The Ashridge woods held secrets in their roots — secrets so old the trees forgot their names, and the earth refused to speak them aloud. But now, the ground was remembering.
And Evelyn was listening.
She walked through the woods like she belonged there — not like she used to, unsure and wide-eyed, but steady. Purposeful. Something inside her had shifted. Her steps didn't falter, her breath didn't catch. And when the forest sighed in its ancient language, she didn't flinch.
Because part of her… understood it now.
Behind her, Lucian followed at a distance. He didn't hover. Didn't speak. He knew whatever she was drawn to out here had nothing to do with him — and everything to do with who she used to be.
Or still was.
She stopped at the edge of an overgrown clearing. Ivy and moss choked the stones beneath her feet, but Evelyn saw something beneath the green — a symbol.
A crescent moon split by a claw.
Her knees hit the earth before she knew it. Hands trembling, she brushed aside the growth, revealing a carving so deep the moss couldn't erase it.
She had seen it before. In her dreams.
In her death.
⸻
Lucian felt it the moment she touched the stone. The air thinned. Magic — old magic — rose from the earth like smoke.
He stepped forward. "Evelyn—"
She didn't look up. "This is where she died."
Lucian stilled. "Where Elhera died?"
"No," she whispered. "Where I died."
⸻
Back at the pack house, Riven poured over books that hadn't been opened in decades. Every Alpha who ruled Ashridge had recorded something — visions, threats, histories they feared would be forgotten. But one entry had been torn from every volume.
Except one.
A single leather journal buried in the bottom of a trunk, its spine cracked and forgotten.
He opened it carefully. Inside was a passage handwritten in uneven script:
The second moon will rise. The blood of the first will return. The buried bond will awaken. And the Alpha will have to choose: love… or loyalty.
Riven stared at the last word.
Loyalty.
He didn't know what it meant.
But Lucian would.
⸻
Evelyn sat back on her heels, palms still pressed to the stone. Her eyes shimmered with silver not her own.
"Before I was born, she was buried here," she said softly. "Not just her body… but everything she was. Her bond. Her mate. Her power."
Lucian knelt beside her, careful not to touch the stone. "Why?"
"Because she was too strong," Evelyn whispered. "She wasn't supposed to love. She was supposed to rule. But she broke the bond the council chose for her… and chose her mate instead."
Lucian swallowed. "And they killed her for it?"
Evelyn turned to him slowly.
"No. They buried her alive."
⸻
The wind moaned through the trees like a warning.
Lucian helped her to her feet. "We need to get you back. The pack—"
But she shook her head. "No. There's more."
She stepped past him and laid her palm against the stone again. A hum vibrated beneath it. Deep. Hollow. Like a heartbeat beneath the soil.
And then the ground cracked.
Lucian's arm shot out, pulling her back as the stone split down the center. Dust and old air hissed upward. Something shifted below.
Not a grave.
A door.
⸻
They stood in front of the opening, breath held.
Lucian's eyes were hard. "We don't go down there. Not yet."
But Evelyn's voice was calm. "She wants me to."
Lucian's grip tightened on her arm. "And what if it's not her?"
"What if it is?" she asked. "What if the only way to survive what's coming is to understand what already happened?"
Lucian's expression cracked. "What if you don't come back up?"
Evelyn's hand touched his.
"Then you'll know where to find me."
⸻
They descended together.
The passage smelled of ash and memory. It was narrow, lined with stone, but smooth — carved intentionally. Old torches lined the walls, long extinguished, but Evelyn didn't need them.
Her hands glowed faintly as she walked.
At the end of the corridor stood a chamber.
Circular. Silent.
And in the center — a pedestal.
Upon it, a dagger.
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "That's not a grave. That's a trial."
Evelyn stepped closer. "It's hers."
Inscribed beneath the blade were four words in a language neither of them knew — but Evelyn read them aloud without hesitation.
"One heart. One death."
She reached for the dagger.
Lucian grabbed her wrist.
"Stop."
Evelyn looked at him, pain flickering in her gaze. "If I don't do this, she'll never let me go."
Lucian's voice dropped. "You're not a sacrifice."
"No," she said. "I'm a key."
She gripped the hilt.
And the chamber lit with fire.
⸻
Back in the cave, Moren stopped walking.
He looked up sharply.
"She's remembering."
The rogue wolves around him froze.
"The bond is waking."
He closed his eyes.
"She'll come to me."
⸻
Lucian shielded his eyes as the flame rose — not heat, but light. Ancient markings blazed across the stone walls. Symbols of the old world. Of the first packs.
Evelyn stood at the center, her face lit from within.
And in that moment, he saw her — not Evelyn.
But Elhera.
Her face. Her voice. Her fury.
"They buried me alive," she said. "Because I chose him."
Lucian stepped forward. "Then choose again."
Her eyes locked on his.
And something inside Evelyn broke.
The flame vanished.
She dropped the blade.
And collapsed.
⸻
Hours later, she woke in Lucian's arms on the forest floor.
The doorway was gone.
But her chest was silent.
No second heartbeat.
Just her own.
⸻
"Is she gone?" she whispered.
Lucian looked down at her.
"She's part of you," he said. "But she doesn't control you."
Evelyn closed her eyes.
For the first time in weeks… she felt quiet inside.
⸻
But in the far-off mountains, Moren stood atop the ridge.
His eyes turned silver.
"She remembers the dagger," he murmured.
"And she remembers me."