Skye’s POV

The walk home from the Hunt Festival was a blur. I barely registered the snow crunching beneath my boots or the wind whipping against my tear-streaked face.

My chest felt like it had been hollowed out, leaving nothing but a raw, pulsing emptiness where my heart should have been.

Mom guided me through the door of our cabin. The familiar scent of pine furniture and cinnamon that usually brought comfort now seemed distant, like it belonged to someone else’s life.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” she whispered, her voice gentle as she helped me out of my snow-damp clothes and into soft flannel pajamas.

I crawled into bed without a word, curling onto my side and pulling my knees to my chest.

My mate, my wolf, my dignity—all gone in a single night.

Mom sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers combing through my silver hair with the same tenderness she’d shown when I was a child. The gesture, so familiar and loving, only made the tears come faster.

“This isn’t your fault, Skye,” she murmured, her voice breaking slightly. “None of this is your fault.”

I began to cry quietly, my body shaking with each silent sob. Mom didn’t try to hush me or offer empty platitudes. She simply continued stroking my hair.

I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, the sound of the front door opening and closing announced Dad’s arrival. His heavy footsteps approached my room, and soon I felt the mattress dip as he settled on the other side of the bed. His large, calloused hand came to rest on my leg, warm and steady.

“My little warrior,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given me when I was small and insisted on following him and Ethan into the woods for training.

As my sobs gradually subsided into occasional hiccups, I became aware of what was missing. Or rather, who.

“Where’s Ethan?” I asked, my voice raw from crying.

The brief silence that followed told me everything I needed to know before either of my parents spoke.

“He’s with Leon,” Mom finally said.

“Seriously?” In the moment I needed him most, my brother had chosen his best friend over me. His Alpha over his sister.

“Of course he is,” I whispered.

Dad’s hand tightened slightly on my leg. “He’s torn, Skye. He doesn’t—”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” I cut in. “Not tonight.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a look over me, their silent communication as clear as if they’d spoken aloud. They wouldn’t push, not when I was already shattered.

I must have drifted into a fitful sleep, because the next thing I knew, I was being pulled awake by the sound of voices in the hallway outside my room.

“—think she would be?” That was my father, his deep voice thrumming with barely contained fury.

“I understand your anger,” came Leon’s measured response, “but I had my reasons. This has nothing to do with personal feelings.”

I stiffened beneath my blankets, every muscle tensing at the sound of his voice. The mate-bond, though rejected, pulsed painfully in response to his proximity, like a broken limb that hadn’t been properly set.

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