“You’re still the Luna of Ashfen Pack,” my father answered. “You have duties.”
Duties?
A humorless chuckle escaped me. I couldn’t believe that’s what mattered to him—responsibilities—while I was drowning in grief.
He left without another word, closing the door behind him. And somehow, I found the will to move.
I dragged myself out of bed and dressed in black. Pulled my hair into a tight, neat bun. When I looked at my reflection, the lifeless woman staring back didn’t feel like me. Her eyes were empty. Shadows clung beneath them.
I used makeup to hide the damage—to bury the signs of mourning beneath layers of foundation and powder.
Ronan didn’t deserve to see my pain.
He arrived shortly after, pulling me into an embrace like it could erase the past. His arms were firm around me, his expression filled with hope. The same green eyes I once adored—green like the woods where we first met—searched mine.
But I felt... nothing.
I tried to smile.
I couldn’t.
All I wanted was to tear him apart. To drag him into the same agony I had been drowning in.
“Elior? Where is he?” Ronan asked.