The compound gates loom ahead, tall and reinforced with blackened steel, the faint scent of ash still clinging from the last attack. I walk with purpose, each step measured, steady. The scout leads in silence, but I feel his sideways glances. They all look at me differently now.
They should.
The wind carries the scent before I see him — pine, storm-soaked earth, and something electric that dances on the edge of memory. My pulse doesn't quicken. It roots deeper.
The gates groan open.
And there he is.
The Alpha.
He dismounts before the horse has fully stopped, his coat swept back, dark hair tousled by the ride. He looks taller, broader. More hardened by the road. But it's his eyes that lock on mine — and freeze.
Recognition flickers. Disbelief follows.
"Luna?"
The word is cautious, uncertain. Not a title. A name.
I don't stop. I walk right up to him, letting him take in the armor strapped to my limbs, the dried blood on the cuff of my sleeve, the cold burn behind my eyes.
His gaze drops to my sword.
"You've changed," he says, voice low.
"No," I answer. "I've remembered who I am."
For a heartbeat, silence holds between us. Not tension — reverence. His jaw tightens, something unreadable rising in his expression.
Then he steps forward, close enough that the wind no longer dares to breathe between us.
"I came back because I feared for you."
"You should've feared for them," I say softly. "Because I'm not hiding anymore."
His lips part slightly, but he doesn't speak. Just stares — like he's seeing me for the first time.
Behind us, Becca leans against the post, arms crossed, watching with that half-smirk of hers. "Told you she wouldn't need saving."
The Alpha exhales slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.
"No," he agrees. "She's the one who'll save us."