I didn’t go back inside for hours.

Damien stayed close but didn’t press. Eventually, he disappeared behind the house. Probably to give me some space, or to keep the perimeter secure. He hadn’t said a word. Like always, he just met my eyes, nodded once, and walked away.

Old instincts. Hard to kill.

By the time the sky darkened, and the valley dipped into silence, I still hadn’t moved from the terrace.

I didn’t hear the footsteps until they were too close to ignore. And once the scent hit, I knew it was Fabian.

Still, I didn’t bother to turn around. “Come to tell me more things I didn’t ask to hear?”

“No,” he said simply. “I came to see if you’re still thinking about running.”

That made me glance at him. “And if I am?”

“Then I’d rather you said goodbye before the storm hits.”

Storm. Right. Another vague, mystical threat wrapped in a prophecy no one felt bothered to explain to me.

I barely knew him, had met him, what, three times now? But somehow, I knew him better than Caelum. And I preferred him. Which was a problem. Because this was the same man who’d kidnapped and dragged me across the Divide and forced me to jump into a river that should’ve killed me.

So why didn’t I hate him any more? Why didn’t I feel that deep, bone-etched distrust I’d been raised to carry? Maybe it was this place.

“What storm?” I asked quietly.

Fabian looked toward the treeline. “The one the goddess sends when people ignore their purpose for too long.”

My frown deepened. “So there’s more you’re not telling me.”

“Of course,” he said with a huff. “There’s a mountain of truth between us. About you and us. And about what must happen if Anarion is going to be whole again. You think Caelum and I can unpack centuries of silence in a single day?”

“But I’m safe here,” I said. “In the Pale Grove.”

He nodded. “For now. Until you learn to use your powers, and accept what you were born for.”

So this was the Pale Grove. The name that sounded gentler than it should. Well, it was very tranquil here so maybe it fit just right.

I turned my attention back to the trees. “Kindly leave me alone. I’m not running. I just need to figure things out.”

Fabian lingered a moment, almost as if he had something else to say. Then, without saying anything else, he left.

I stayed on the terrace until the wind turned sharp enough to sting.

Eventually, I wandered. The night here had a pulse you don’t feel until you’re alone with it. Ever since I got here, I’ve felt like the place was watching. Every step I took echoed too loud. I was walking back toward the guest house when I heard the voices. Clear as if they stood beside me.

Either my senses were sharpening in this territory or I was close enough to eavesdrop on something I wasn’t meant to hear.

I slowed near a rounded stone wall, lit softly by a vine of glowleaf curling over its edge.

“She’s unravelling,” Fabian said.

“She’s adjusting,” Caelum replied.

“No. She’s caught between two worlds that want different things from her. And she still thinks she has a choice. We can’t keep her here if she doesn’t want to be here. You forget—we haven’t claimed her yet.”

There was a long pause before Caelum said, “She does have a choice. But only until the convergence begins.”

Convergence? What was that, and why did it make my stomach turn?

“What if she rejects it?” Fabian asked, and this time, I heard anxiety in his voice. They really hadn’t told me most of what I needed to know. “What if she runs?”

“She won’t,” Caelum said without hesitation. “She’s a Baudelaire, and they don’t cower. And that’s all we need.”

I started to retreat. I’d heard enough. But then Caelum said something that made me pause.

“Why does she favour that wolf?” he said. And for the first time since meeting him, I heard something remotely close to an emotion from him. It wasn’t anything nice even, just frustration.

So. He really didn’t like Damien. Not that I blamed him. Damien wasn’t most people’s cup of tea.

“He’s Gamma of the Ultima Pack, Caelum. I suppose he’ll do,” Fabian said. “Besides, I’m not so sure she would understand that her wolf mate has to be the Draven Alpha.”

I froze.

Kael?

I didn’t realise I’d stepped back until I felt my spine brush against the stone wall.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or laugh, or maybe both. It would be fitting. A hysterical choke of noise in the dark, because that’s exactly what this was now.

A joke. One long, slow, gods-damned joke at my expense.

I turned and walked away fast. My boots crunched too loudly on the path, but I didn’t care if they heard me now. Let them know I’d been listening, and wanted no part of it.

Damien couldn’t hear about this. Not ever. He wouldn’t understand. Or worse, he’d step back, like he always did. Like he wasn’t enough.

But he was.

He was the only one I’d ever wanted. And if I had to do something irreversible to keep him, then so be it. Better marked by him than claimed by fate.

I picked a direction and started walking away from the guest house, and that conversation.

The paths here weren’t marked. And I didn’t care. Trees bent as if they knew better than to get in my way. My skin was still hot with their words, my chest hollowed out from the absurdity of it all.

The deeper I walked, the less the air felt like air. It became more like a giant, omnipotent entity was breathing against my skin.

I didn’t know where I was going, but something did. I was being led and I felt it.

After a few minutes, I spotted a house tucked between two sloping hills, veined in crystal and moss. It didn’t look like the other houses I’d seen here. Behind the stone facade of the building, there was a slight vibration, as if something was alive underneath. The doorway arched like an open mouth, and white light bled from within.

Every part of me screamed to turn around. So, of course, I stepped inside.

It was like walking into a different world the second I crossed the threshold. The walls felt old. Almost like they remembered things I hadn’t lived yet.

At the centre of the room was a woman. A witch, from the looks of her.

She reminded me of the high priestesses, Arietta in particular. Regal posture. An air of knowing things no one else dared ask about. She was tall, nearly six feet. Wrapped in silver and light that swirled like water.

She didn’t move or speak, or even act like she sensed my presence. I hesitated in the doorway, uncertain if she’d noticed me” or if she’d just been waiting, perfectly still and positioned, like some kind of living prophecy.

