AFTERMATH

She thought the worst was over. But surviving? That was only the beginning.

She'd been a fool once.

Naive enough to believe pain had a finish line.

That once you survived, the worst couldn't touch you again.

But pain didn't end.

It evolved.

Lauren's eyes flew open.

The ceiling spun, colors bleeding into each other like a dream caught mid-collapse.

Her breath hitched. Her body ached. Not from wounds—those had faded.

No.

This pain had teeth.

It was the ache of something awakening.

She sat up.

Slowly.

Every muscle trembled like it was remembering a fire it couldn't escape.

But it wasn't fear running under her skin—it was power. Coiled. Primal.

Watching the world from inside her bones.

She rose to her feet. Bare toes met cold stone.

Each step toward the mirror felt like a dare.

And when she finally looked?

A stranger stared back.

Hair black as pitch, streaked silver like moonlight trying to escape the dark.

Eyes glowing—dim, but steady.

Like embers refusing to go out.

Her skin was no longer dull. It pulsed with something ancient. A pull. A warning.

She raised her hand to the scar where the wolf had clawed through her chest—and felt it.

A flicker.

A pulse.

Not alone. Not anymore.

A knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

Lauren turned.

The door creaked open. A maid stood there, pale and silent, with ceremonial clothes folded tight against her chest like armor. Her eyes never lifted.

"The Alpha requests your presence," she whispered, trembling.

Lauren said nothing.

But she watched the girl flinch at her silence. Watched her backpedal like prey sensing a predator.

And for the first time, she wondered—

Was it Michael the girl feared?

Or her?

The dress was too soft.

Too perfect.

It didn't belong on someone who'd clawed her way out of the grave.

But she wore it anyway.

She walked down the hall in silence.

Past relics of war and cracked portraits of Alphas long buried.

The walls whispered of blood and betrayal.

And still—she walked.

Down into the dark.

Down into the truth.

The chamber felt like a mausoleum.

Cold. Still.

The kind of stillness right before a battlefield screams.

Maps and knives lined the walls like memories that refused to fade. The air tasted like old iron and older lies.

Michael waited in the center.

Always in the center.

Like chaos had made him its throne.

He turned.

"Lauren," he said.

Just her name.

But it landed like prophecy.

She didn't reply. Didn't have to.

He held out a blade.

Its steel whispered something only wolves could hear.

She stared.

"What's this for?"

Michael's smile barely twitched. "To remind you—survival isn't passive. It requires teeth."

"I don't need a weapon."

He dropped another at her feet.

The clang echoed like a challenge.

"No," he agreed. "But if they come for you again, you should choose how you bleed."

Her eyes never left his. "You're training me for something."

He nodded. "To reclaim what they stole. To burn the ones who made you kneel."

Her voice dropped, cold and cutting. "And what's the price?"

His smile died.

"Swear to the cause," he said. "Not to me."

He didn't wait for an answer. Just pulled out his phone.

A video played.

Alpha Nuel. Laughing. Toasting.

"To the Moon Crest Queen who never was."

Lauren didn't blink.

But something inside her did.

Crack.

A vein of rage split her in half.

She picked up the blade.

Didn't flinch at the weight.

Didn't care about the blood it still remembered.

She just held it.

Like it had always belonged in her hand.

The days blurred.

Pain became her tutor.

Fire, her only companion.

Michael didn't treat her like she was healing.

He treated her like she was evolving.

She bled on stone. Screamed into silence.

Fell again and again—

And still got up.

She punched him once.

Hard enough to make him bleed.

He wiped the blood from his lip and smiled.

"Good," he said.

"You're starting to smell like someone dangerous."

The dreams came next.

Forests. Fog.

Footsteps that didn't belong to her.

Then—

A wolf.

Silver-eyed. Scarred. Familiar.

It didn't bow.

It growled.

"You can't be both prey and Queen. Choose."

Lauren didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

She already had.

She woke with a jolt.

Silver light danced behind her eyes. Her wolf stirred—not scared, not uncertain.

But still.

Calm.

Watching.

Waiting.

Michael stood by the door.

A flicker of shadow crossed his face. News.

"Scouts spotted her," he said. "Your sister."

A pause.

"She's with Moon Crest. They're sending hunters.

Orders are clear—bring you back. Breathing."

Lauren's fists clenched.

Her voice was iron wrapped in velvet.

"Let them come."

Michael raised an eyebrow.

She met his gaze.

And smiled.

"I'm not the girl they buried."

He tilted his head, considering her. Then nodded.

"Then it's time," he said, "you meet the others.

The wolves who hate Moon Crest as much as you."

The door opened.

And Lauren stepped through.

Not as prey.

Not as a pawn.

But as a storm wrapped in silk.

As a Queen without a crown.

As a girl who survived—

And was ready to make others bleed for it.