Morning sunlight spilled through the wide dining hall windows, brushing gold across the long oak table. The smell of roasted herbs and fresh bread hung in the air, yet Lily could barely taste a thing.

Alistair sat at the head of the table, freshly shaven, his voice booming with cheer. His earlier weariness seemed to have vanished overnight. He reached for Lily’s hand more than once brushing her fingers, touching her shoulder, a kiss against her temple that drew heat to her skin.

Every gesture felt deliberate. A quiet show of possession dressed as tenderness.

Lily managed a faint smile, though her pulse betrayed her calm. She could feel Callum’s silence from across the table sharp, tight, unblinking. He sat to Alistair’s right, posture rigid, hands clasped too firmly together. When Alistair’s arm slipped around Lily’s chair, Callum’s jaw flexed, his knuckles whitening against the edge of his plate.

Alistair didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did.

He laughed, told stories of his travels, his words smooth but his eyes occasionally darting between them measuring something unseen.

“I’ll be gone again soon,” he announced mid-meal, tearing into a loaf of bread. “A summit near the northern borders. It should take about a week.”

He turned to Callum. “You’ll oversee security while I’m away. That includes keeping an eye on my Luna.”

The words landed like a spark in dry air.

Callum inclined his head. “Of course, Alpha.”

Lily lowered her gaze, pretending to adjust her napkin. Her fingers trembled slightly against the fabric. The thought of being left under Callum’s watch stirred something she couldn’t name — part relief, part dread, all fire.

Alistair reached over, brushing a stray curl from her face. “Good,” he murmured, smiling as if he’d settled something simple.

But the moment his hand lingered, Callum’s spoon scraped faintly against his plate — a soft, accidental sound that spoke louder.

The afternoon light was softer now, sliding through the garden leaves in fractured gold. Lily walked along the narrow stone path, her thoughts scattered like petals in the wind. The house behind her felt too full of stares, of silence, of things unspoken.

She needed air.

At the edge of the garden, she saw Callum inspecting the perimeter wall, his back to her. He moved with quiet precision, every motion careful, deliberate. The faint wind tugged at his sleeves, carrying the clean scent of pine and steel.

He turned when he sensed her. “Luna,” he greeted, voice even, but his eyes betrayed surprise. “You shouldn’t walk alone.”

“I needed to think,” she said softly. “I won’t go far.”

He nodded once, glancing away. “The grounds are secure, but… I’ll stay close.”

They walked a few steps in silence. Only the rustle of leaves filled the space between them.

“I was reckless that night,” Lily said suddenly. “In the forest. I could have gotten us both hurt.”

Callum turned to her, his brows drawing together. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “I should’ve stopped you sooner.”

She gave a faint smile. “You couldn’t have.”

Their eyes met and held. The quiet between them deepened until it trembled with something neither dared name. Callum’s throat moved as he swallowed hard, gaze lowering to the ground before returning to her face.

“I don’t know how to look at you,” he said at last, voice low and raw, “and pretend I don’t see you.”

Lily’s breath caught.

The garden seemed to hush no wind, no birdsong, just that single confession hanging in the air.

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But her eyes, bright and unguarded, said everything her lips wouldn’t.

Callum took a step back, as though the air between them burned.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, turning slightly away.

“Don’t be,” she whispered, though her heart pounded so loudly she feared he might hear it.

The sun sank lower, throwing their shadows long across the grass two figures standing close enough to touch, and yet, still on opposite sides of the line neither dared cross.

By the time Lily returned inside, the corridors had fallen silent.

The evening lamps flickered softly against the walls, throwing uneven light that made the shadows seem alive. She paused outside her room, fingertips brushing the doorknob, her pulse still uneven from the garden.

Behind her, the echo of footsteps broke the hush. Slow. Careful.

A guard stood a short distance down the hall, half-hidden in the dim light. He pretended to adjust the wall lantern, though his eyes lifted toward her briefly before dropping again. Lily’s breath faltered.

She forced a small nod, masking her unease, and slipped into her room. The latch clicked quietly behind her. Inside, she leaned against the door, exhaling a shaky breath. The weight of the house pressed around her thick with quiet eyes and invisible rules.

Outside, Callum had lingered near the stairwell, watching the same guard retreat down the hall. His gaze hardened.

The man’s presence wasn’t accidental; Alistair didn’t leave things to chance.

Later, as Callum passed by Lily’s door again on his nightly rounds, something new caught his eye a faint mark scratched into the wood near the frame. Barely visible, but deliberate. A symbol used by Alistair’s sentinels.

A warning. A reminder.

Callum’s jaw clenched. He brushed his thumb over the carving, eyes darkening. “He doesn’t trust either of us,” he murmured under his breath.

The sound of the wind whispered through the corridor, thin and cold.

He glanced toward Lily’s door once more a door that separated not just rooms, but everything they weren’t allowed to feel and then walked away, his shadow swallowed by the narrow light.

Behind those walls, the house no longer felt safe. The danger wasn’t in the forest anymore.

It was in the silence.

It was in the walls.