark and remember that I've already died once.
Whatever comes next, I can survive it.