"Never worry, Lyra. Unless I'm dead, I will never stop loving you."
How was I supposed to let go of that wolf?
So when he returned from the Moonlit Isles with Seren, I swallowed my pride. I begged.
I dug out my healer records from the infirmary den—proof that I'd been poisoned with heat-inducing toxins, proof that I was innocent of willing betrayal—and brought them to him.
He wouldn't even look at them.
"Fabricated evidence," he said, his lip curling with disgust, his Alpha dominance pressing down until I could barely stand. "Is there anything you won't do to escape the consequences of your treachery?"
I was out of options. All I could do was dig out the keepsakes that documented our past—the courtship tokens etched with moon-silver, the scent-sealed letters where we'd poured out our hearts, the gifts and mementos that held meaning only for the two of us.
But every item I pulled out, Alaric burned.
The flames devoured each one, and with them, the faint traces of his scent that had once clung to the paper and fabric. I watched years of memories turn to ash in the hearth of our shared den.