“Are you’” My voice stuck in my throat. “Are you a High Priestess?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just turned slightly, enough for me to catch the suggestion of a face, but not the details. Her features blurred like a memory you knew existed but couldn’t quite hold onto. Familiar, in the way a dream feels after it’s already fading.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive,” she said softly.

Her voice was layered, as if it echoed through more than just the space.

“You’ve walked a long path, child of both bloods,” she said. “But the true path lies ahead.”

I blinked at her hard. “I am so sick of hearing these riddles,” I snapped. “Is it a witch thing? Do you all rehearse cryptic nonsense in the mirror before you talk to people?”

She said nothing.

“I get it. Mystical lighting. Disembodied voice. Vague declarations. Possibly floating, who knows. But gods, just once, I want someone to talk to me like I’m not an ancient artefact with teeth.”

Still she said nothing, so I kept going.

“I’m tired of being hunted or called chosen or cursed. I am so sick of all of it! So forgive me if I’m not thrilled about your ominous poetry. Or the fact that every time someone says something akin to “child of both bloods,” I feel less like a person and more like a ticking weapon waiting to go off.”

I stopped. Looked her dead in the shadowed face as I wondered why I was snapping at venting to a complete stranger.

“And don’t even get me started on the goddess,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “She could’ve stopped this centuries ago and made things so simple. Could’ve spared me this divine tug-of-war, but no. She apparently loves chaos.”

The woman’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

I glared. “You think this is funny?”

“I think you’ve been holding that in a very long time,” she said.

I flinched. That shut me up. She stepped closer, and I didn’t move. I couldn’t actually move a muscle.

“There is strength in your defiance,” she said gently. “But grief lives in your bones. Not from what’s happened” but from what you’ve always been missing.”

And just like that, my throat tightened. Because behind the sarcasm and fury, she’d found the thing no one ever said aloud.

I had always felt like something had been left behind in me. A gap I’d grown around. An emptiness that had been too quiet to name and too constant to fix. I’d been missing something long before the river, before Fabian, before even Damien. Something I couldn’t name.

“You want to be angry,” she said. “So be angry. But don’t pretend it’s not because you’ve always known something was taken from you.”

I blinked fast, then I looked away. If I looked at her too long, I might break.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

The woman didn’t answer. She simply reached out and placed a hand over my heart. And suddenly, I was warm. It felt as if something had curled up inside me and said, I’ve been here the whole time.

“You were born prey. And the prey always sees what the predators ignore, Luna Baudelaire.”

That stilled everything inside me. She brushed a hand against my forehead. It burned and cooled in the same breath.

“You are the wound and the weapon. You are the hinge upon which Anarion turns. And when the time comes to make the sacrifice, you will already know what must be given.” She paused and smiled at me, almost sadly. “I fear” you already know what it is.”

I tried to speak, but a blinding light flared, and then—Darkness.

I came to on the ground, my face tilted toward a crack in the ceiling where a single strip of moonlight bled through like a wound.

The house was silent now, and completely empty. The woman was gone.

There were no soft footfalls, not even the glimmer of her cloak disappearing around a corner. Just me sprawled on the cold floor, breath shallow, limbs heavy, and mouth dry.

How had I ended up on the floor? I’d been standing and talking to her.

I sat up slowly, head pounding like I’d fallen asleep to screaming and woke to the echo. I looked around again. Nothing had changed. Which somehow made it worse.

The furniture hadn’t shifted. The runes on the walls still glowed. The same quiet light seeped from the floor. The space looked untouched, undisturbed. Like she was never here.

The warmth she left in my chest was fading. Replaced by a hollowness I couldn’t name. My hand drifted to where she touched me. Over my heart, still beating. But slower now, like it was syncing to this place.

I stood slowly, half-expecting the floor to shift under me. But it held. Everything held. Even when it shouldn’t. Just like the divide.

Had that really just happened? I ran a hand over my face with a huff.

Something rustled outside so I crossed to the door expecting to see her again. Maybe gathering herbs outside. But the path outside was empty.

The night was still. The stars stretched endlessly above, indifferent and too bright. But someone was coming down the path. I watched with bated breath. Muscles still coiled somewhere between anticipation and dread.

Then Caelum appeared, now wearing blue robes, with the front of his hood pushed back just enough to catch the starlight. He paused mid-step when he saw me standing in the doorway.

Then he kept walking. I didn’t move. I just watched him come closer, and caught myself memorising the way he moved.

That’s when it clicked. Why they thought it should be Kael. They imagined Kael, Alpha of the wolves, would be my destined equal, because Caelum was clearly his equivalent. Not just in title, in power and presence too.

And now he was looking at me like I’d touched something sacred he’d never been allowed near. He stopped a few feet away, with a cautious gaze.

“You found the shrine,” he said softly.

My voice came out raw. “Is that what this is?”

He nodded, taking another step forward. For the first time since we met, he looked” uncertain.

“No one finds it unless they’re called,” he said. “Unless she calls them.”

He hesitated.

“I’ve been the only Temple Keeper for ages,” he added, quieter now. “I suppose it’s a welcomed reprieve that she called you here too.”

I folded my arms. It didn’t help. Didn’t make me feel protected. Just colder. “Who was she?”

He didn’t answer immediately, or bother to explain what Temple Keeper meant, either. I guessed it was just another way of saying high priest. I looked back toward the threshold.

“The Moon Goddess,” he said.

I blinked. “The what?”

Caelum said nothing. Just watched me absorb the heft of that. And I—Luna Baudelaire, hybrid and hunted, and wholly exhausted—stood there in stunned silence.

Because I’d just mocked the Moon Goddess to her face, and she had smiled.